"Damn, hope I can do that when I'm your age."
'DT' is gone, and Coach Taylor is back, and he laughs as he kick-rolls the dumbbell back to its place in the rack. "If you get to my age, here's some advice. Take up bike riding, do some yoga, and sit back and enjoy life. Don't be middle-aged and crazy like I am. Give me five to change shirts and mop up."
"I'll help out with that," I say, going over and getting the sponge mop in the corner and bringing it over. "Besides, middle-aged and crazy sound like where I'm headed. Too many inner demons I'm fighting."
"I've heard," Coach Taylor says. "You seem to have done a good job with it so far this past week, though.”
"I have a good reason to," I reply. "For her."
Coach goes into his office while I get the ghost of lifter's chalk up off the floor and put the bucket back. I follow him into the training room, where he flips on the heating element for the whirlpool and pours ice into the bucket.
"She’s worth it," he says simply. "Now, show me the arm."
We're both surprised by the bruise that's grown in my elbow. It looks bigger and darker than when I woke up this morning, and Coach whistles. "And you didn't drop the ball?"
"Lucky, mostly. Had it in two hands at the time."
Coach has me flex and bend my arm a few times, then nods. "Okay. Let's get it into contrast for thirty minutes, two-minute switches. Then when you get home, take a few Tylenol." He sighs. “I’m going to recommend to Coach Bainridge that you go no-contact on Tuesday. Run your ass off if you want, but you should avoid hits on that arm for a while. Why wasn't it taped this past game?"
"Carrie wasn't there," I said simply. Coach Taylor raises an eyebrow, but he only nods at what I say.
"Well, next Saturday, when she does tape you up, make sure you wear a neoprene sleeve on top of that elbow as well. The equipment guys will get you what you need. You good?"
"Yeah, I guess," I say. "Thanks."
With no contact, I didn't worry about taping at all, instead running routes and reviewing tape with everyone and getting used to my new elbow sleeve, which, to be honest, I don't like but will at least pad my elbow some for a while. We actually have a strange game this week, a Monday night game, so Coach Bainridge gives us a lighter workload. I'm still sweating, though, after ninety minutes of running routes and some light blocking, so the early stop is nice.
The only dark cloud over the day is that Carrie still hasn't returned my calls. I tried two more times yesterday, and today, I couldn't find her at all. I think about stopping by the training room, but decide instead to do what needs to be done. I can soak my elbow at the apartment later. I climb on my bike and ride to her dorm, pulling up outside. I look up to her room and see the light is on, so I go inside, ducking up the stairs and heading to the third floor, making my best guess as to which is her room.
Knocking, I feel nervous. "Carrie? It's Duncan. Please, open up."
It's a scene that I never thought I would be in, standing outside a girl's dorm room and asking nervously to be let in. My fears evaporate to be replaced with concern when Carrie opens the door and her eyes are dull, lifeless. "Duncan. Come in."
I walk in, leaving the door open like you're supposed to in the dorms, a rule I have routinely broken, but this time, I’m not worried about following. Carrie's in some sort of trouble.
"Carrie, what's wrong? I tried calling you the past two days, and you didn't pick up. I thought you were mad at me or something."
Carrie sits on her bed, more like flops onto it really, her head hanging and her blonde hair hanging limp—and it looks unwashed. She's still beautiful, but not the Carrie I'm used to seeing. "Sorry. I don't have my phone. I got a call from the Honor Board yesterday. I've been accused of cheating."
"What? You'd never cheat! You're too damn smart!" I protest, and Carrie looks up. "It's true. What did they say you did?"
"When I called you during my orgo mid-term, they said that I was looking up test answers on my phone," Carrie says, taking a deep breath. "I—I don't know how, but my phone has a data trail that says I cheated."
"No way," I reply, taking her by the hands and helping her up. “What can I do to help?”
"Duncan . . . I'm suspended from the Pavilion because of this. I can't even get within fifty yards of Chelsea, since she made the statement against me."
"Chelsea?" I ask. "You mean Chelsea Brown? She's involved with this?"
Carrie nods, and I'm pissed. Not at Carrie, but at myself. "I—I have to apologize to you, Carrie. Chelsea and I had a little history a long time back. She didn't take it well at the time, but it seemed as if she’d gotten over it. My guess is, she’s jealous and trying to hurt you.”
"But the phone? Her lies may have started the ball rolling, but my phone . . ."
I stroke her chin. "It doesn't matter. Chelsea’s clever. She probably found some way to make it look like you cheated. Don't sweat this. We’ll get through it. Besides, we’ve got time before the hearing, and there's a lot to do between now and then."
"Like what?" Carrie asks, and I give her a kiss on the forehead.
“Let’s get off campus for a little while—try to get your head right before you go back to class tomorrow. And we've got us to talk about."
Carrie nods. "Where do we go?"
I push back and look down at her frumpy shorts and oversized t-shirt. "First, how about we get you dressed in something more appropriate, then we'll figure it out?"
For the first time, Carrie smiles and nods, snapping me a mock salute. "Yes, sir!"
She grabs some clothes from her dresser and runs off down the hall to the bathroom, coming back with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a light green sleeveless blouse, and some jeans on. "Better?"
I pull her close and kiss her, letting her know exactly how I feel. "Much. Anything else you need?”
"Let me grab a few things, throw them in my backpack, grab my jacket, and let's go," Carrie says. "Duncan . . . I'll go anywhere with you. I really do need to get out of here.”
I nod. "Let me go get the bike ready and grab your helmet.”
"Okay. I'll see you down there. And Duncan?"
"Yeah?"
Carrie kisses me, and I’m tempted to change plans, to close the door to her room and take her to bed, but I don't, slapping that inner demon away and just returning the kiss. Man, sometimes, I regret trying to be a good guy. “Thank you."
I head downstairs in a haze, waving at the few people who call out my name. When I'm in the parking lot, I see Chelsea Brown walking toward the entrance to the dorm, and I set Carrie's helmet aside. "Yo, Chelsea!"
She turns her head and smiles, walking over. "Duncan! How are you?”
"That's close enough," I say when she's about ten feet away.
I pull out my phone and turn on the video camera. In this world of accusations and campus culture, I'm not going to fuck around any longer. She’s obviously a vindictive bitch with how she’s lying on Carrie. "I'm just letting you know that I know what you accused Carrie of. I don’t understand why you decided to result to such lies, especially something as damaging as that . . . but I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
Chelsea sees my phone, then looks at me and turns, stomping off without a word. I turn off my video and put the phone back in my pocket. A few minutes later, Carrie emerges and she's smiling. Her backpack is stuffed, and I give her a questioning look. "I don't plan on coming back here tonight," she says simply. "Think you have space for me at your apartment?"
I grin, not needing to say more as I pull her in for a hug. "Hey, does Chelsea live in this dorm?"
Carrie shakes her head, confused. "No. Why?"
"She just went in a few minutes ago. Maybe I should talk to Coach tomorrow."
"No," Carrie says, shaking her head. "You don't need drama—you have your own demons to deal with. Remember, this is about us, right?"
"Any idea where you'd like to go?"
Carrie nods and kisses my chin. "Take me up to the
foothills. We can watch the city for a while from Mission Park. Then, we go back to your place."
Chapter 14
Carrie
I didn't expect Duncan to react the way he does when I tell him I want to go back to his place. I mean, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what that means. Instead of looking excited, he looks pensive, but he nods and hands me my helmet. I climb on behind him, and we ride off, getting on the freeway and heading up to the hills. Mission Park overlooks most of the city, where we can sit on a picnic table and look down on the lights twinkling below us.
"Hmmm, this is nice," I say as I lean into Duncan. "I've never been up here at night before."
Duncan puts an arm around my shoulders. His hand is warm, and the summer has officially ended in California, fall is starting to take hold, and the air is just a little chilly. I hum, but Duncan's still stiff. "What is it?"
"Just . . . I guess I don't want to rush you into something," he says, and in his voice, I can hear restraint, tenderness, and a hint of doubt, something I’d never expect. It's touching and warms me as much as his hand or his body. "I didn't come by to end up repeating the same mistake I made last time."
"You aren't," I reassure him. “This past week has been hard for me, and I know for you too. All week, the conversation we had has been replaying in my head. I kept hoping and praying that you were getting on top of your demons, and watching you Saturday, I thought you were."
"I tried to call you yesterday, but I got home too late to call," Duncan says quietly. "But you didn't pick up. I guess I know why now. When you didn't call back again today, I couldn't stand it any longer. I need you—I need you for your strength, for your tenderness, for everything that makes you who you are. Because the fight's not over."
"It never will be," I say, leaning in and nestling against him. "And you're worried that if we do what we did last time, that you're going to lose that fight."
Duncan nods, and I take his free hand. "I don't want to hurt you,” he says.
“I can take care of myself, if you haven’t noticed,” I reply, chuckling. "Duncan, you're more sensitive than you let on."
He cocks an eyebrow, flexing his unoccupied arm into a pretty decent bicep pose. "Who, me? I'm the Western University bad boy, remember?"
I laugh and scoot over, sliding down the table until I'm laying on it, and rest my head on Duncan's lap, looking up at the stars. “That's true," I quietly muse as I look at him against the outline of the overhead stars, “but you’re more than that too. We can be strong for each other, right?"
Duncan nods, and we sit quietly, him stroking my hair while I watch the stars and he watches the city. "Carrie?"
"Yeah?"
"Remember when I told you about the crowd and why I love it so much?"
"A little. I thought there was more you wanted to say, but you didn't."
"It's one of the things I've been thinking about. I know why I want the crowd, the fame, the adoration."
I hum, and his hand moves in slow, lazy circles over top of my blouse, not really stroking my breasts, but he's skirting around them. "Why?"
"It's not them I want attention from, at least not just from them," Duncan says, looking down into my eyes. "I wanted attention from my father. He has never really given me much attention. A shitload of money, but attention . . . no. You know who taught me to throw a football as a kid?"
"Your mother?" I ask, and Duncan shakes his head.
"No. Mom had taken off by then, tired of Dad's shit. Actually, the gardener taught me to throw a football. My first games, Dad was never there. He was always off making some next deal, some new score. In fact, thinking back, I can only remember of a handful of games he’s ever been to. None since I came to Western, that's for sure."
Suddenly, Duncan laughs and smiles. "I thought the girl was supposed to be the one with the Daddy issues?"
"Well, if you want, I can dress you up and start calling you Sally," I tease back. "But only if I get to dress like a guy, too, and you call me Sir."
Duncan laughs again, and his hand finds the curve of my left breast and massages it gently, causing me to moan. His hands are bewitched, that's all there is to it. "I think I like you as Carrie much more."
I groan as Duncan finds my nipple and pinches it lightly through my blouse, bringing it to pebbly hardness. "I like you as Duncan a lot more too."
I shift around, and he brings his other hand to my right breast, warm waves of pleasure rolling through me as he massages each breast gently. "You are so beautiful."
"With you, I feel beautiful," I whisper back, looking up at him. "You don't know how much that means to me."
Duncan leans down, and though he can't kiss my lips, he finds the hollow of my throat, kissing my neck softly. He whispers something, so soft I can't hear it, but I know what I want to hear him say. “Here?” I ask.
Duncan shakes his head, smiling wistfully. "As wonderful as that sounds, I don't have a condom on me. I wasn't exactly expecting this.”
I think about it for a second, then grin. "I know what to do then . . . the Hart Attack.”
He stops, frozen, unsure. Before he can say anything, I cover his hands that are still resting on my breasts and begin kneading my breasts and his hands at the same time. “Yes, I’ve heard the rumors of what the Hart Attack is.”
Duncan's hands begin to move again, his right hand drifting to the buttons of my shirt, unbuttoning my blouse slowly. "What about . . . well, lube?"
I laugh and reach up, rubbing the big muscles of his right arm. "I had the idea when I was packing. Look in my backpack. I didn’t expect to do it out here, but hey."
Duncan finishes unbuttoning my blouse and carefully opens it, taking me in. There's barely any light at all, just the moon overhead, and he becomes a pale, ghostly version of himself, like an old-fashioned movie or something. I lift my head and roll up to a sitting position before coming closer and kissing him. "Duncan, I trust you. I’m clean, I promise.”
“I know you are, as am I. I’m usually pretty anal about protection.” He chuckles. “I need to get you ready," he says, reaching for my backpack. He opens it and finds the tube of lubricant, taking a look at it in the moonlight. "How long have you had this thing?"
"A while. My freshman dry spell left me kind of desperate, and I ordered some things off the Web that I'm never going to let my parents see."
Duncan laughs and uncaps the tube, squeezing just a drop onto his finger before rolling it around. "It's still good. We’re going to need a shower together at home after this.”
I nod and unsnap my jeans. "I like the sound of that."
"What, a shower?"
"No . . . we and the words home and together."
Duncan chuckles and gets off the table. "I like the sound of it too. Next semester, think you’ll take me up on my offer?”
“We’ll see, mister.” I get off the table and bend over, my feet on the grass but my hands planted on the edge of the wood. I feel sexy, powerful, and vulnerable all at the same time, and I love it.
Duncan gets behind me, finds my waistband and eases my jeans down, the cool air causing goosebumps to break out on my flesh as I step out of one leg. "The key is to relax," he says softly as he starts to massage my ass. "Have you ever done this before?"
“No, but It's been a secret fantasy of mine since high school,” I admit.
"Girl next door Carrie with a fantasy like this?" Duncan teases, his hands powerful and gentle on my ass. I spread my legs more, and he brings his right hand between my legs and rubs at my panties, his fingers finding the lips of my pussy, sparks shooting from every caress. He curls three of his fingers in a wave motion, and I'm assaulted with pleasure, my thighs trembling with each amazing stroke.
Duncan eases my panties down, and I hear the cap of the lube open again, this time hitting my ass and dribbling down, in between the cheeks. I open myself in anticipation, breathless as his left hand brushes deeper, deeper . . . and I feel his finger on my asshole, elect
ricity filling me. It feels so good, the soft massage. I never thought it could be like this.
He opens me slowly, slipping a finger inside to my gasp, barely inside, so tight, but he keeps his massage going until I'm open more, his finger slipping the rest of the way inside almost effortlessly. I'm caught up in the wave of sensation as Duncan's fingers on my pussy work in concert with his finger in my ass, bringing me higher and higher, but never letting me come.
"Duncan . . . no more teasing. I want you."
"Patience . . . just a little more, to be sure."
There's a moment of pain as he slides another finger in, but it's gone in an instant, replaced by the deep, primal pleasure of his fingers inside me. Fantasy is being brought to life, and I can only wait, helpless to him, as he finishes opening me up. When his fingers pull out, I'm left empty, and it's soul-crushing for a second before I hear the sound of his zipper going down, and I realize he's preparing himself. "Take a deep breath," he says quietly. "Then when I start to push, exhale and push back into me."
I nod and realize what he's asking. It'll help relax my muscles. I take a deep breath, nearly letting it go when I feel the thick head of his cock rub between my ass cheeks. I'm so ready for him, I want to come already. Then his cock lines up with my asshole, and I tense. "Relax . . . and breathe out."
He pushes slowly while I push back, and the pain is big, bigger than I thought it would be after so much massaging. I grit my teeth and keep pushing back, not willing to give in.
The head of his cock pops through, and suddenly, all the pain washes away in an explosion of accomplishment. I did it! And oh, God . . . it feels so good.
"Duncan . . . oh, fuck."
He hums, his breath short and choppy, and he pulls back, keeping the head of his cock inside me before thrusting in again. This time, his thick, warm cock slides all the way inside me, and I'm his . . . fully.
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