"Well, there goes the TD record," Tyler jokes as we start off our next drive at our twenty-three. "Time to give the D a rest and grind some ourselves."
"I'm not grinding with you, Tyler. Just 'cuz Carrie's at her parents' house . . . I'm still not grinding with you," I joke back, and everyone laughs before growing serious.
Tyler calls a swing screen pass to the flat. He tosses the ball to the back, and I clear traffic. I collide with a linebacker, and my elbow pops inside again, pain exploding through my arm, but we get the yards we need.
I'm shaking my arm when the huddle re-forms, and Coach Bainridge sees it. He sends in Carlson to give me a rest and to bring in the next play, and on the sidelines, he pulls me aside. "How is it?"
"It'll hold together for another few minutes," I reply, looking at the game clock. "I'll make it."
"Sit out two plays, shake it out, and then get back in there," Coach says. I nod and kneel, focusing and catching my breath.
After the two plays, Coach sends me back in, and we're looking at third and seven. Carlson’s doing his best, but he's not quite there yet. Give him a year, maybe. He's still young.
In the huddle, Tyler's happy to see me. "Glad you're back. Think you can catch something?"
"You throw it, I'll catch it."
I drift out into the flat, just beyond the first down marker, and go up for a high pass, stretching out to catch the ball, only to get upended by a linebacker who hits me in the legs, flipping me over to land flat on my back. I hang onto the pass, though, and it's just enough for the first down.
"That one hurt," I groan as I get up off the ground and get back to the huddle. We run the ball once, taking the ball to the fifteen, but more importantly, starting the clock again. Coach's plan is simple. If we punch it in, we're not going to give GAM enough time to get the points back. We end it now, one way or another.
A minute and thirty-one seconds left. I drop down hit the defensive tackle in the side while our guard and tackle pop out on the old power sweep play, taking us down to the ten. Third and two, and the clock is still running. Twenty-seven seconds left.
The ball snaps, and I smack the defensive end in the shoulder before releasing and starting my route. The linebacker sees me coming, and he's going to stick with me. We're jostling, at the limits of what the refs will allow before they call pass interference, but with less than a minute left in a bowl game, they're letting a lot more go than normal.
I turn my head back, and Tyler's scrambling, the pass rush starting to get to him. He rolls out to his right, and I cut back, reversing course to try to give him options. The cut gives me just enough space, and Tyler sees me, letting the pass go just as a big defensive end nails him in the back. The ball's a wounded duck, wobbly and high, but there's no other choice. I go up, reaching, my left arm screaming, but it's on my fingertips. I pull in, still on my feet, by some miracle, and cut upfield. Four yards, two men in front of me. They go low, I jump . . .
Somehow, I don't know how, my body clears the goal line. With eleven seconds left, Western has taken the lead, up by two.
I get up off the ground and hug my teammates. Tyler's getting up himself, and I tap helmets with him. "Good throw."
"Bullshit. Great catch."
We go over to the sidelines, everyone quiet while we watch the kickoff after the extra point. The Georgia A&M team elects to not try anything stupid on the kickoff, and they have one desperate Hail Mary pass that falls short before the final seconds tick off, and we've won. Tyler turns and hugs me as the team celebrates. "Thank you, man. It's been a hell of a four years."
As the team celebrates in the middle of the field, I find myself exchanging high fives and handshakes with dozens of people. I have no idea who they are, but it doesn't matter. We're happy, and the only thing that could make my mood better is if Carrie were here with me.
"You did it, Duncan," Coach Thibedeau says, yelling even though he's only a foot from my ear. The noise is so overwhelming. "You came through. Now, the focus goes to you."
I shake my head and clap Coach on the back. "Never again, Coach. Never again. Now, the focus is on Carrie."
Coach claps me on the shoulders again, grinning. "Let's get you back to Western first, get that surgery done."
He moves on, and we go back into the locker room. After I get my gear off, I put my track suit back on and go back out to the field. There's a sense of nostalgia already, looking around at the grass. Regardless of whether I get drafted, or if my surgery is successful or not . . . my amateur football career is over.
I sense someone coming up behind me, and I turn, seeing Dad standing there, looking at me with pain in his eyes. "Why, Duncan? It was just one play, one game."
"Because it was the right thing to do. That's more important than the money."
He goes to say something, but a couple of men in suits call out. "Mr. Hart. Winston Hart."
He turns his head and goes pale. The men come closer, taking Dad's arms. "Mr. Hart, Mr. Salvatore would like to speak to you about your business loans. If you'd come with us."
The mobsters lead him away, and as I watch my father get led out of my life—maybe forever now, I don't know—another person approaches. It's Coach Bainridge, who's just completed the last of his press interviews. "Duncan."
"Coach. Guess you saw that."
He nods, watching as my dad disappears into a side tunnel of the stadium. "Coach, you didn't have to trust me. Even after telling you last night, I could have thrown the game."
Coach nods and pats me on the shoulder. "The player I had at the beginning of the season, I wouldn't have. The man you are today, I trust."
We walk off the field, and Coach laughs softly. "You know, I'm going to have to send someone to clean out your locker. You're going to be in the hospital. Is there anything in there that you'd be embarrassed to show?"
"Not that I can think of . . . but if there are any phone numbers or pictures in there, can you just burn those?"
"Wise decision."
Chapter 20
Carrie
After six hours of sitting in the hospital waiting room with nothing but a book to entertain me, I know one thing for certain: I hate hospital waiting rooms, and reading The Silence of The Lambs is not the way to relax in one.
"Miss Mittel?"
I look up and see the surgeon, Dr. Lefort, pulling off his little cap. He's not covered in blood, so at least that's a good thing, right?
"Is he all right, Doctor?"
My face must be too easy to read or something, because his smile is immediately comforting. "He's fine. In fact, if you want you can go see him in about fifteen minutes, he's in recovery. Just give him some time to finish getting everything cleaned up and a shirt on. After all, I can't be guilty of encouraging the delinquency of college students."
I blush and chuckle, shaking my head.
Dr. Lefort smiles. “Anyway, you can go back in a few minutes. A nurse will come get you."
"Just a minute, Doc. How'd the surgery go?"
He nods. "Good. The anterior band tear wasn't as bad as I feared, and the bicep tendon's still there. If he wasn't an athlete, I'd have passed on the tendon, but you know how Duncan is. He's got bigger biceps than most people, and he puts more stress on them."
It's a long five minutes, but when the nurse finally leads me back to the recovery room, Duncan's there, looking a lot more perky than I thought he would. "Hey, beautiful."
"How are you feeling?" I ask, coming over. Duncan's arm is in a splint, and it will be for a few days before he shifts to a sling when he's not doing rehab.
"Not too bad. They used a local anesthetic instead of putting me all the way under, so I got to watch. That was creepy-cool, like watching a zit vid on YouTube or something."
"Ew. Don't tell me you watch those things," I say, coming over and giving him a kiss.
Duncan laughs and gives my right hand a squeeze with his good hand. "Don't worry, just something a bunch of us did one night before an away game
to waste some time. Not my normal thing for sure."
"You are anything but normal," I answer, but Duncan's face clouds. "What is it?"
"I didn't tell you about it before the surgery . . . but you know about my dad, right?"
"Of course. You told me how he wanted you to throw the game. Kinda cool that you actually caught the game, literally, instead." Tyler Paulson may have won the MVP award for his passing, but Duncan's performance hadn't been overlooked. "Why?"
"Well, I got a message from my stepmom. First time I've ever spoken with her, in fact. Dad's markers were called in, and in order to cover it all, they're taking everything, including most of my stuff too. I'm pretty much wiped out."
I nod, considering. "What's left?"
"The apartment—that was pre-paid until the end of the school year—my personal stuff like my computer, my team swag . . . but that's it. Sorry, babe. I don't think we're taking any more motorcycle rides up to Mission Park for a while."
I lean over and kiss him, smiling at his worries. "I'm not with you because of your money. You could be dirt poor, with no job prospects, and I'd still love you because of who you are."
Duncan smiles and gives me an awkward, one-armed hug. "Well, lucky for you, I'm not quite dirt poor yet. I still have a thousand or so in a personal account. And with your help, I've got great employment prospects. So hang on for just a while, and we'll be on easy street."
"Easy street? Hmm, maybe. But first, we've gotta get that arm rehabbed. You know, I'm surprised that Coach Bainridge didn't stop by."
Duncan shakes his head. "Coach sent me a text right before the surgery. He's got a meeting with the University President and the AD, then he'll come by after that. He wants to talk about when Western is going to schedule its Pro Day for the scouts. I think he wants to give me as much time as I can to rehab the arm."
"Sounds like he cares about you."
"I know. Funny, huh? In June, I would have sworn he didn't give a damn about me. Then again, I didn't give a damn about him either. I guess things have changed."
I give Duncan a kiss, our lips playing with each other. When his hand comes up, cupping my breast through my t-shirt, I moan and chuckle at the same time, breaking the kiss to look him in the eyes. "Well, you haven't changed all that much."
Two days later, I get a phone call just as I'm helping Duncan change the wrapping on his sutures. We're in the bedroom, since I've put all the stuff for Duncan's care on the dresser that I've moved from my dorm room to the apartment. I pick up my phone, surprised when I see who it is. "Whoa. It's the Honor Board."
"Well, are you going to answer it?" Duncan asks, taking the rest of the bandage from me and wrapping it himself. He's wearing a team polo shirt and some shorts, since before changing out his bandage, we did his first rehab session, just passive movement that had me moving his arm for him. "Not pretty, but it'll do."
"Hello?" I say, answering the call. Duncan tucks the end of his bandage into the rest and attaches the clips. "This is Carrie Mittel."
"Miss Mittel, this is Dean Friar. How are you this evening?"
"Just fine, Dean. Happy New Year."
He hums in appreciation, and I can imagine him nodding on the other end of the line. "Why, thank you. And Happy New Year to you, too. In fact, I have some good news to start your new year. I just got done reading the report, and I'm ordering that all concerns involving you and the Honor Board are dismissed. We just got the rest of the computer forensic report on your phone finished. I must apologize to you."
"What happened anyway?" I ask. While I talk, Duncan's moved behind me, massaging my shoulders. His hands are strong, and I groan slightly when he finds a tight little knot next to my neck and rubs it until it releases. It feels so good.
"Miss Mittel? Are you okay?"
"Yes," I reply, and I hear Duncan chuckle behind me. He knows what he’s doing, and right now, I don't mind too much either. We haven't been able to be intimate since right before I left on Christmas break, which means that for over a week, the most we've been able to do is hug and frequently kiss. But his hands . . . oh God, his hands . . . "Just happy to have it over."
"Well, the forensics have shown that it was, in fact, Chelsea Brown who was behind it all. If you don't mind, when did she have access to your personal materials?" I have to think twice about what he just said, because Duncan's hands have moved from my neck and shoulders down my back, urging me to lie down. I roll over, onto my belly, and he straddles my hips, his cock already hard in his shorts and his fingers working in slow, wonderful circles up and down my spine.
"Probably the trainer's office, or maybe my dorm room. She knew where I lived. She stopped by every once in a while. We were . . . friends, or at least I thought so." Duncan's hands sweep outward, working my back muscles, and I lift my hips just a little, feeling his cock pushing against my shorts. So hard . . . so perfect. My breathing quickens, and I know the Dean can hear me near-panting.
At least, he sounds concerned as he continues. "Well, in any case, I've notified the Athletic Department, and you are now eligible to resume your internship. Best of luck."
"Thank you, Dean. Good evening."
I hang up my phone and toss it to the side, growling and working around, rolling underneath Duncan until I'm on my back, his hips still straddling mine. "You are incorrigible!" I laugh reproachfully. "You hear me on the phone with the Dean of the Honor Board, and you pick that time to try to seduce me?"
"Well, you looked so good, I couldn't resist," Duncan says, leaning down and kissing me. Our tongues slide past each other, and warmth radiates out from between my legs as we continue to taste each other. "And what's this about trying to seduce you? I'd say I have seduced you."
"You can seduce me with a glance and a smile," I admit, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him down on top of me. "Especially since it's been so long."
"I've missed it too," Duncan says, tilting his head to nibble on my earlobe. How he does it, I don't know, but each touch of his tongue and nip of his teeth brings fresh waves of arousal through my body. "But . . . shit."
"Not into that," I tease, a common joke I've developed with him. I'm trying to get Duncan to not talk as much like a jock. He's far too smart for that much gutter language, so I always pretend that I'm not understanding what he's saying.
He chuckles, then sighs. "What I meant is . . . we're out of condoms. I remember checking yesterday, out of curiosity, but we never picked any up."
I push his head up and shake my head. "Not a problem, is it? I mean, I'm still on the pill, and we've been together long enough that I trust you."
Duncan stops, then nods and kisses me tenderly. I can sense his feelings, the level of trust that I'm putting in him, but I know I trust him with more than that. The past two nights, I've dreamed of a family life with him, and they've all been great dreams.
We kiss again, and Duncan kisses his way down to my waistband, even over my t-shirt. He pauses at my waist and shifts back onto his knees. "I'd normally do this myself, but do you think you can give me a hand?"
I chuckle and nod, pushing my shorts and panties down and off, feeling so sexy as his eyes drink me in.
Duncan slides back on the bed, bringing his head between my legs. His breath tickles over my slick skin, and I lean back, closing my eyes because it feels so good. Every inch of my skin is hypersensitive, singing in pleasure even from the non-touch of his breath.
When his tongue strokes my outer lips for the first time, it feels so amazing. I twitch as wave after wave of sensation washes through my body, my toes curling when Duncan brings his lips to mine and kisses my pussy like he's kissing my mouth, his tongue slipping inside and working back and forth. "Oh, God."
He continues to lick and taste my deepest inner flesh. I grind up into his mouth, nearly screaming when my clit rubs against the firmness of his nose, and he pulls back just enough to bring his tongue up to my tender button, new meanings of the word heaven opening up as he wraps his tongue around my clit
, sucking and drawing it between his lips.
I feel my climax rushing on me, and Duncan's not stopping, his tongue flicking back and forth faster and faster on my clit, circling around the edges before dragging the whole of his tongue over the top, then starting the maddening licks again.
"I'm going to come," I warn him, and he brings his good right arm up and places his hand on my stomach, holding me firmly while his tongue never ceases, never stops the amazing sensations. I clench, paused, trembling on the edge, and with a final lick, he pushes me over the edge. I'm coming, crying out his name softly as the amazing feelings wash through me, tears in my eyes as I've missed this for so long. At least, going a week and some change without it feels like an eternity, with Duncan bringing me higher again. "Duncan . . . stop . . . I can't take any more."
He sits up, his face shiny with my juices. "That was delicious."
I gasp, recovering my breath. “I’d reciprocate, but I want you a different way right now."
Duncan grins and nods, pushing his shorts down. He pulls his shirt off, and I’m again caught breathless as his muscular body is exposed to me. Six months, hundreds of times seeing it, but it doesn't matter. I love this man, and his body is another way he is perfect for me. "I need you on your back."
"Why?" Duncan asks but still complies. I wait until he's lying comfortably before rolling to my side and wrapping my fingers around the thick, veiny shaft of his cock.
“Because I don't want you using that arm," I admonish him. I get to my knees and pull my t-shirt off, my breasts free from a bra since we're staying home tonight. "Instead, I was thinking this."
I swing my leg over, and I reach down, taking his cock and aligning it with my entrance. "As long as we can, okay?"
"Okay," Duncan replies, resting his hands on my hips as I guide him inside me. Duncan's fingers clench on my hips as I sink down onto him, and I'm moaning too, even though I came just a few minutes ago. "Carrie . . . you're so tight."
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