Johnny Deeper: A Sports Romance

by Tabatha Kiss

  He blinks. “Really?”

  “I may only catch the second half but that’s the only part that really matters anyway…”

  His eyes narrow. “You’re going just to try and psyche me out, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe,” I tease.

  “It’ll take a lot more than that to rattle me on the field, Ellie. Once I’ve got my eye on the ball, nothing can stop me from getting it to the end zone.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I kiss his cheek. “Because my end zone is really looking forward to your balls.”

  Junior bites his lip. “That little mouth of yours… is amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to stick my dick in it later.”

  I crack up and shove him backward. “That was so weak.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist…” He pauses, his gaze lingering on me for a long moment but I’m too busy staring back to count the seconds. “Coming over tonight?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Well, I don’t want you to get bored of me,” I joke.

  “You’re right,” he smiles. “Don’t want to ruin a good thing.”

  “Exactly.”

  Junior grabs his backpack off the table and tosses it over his shoulder. “If I don’t see you between now and then, I’ll see you after the game.”

  I nod. “After the game.”

  “Bye, Ellie.”

  “Bye, Junior.”

  He steps out into the library and the door is barely even closed before I’m grinning like a fucking idiot. It’s one of those deep smiles, too; the kind that completely takes you over and refuses to let go until your face muscles can’t take it anymore and you end up feeling the pain for days.

  Junior Morgan. Of course, we’re cool. He defended my honor. That means something, right? Based on his reputation before me, I have to imagine that chivalry was low on his list of priorities. The fact that he took my side over his team has to mean something.

  Or maybe I’m grasping at straws again. Maybe I’m so desperate to make something from nothing that I’ll cling to even the slightest of chances that there could be something there that resembles a real relationship. That didn’t go so well with my father. What makes me think Junior Morgan is any different?

  A chill rolls down my back, the latest of many that have shaken me today.

  I sit down at the table and wait for it to pass.

  Chapter 19

  Junior

  I lied.

  Thinking about Eliza Pierce sitting out there in those bleachers is absolutely psyching me out.

  She’s there right now, watching every hike, every toss, every move I make and she’s going to notice if I fumble even the smallest screw-up.

  I scan the crowd again, searching for her long, brown hair but I can’t look for very long before I have to get my head back in this game.

  My eyes jump to the scoreboard and I cringe.

  We are losing by eight points and there’s only one minute left in the game.

  I look at my teammates and I see it on their faces, just as they can probably see it on mine.

  It’s over.

  The ref blows the whistle, signaling a time-out and I hear Cary Pierce bellow out my name from the sidelines. He waves me over and I sprint to meet him.

  “What’s wrong, Junior?” he asks.

  I stare at him through my face guard, hoping he can’t read the dirty thoughts running through my mind. “We’re losing.”

  “So?” he shrugs. “Losing happens in your head first, not the other way around.”

  “There’s less than a minute left, Coach,” I point out. “There’s no way we can—”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “That’s plenty of time for a touchdown and a two-point conversion — that will tie us up and we’ll wipe them out in overtime.”

  I pause and look over my shoulder at the field. He’s not wrong but it’s a risky play, especially with us sitting fifteen yards outside the red zone.

  He knocks on the side of my helmet. “Get out of here. Get in here.” He lays a firm finger against my chest. “You know what I’m seeing right now?”

  “What?”

  “Weakness. It’s all over your damn face and I can guarantee they see it, too — and I’m not talking about the other team. I’m talking about yours, Junior. The quarterback falls and the rest follow. What are you going to do about it?”

  I chew on my inner cheek. “I think—”

  He knocks hard against my helmet again. “Get out of here. What are you going to do?”

  My mind goes dark, surrounded by an ether of cold nothingness and I can’t for the life of me see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  I see Eliza’s face instead, standing out amongst the dark gray wisps.

  “I’m going to fake the hand-off,” I say through sudden clarity. “Put the focus on the halfback and run it in myself.”

  He smiles. “Then go do it.”

  I turn around and rush back out onto the field, igniting screams in the crowd around us. A little bit of that pure adrenaline fires through my limbs and it never stops tingling, even as we huddle up and I watch the look of shock on the team’s faces morph into a powerful confidence.

  We’re going to fight this — right down to the very last second.

  Suddenly, the idea of Eliza Pierce watching over my shoulder isn’t so bad.

  My team stands in formation, creating phantom twitches to their left, making it as obvious to the other team as possible.

  “Hike!”

  The center snaps the ball back and I catch it, twisting around to lay it into John’s cradled arms — but I tuck it beneath mine instead.

  John sprints to the left, taking half the offensive line with him and the defense falls for it.

  I bolt to the right, slipping around them with the ball safely in my hands, and the crowd explodes.

  A few of the other team notice, jutting out to grab me but I’ve already gained the momentum to dart right through them.

  With the end zone in sight, I pick up my speed, running on pure adrenaline all the way to the goal. Ty rushes in after me, slamming against me in celebration but the game isn’t over yet.

  There’s still a two-point conversion to worry about.

  I look at the crowd, once again looking for her face but I still can’t find her.

  We head to the three-yard line. If we don’t nail this play, then the game is over. We lose.

  And I’ll never hear the end of it from Eliza.

  “Just pop it up,” Ty shouts, pounding once on his chest. “We’ll catch it.”

  He rushes to the end of the line with the rest of the wide receivers and I fill my lungs with hot, humid air.

  “Hike!”

  The next few moments blur past me. I feel the ball in my hands. I see the rage of the defensive linemen, just as determined to win as we are not to lose. I smell the turf beneath me and feel the crushing weight on my chest. Multiple tackles crash in front of me and my team falls.

  I let the ball fly from my fingers, arching high up towards the center of the end zone. It spins downward and a dozen hands launch into the air, so many that I can’t even tell who is who.

  Finally, the whistle blows and Ty stands up with the ball clutched in his hands.

  Holy shit.

  I look at the scoreboard and watch the numbers tick up with wide eyes. Tie game. I lock eyes with Cary Pierce, feeling that insane rush from my head to my toes.

  We’ll wipe them out in overtime.

  You bet your ass we will.

  ***

  They didn’t stand a chance.

  Cary Pierce promised everybody that they’d know my name. This season, we’d get their attention. Next season, we’d keep it. The man knows his shit, I’ll tell you that.

  “Junior! Junior! Junior!”

  I stand on the sidelines, submerged in complete shock and awe while they chant my name over and over again.

  By now, the entire
city knows of our victory — especially with the amount of screaming threatening to tear the stadium down — but there’s only one person that I care about celebrating with.

  I keep looking through the crowd, hoping to catch sight of her but Eliza Pierce is still nowhere to be found.

  Finally, my eyes land on a familiar face near the bottom of the bleachers, leaning casually against them and watching with great interest as the team pass by him.

  Grant holds up his hand as Ty draws closer. “Good game, Mr. Fisher!” he shouts.

  Ty slaps his hand. “Thanks, man!”

  I pause in front of Grant but he doesn’t seem to notice I’m here. His eyes are too busy over his shoulder, locked on Ty’s rear end.

  “Hey, Grant!”

  His eyes flick in my direction. “Oh, hey, Lover Boy.” He nods. “Did you see that? Ty gave me a high-five.”

  “I saw.”

  “I’m making progress.”

  I smirk. “Is Eliza with you? She said she’d be at the game today.”

  He shakes his head. “She went home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yeah, she’s sick.”

  Disappointment stabs deep into my chest. Or is this concern? “Sick? How?”

  “I don’t know. She left rehearsal early today because she started throwing up.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I’m sure she is.” He cranes his neck to watch the rest of the team rush inside. “Check your messages. If you had plans, she probably texted you.”

  “Thanks.”

  A visual shiver crawls over him. “I don’t do vomit, man. Blood and guts? Cool. Vomit? Nope.”

  I pat his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll make it through this.”

  “I hope so.”

  I head for the locker room, sifting through the victory high-fives and pats on the back from my fellow players, and dig through my backpack for my phone. Just as Grant said, there’s a single message from Eliza.

  I’m not feeling well tonight. Reschedule? Sorry.

  My fingers start tapping out a reply, telling her that she doesn’t have to apologize and that I’ll see her on campus Monday if she’s feeling better.

  I nearly hit send but I pause, quickly feeling that dark worry rise up in my gut again. I’d much rather go check on her myself but I can’t just wander over to her house. If her dad comes home, it’ll be hell trying to explain what I’m doing there.

  I drop my phone into my locker and peel off the rest of my uniform while I try to think of a way to see her tonight.

  I should be buzzed as all hell, ready for a night of partying with the rest of the school. We just won the Homecoming game. This school hasn’t done that since the late 90’s. No one’s sleeping tonight. It’s going to be a straight-up hootenanny here until dawn — and I’m the quarterback. Girls, booze, whatever I want tonight, I could probably snap my fingers and have it hand-delivered to me on a silver fucking platter.

  But all I really want to do is see Eliza.

  After a quick rinse in the shower, I get dressed and step out into the hallway of the athletic center, flipping my phone over and over in my hand. There has to be some way to—

  A sharp giggle pierces my ears and I pause before rounding the corner towards the offices.

  I peek around, spotting a middle-aged woman in a too-short skirt lingering outside of the offices with Cary Pierce.

  He’s got his hands all over her and she just keeps on giggling while her own hands scratch down to his groin.

  Yeesh.

  The Coach leads her away, wrapping his arm around her and whispering God-knows-what into her ear.

  A smile strikes me. If the stories Eliza has told me hold any truth at all, then Cary Pierce will party harder than anyone else tonight. It’s possible he won’t make it back home at all until morning…

  Leaving Eliza home alone all night long.

  ***

  I poke out a finger, being careful not to drop the cups of coffee cart brew in my hands as I push the doorbell. It rings loudly inside, echoing off the bare walls for several seconds before falling silent once more. I wait a few long moments, listening hard for any movement before tapping the bell again.

  Still, nothing stirs inside.

  I balance both cups in one hand while reaching for my phone with the other.

  Answer the door.

  I send the text and drop the phone back into my pocket before kicking the door with my foot.

  Finally, I sense movement on the other side; the gentle tapping of little feet on the stairwell.

  “Ellie!” I shout, kicking the door a few more times.

  “Junior?”

  The door opens quickly and Eliza stares out at me with hard, suspicious eyes. Her face is slightly paler than usual but that just makes her blue eyes stand out more.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We won the game,” I answer.

  “I heard.”

  “So, I came to see you.”

  “I told you I was sick…” She slinks back a little in the door frame. “If you came here to collect, I need a rain check.”

  “Relax, Ellie. I didn’t come here for sex. I came here because Grant told me you got sick at rehearsal and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Skepticism screws up her face. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m fine,” she says, fighting the blush in her white cheeks. “Just a little stomach bug going around, I think.”

  “Good. That you’re fine,” I add quickly. “Not the stomach bug part…”

  I stare at her peaked face, holding back every urge I have to risk catching whatever she has. Somehow, she’s just as beautiful in a dirty tank top and flannel pants as she is in her collection of short, come-fuck-me skirts — possibly more so.

  I hand her a cup. “Think you can stomach some coffee? Black, as you like it.”

  “Thank you. Maybe…” She brings it to her nose to inhale the scent through the hole at the top. “Mmm… That’s the first smell in like twelve hours that hasn’t made me nauseous…”

  “And…” I reach behind my back and grip the soft plush hiding in my belt. “I thought this guy might make you feel better, too.”

  She smiles wide as I hand her the teddy bear. “Aww…” she laughs and hugs it to her chest. “Thank you. That’s so…”

  “Thoughtful?”

  “Yeah.”

  I pause, completely fixated on the glee trembling her cheeks. “Can I come in?”

  Her face instantly falls. “I don’t think so, Junior. My dad could come home any minute...”

  “I’m pretty sure he’ll be busy for a while tonight,” I say. “I saw him getting cozy with some woman after the game...”

  “Typical,” she smirks. “Even as a coach, he’s scooping up victory hoes.”

  “I parked down the block and walked over,” I add. “Even if he does come home, he won’t know I’m here. I’ll sneak out the back and he’ll be none the wiser.”

  “You’ve really planned this out, haven’t you?” she chuckles.

  “What can I say? I’m a rebel.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Come on, Ellie.” I throw on a pout and bat my eyes. “Don’t leave a poor boy hanging outside. It’s getting dark. I could get mugged...”

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes and takes a step back. “But just for a few minutes. Okay?”

  “Just a few minutes,” I repeat. I draw an X over my chest. “Cross my heart.”

  She smiles again.

  Chapter 20

  Eliza

  I step back and Junior follows me into the house. My senses spike on full-alert — just waiting for the moment when my father’s car growls into the driveway.

  I glance at any reflective surface we pass on the way upstairs. I must look like hell at this point. There’s dried sweat on my brow. My hair sits in a messy bun on my head and I’m pretty sure I haven’t washed this top in weeks.

  Lu
ckily, Junior doesn’t seem to notice any of these flaws. Either that or he’s picked up quite a few acting skills from me during our study sessions.

  We climb the stairs to the third floor. I hesitate for a brief moment with my hand on the door knob, quickly realizing that I’m about to invite a man into my damn bedroom. My heart stops but I push the door open anyway to let him inside.

  “This is your room?” he chuckles, his brown eyes invaded by the bright pink colors and cartoon cats.

  “It sure is… or rather, it’s the room of the daughter Cary Pierce thinks he has. It was like this when I moved in.”

  I stand still, watching as Junior wanders over to the bed. He sets his cup down next to my lamp and his eyes scan the room again with interest. I take a quick sip from my coffee. It’s warm and comforting but I can’t seem to shake the awkward feeling off my shoulders.

  “So… what did she look like?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “My dad’s victory hoe.”

  He laughs. “Oh, your standard blonde, I guess. Long legs, big tits. An outfit about ten years too young for her…”

  “Sounds about right,” I smile. “And there were no more victory hoes left for the star quarterback to take home?”

  “You are my victory hoe.” I raise an eyebrow and his grin falls. “I mean…” he chokes on his tongue, “that sounded way different in my head.”

  I laugh at the embarrassment on his face. “It’s okay. I know what you mean… I think.”

  I take another sip of coffee to try and break the chill in the room but it doesn’t work. I haven’t been able to shake it since I came home — that rush of shivers dancing down my spine, unable to make up its mind whether it wants me to feel hot or cold. I set the cup down and grab a zip-up sweater off the back of my desk chair to throw on.

  “Aren’t you warm?” he asks. “It’s hot in here.”

  “Can’t seem to break this cold chill, actually,” I answer, feeling it scratch down my back again. “Must be part of the stomach bug or something...”

  “Here…” Junior steps over to me and lays his hands on my arms. He rubs them up and down, creating friction on my skin. “Let me warm you up.”