Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  “Make love,” she corrects immediately.

  Right. Bryant doesn’t approve of F-bombs. How did I wind up dating this girl? “Make love,” I repeat. I arch one eyebrow. “So what do you say?”

  “I say no.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t hide my disappointment. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m menstruating,” she says primly.

  I hoot so loudly, she claps her hand over my mouth.

  “Ace!” she hisses. “My sisters will hear you!”

  I’m shaking with laughter. “Sorry. But you…I mean, who says menstruating?”

  She starts laughing, too, and I take advantage of her good humor and kiss her. She protests at first, but then her lips mold against mine, parting to allow my tongue to slide through them. I lick at every hot, sweet crevice of her mouth, kissing her until she’s breathless and I’m harder than the pillars outside this house.

  “Lie back,” Bryant says as she pries her mouth off of mine.

  I raise a brow again. “I thought we weren’t going to fu—make love.”

  “We’re not.” She gives my chest a gentle shove until I’m falling backward on my elbows. A teasing glimmer shines in her eyes. “But I can still make sure you leave here in a happy mood. God knows you’ll need it, seeing as how my daddy is going to run you until your ears bleed for missing curfew.”

  I know what she has in mind the moment she undoes my jeans, and yes, I’m instantly happy and so is my cock. When she eases my boxers down, my dick springs up to greet her.

  “This is some tattoo,” she comments, running her hand along the stupid emblem I’d gotten when the offer from Western landed on my doorstep. Dad bought a case of beer to celebrate. We drank until we were silly and then we went and got celebratory tattoos at some sketchy place that didn’t care we weren’t sober.

  “It was a stupid high school thing,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “My dad and I got lit and decided to commemorate my signing with Western.”

  “It’s sexy, sugar. You’re all man.” Smiling, she wraps her delicate fingers around the base, then bends her head and gives a slow, decadent lick, as if she’s savoring one of those sugary concoctions she’s always showing up with.

  “Damn, you have no idea how gorgeous you look right now,” I tell her. My view consists of her golden curls tumbling down her back, her eyes closed in concentration, impossibly long eyelashes fluttering against her smooth skin.

  “Mmmm.” She makes a hum of acknowledgement, or maybe it’s approval, because I choose that moment to thrust deeper into her welcoming mouth.

  I close my eyes as she sucks me deep. It feels a bit wrong to be lying here and accepting the heat of her mouth when five minutes ago I was shouting at her about how I’m Ace fucking Anderson and therefore deserving of all the blow jobs I want. But even though a part of me feels like I’m taking advantage of her generosity and patience, the sensations she’s causing are too amazing and there’s no way I’m stopping her now.

  “I want you to know that I’m officially agreeing to this under protest, since I’m the one who was an ass and therefore should be pleasuring you.”

  “Noted,” she says with a giggle. “Next time.”

  “Damn right.” And the prospect of being in her bed again is more exciting than a hundred other girls on their knees.

  She licks a wet trail up my shaft until she reaches the tip and then tongues a circle around the swollen head. She moans, the sound traveling like warm rays of sunshine along my thick length. My hips begin to move and my hands tangle in her hair. It’s silky as I thread it between my fingers before fisting it tight.

  Bryant startles at the sudden roughness. She peers up at me with big eyes, her sexy lips still wrapped around my cock.

  “I’m close,” I warn her.

  She releases me, laughter dancing across her face. “Already?”

  “I was on the edge before I even got here,” I admit.

  Smiling again, she resumes her gentle assault. She licks and sucks, one hand pumping while the other squeezes my tight sac. It’s fucking incredible. The base of my spine heats and tingles. I clench my ass cheeks, trying to last longer, but it’s a futile effort. The climax starts in my balls and then boils over. I grunt in pleasure, and Bryant lifts her head and jacks me off while hot jets spill all over my abs.

  I’m still gasping for air even as my body settles.

  “Do you feel better?” Bryant asks with a barely restrained grin. She reaches for the box on the night table and pulls out two tissues.

  “Yeah. And you’re right. Your mouth on me is better medicine than anything in the world.” Better than anything or anyone else in the world, that’s for damn sure.

  “Of course I’m right.”

  As I lie there collecting my breath, she cleans me up with an efficient hand, then plants a kiss on the center of my stomach and pops to her feet.

  “There. As clean as a baby’s bottom,” she chirps.

  I start to laugh. “Did you just compare my cum-covered stomach to a baby’s ass?”

  She jabs a finger in the air. “Language! Bless your heart, JR, but we really need to clean up your vocabulary.”

  “Which word didn’t you like? Ass or cum?”

  “Both!” She looks like she’s choking down laughter. “You’re testing my patience, sugar.”

  Having regained my motor functions, I rise from the bed, adjust my pants, and zip up. “I should go,” I say reluctantly. “I still need to come up with a way to sneak back into the hotel without your dad or one of the assistant coaches catching me.”

  Bryant looks thoughtful. “Not that I am in any way condoning your disobedience, but…” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Service elevator.”

  I arch a brow.

  “That’s what the boys use when they’re trying to avoid detection. Daddy doesn’t have anyone watching the service elevators.”

  But he has people watching the regular elevators? Shit. Coach Johnson doesn’t fuck around.

  “It’s a fifty-fifty shot, though,” she adds. “Sometimes, even if you get back undetected, Daddy still figures it out. He says he has a sixth sense about that stuff.”

  “If he spanks me, will you rub lotion all over my butt afterward to ease the sting?”

  Bryant floats over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Of course.” Then she swats said butt. “Now go. If Sadie—”

  “How many times have I got to tell you, baby?” I interrupt with a grin. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Sadie.”

  “Oh, JR. You are incorrigible.” But she’s laughing even as she ushers me back to the window and practically pushes me out of it.

  14

  Ace

  Renegades 3-0

  My play sucked. We win, but only because my teammates bailed me out the entire game. I fumbled the ball, and Samson recovered it. I threw an interception, and Julio tackled the cornerback and stripped the ball from him. I lost track of the play clock twice in the second quarter, suffering delay of game penalties both times.

  I don’t know who was more surprised that Coach didn’t bench me—me or my teammates.

  “I sucked big time,” I announce to the locker room after the game ends. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Ty slaps me on the back. “Don’t sweat it. We all have bad games.”

  But he’s the only one who talks to me. The rest of the guys avoid my eyes as if my bad play is contagious. I don’t press anyone with questions about tonight’s plans. I don’t want to spend time with myself, so I don’t blame my team for not volunteering where everyone plans to drink tonight.

  Coach Briggs, the quarterback coach, stops by my locker. “Ace, Coach Johnson wants to see you.”

  I search Briggs’ wrinkled face for any hint of what is in store for me. “Am I getting benched?”

  “No, son.” Briggs shakes his head, his jowled cheeks swinging with the motion. “It’s nothing like that. Like Masters said, everyone has a bad game now and then. You le
t this game go.”

  Easier said than done. “Do I need to go in now or can I shower?”

  “Go ahead and shower. I’ll email you the tape of the game.”

  Oh joy. I swallow hard and then stand and strip. In the communal shower, Travarius is soaping his underarms while humming Ghost Town DJ’s “My Boo.”

  “You do the running man in here, and you’re likely to fall on your ass,” Ty jokes.

  Travarius does a little shuffle with his feet, his shower shoes slapping against the tile. “Nah, man, I got perfect balance. Didn’t you see me tiptoe down the sidelines today? I was like a fucking prima ballerina.” He gets on his tiptoes and does a shaky pirouette.

  Masters brushes by me, pausing to squirt some soap from the wall dispensers into his hand. “I don’t know about the ballerina shit, but you act like a fucking prima donna.”

  “You’re just jealous because I got moves.” Travarius does another shower boogie.

  His dance moves shouldn’t be seen outside of the locker room, but I’m not in a position to joke with Travails so I keep my trap shut. The sideline interception he made was one that brought us back into the game after another series of downs that ended in a punt.

  “Ones you’re embarrassed to show outside the locker room.” Master smirks.

  I jerk my gaze to Ty, wondering if he read my mind. But he’s not looking at me. His eyes are closed and his head is tipped back as he washes the shampoo out of his hair.

  The time to make nice with my team isn’t after this dismal near loss. They’re probably all wishing for a different quarterback. I finish showering quickly. Back in the locker room, I hastily throw on my T-shirt, dress pants and shirt. The suit coat and tie are unnecessary after a home game.

  After running a towel through my hair, I walk to Coach Johnson’s office.

  “Come on in, son.”

  He’s smiling, which makes the lead in my gut lighten a bit.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yup, have a seat.” He points to one of the two black leather sofas that face each other in front of the massive wooden desk. Coach’s office is large enough to fit the entire team. He’s got chairs in front of his desk, two big sofas and a built-in bookcase spanning the length of one wall. The shelves are filled with coaching biographies, a few trophies and a shit-ton of pictures of Bryant, some other blonde, and Coach’s wife.

  I settle lightly on the edge of the sofa facing the door while Coach takes up a position across from me. He flips open a box on the table between us and tips it toward me. A neat row of cigars is nestled inside a dark red velvet lining. Two are missing. Bryant said her dad liked to smoke one after each win. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “My girls don’t like that I smoke, so I can’t do it at home.” He selects one, rolls it between his fingers, then pulls out a cutter and chops the end off. I wait while he lights the thing and takes two puffs. We both watch as a stream of smoke wends into the air between us. “It’s a bad habit. You’ve got a bad habit, too, you know.”

  I brace myself for an onslaught of criticism. “I know I could’ve played better.”

  “It’s not your play, son. It’s that you don’t trust your team. Your receivers had an early case of the dropsies out there, and you stopped looking for your options downfield. The defense figured that out and started rushing you hard. No passing game means no good running game. All that pressure got to your head.”

  “That’s fair.” I hadn’t realized I was doing it, but damn if he wasn’t right. “I’ll do better next time.”

  His lips curve up around the cigar. “That’s your best trait, Ace. You look forward. I like that about you. It’ll serve you well when you’re done here.”

  “Is that all?” I try not to sound too hopeful.

  “No, it’s not.” Coach takes another long drag as I beat back the disappointment. “While Kittredge and Bettman were busy dropping balls, you were wound tight from the start. I don’t know if we didn’t prep you well enough, whether you have some family issues, or whether you didn’t have a good night because you got in late.”

  My poker face isn’t good enough to hide my surprise. He knows about my dad and that I violated curfew? “What gave me away?” I ask. I can’t imagine Bryant would’ve snitched.

  “Son, I know everything about this team. A good coach does.” He taps a little ash off into a small glass tray. “I know Bettman wants to propose to his girlfriend but is scared she might say no. I know Travarius can’t keep his fingers from typing out dumb tweets, no matter how many times we remind him that he’s providing locker room fodder for the opposing teams. I know Masters hopes he’s drafted in the top three so he can match his brother.”

  Johnson takes another long drag before leveling a stern gaze at me. “I know that your daddy had drinks with Bubba Wasserly, a man who’d sell his son for the Renegades to have a winning season.” He shakes his head over this. “And that you spent a little too much time out and about before game day.”

  I can feel the heat creep up my neck. “It won’t happen again. The curfew thing,” I clarify. “As for my dad, I can promise you he won’t be a problem.”

  Coach rolls the cigar between his fingers. “You can’t make promises for things outside your control. Your daddy’s not your responsibility. You are your only responsibility. So I’m going to trust that you’ll protect yourself and this team by making the right decisions. As for the curfew, you break that rule again, and I’ll bench you. We clear, son?”

  “Clear, sir.” At least we’re not talking about his daughter and what I was doing with her that made me late. I’m not ashamed that I’m sleeping with her, but I would never be comfortable having that be a topic of conversation between her dad and me.

  He sets his cigar down and leans over to offer me his hand. A little surprised, I take it.

  “I’m glad to have you on my team, Ace. I hope you know that.”

  I shake his hand firmly and get to my feet. “Thank you. I’m happy to be here.”

  Back in the locker room, only a couple of trainers and equipment guys are present, cleaning up after everyone. I greet them, say thanks, then grab my gym bag and leave.

  I find myself looking for Bryant’s blonde curls, but when I don’t see her anywhere, irritation sets in. Why didn’t she wait for me? I drag my phone from my pocket and call her. She answers rather than letting it go to voicemail, which is probably what I would’ve done.

  “Hey, Ace, what’s up?”

  “Where are you?” I ask impatiently.

  “I’m sorry, sugar. I had to rush home to help my sisters make Rice Krispies treats. A couple of them got last minute invites to the Zetas for date night. These desserts have to be delivered tonight or the folks at the Meals on Wheels will be missing out. I meant to text you.” There’s a pause and she comes back with a breathless, apologetic laugh. “Shoot. It looks like I sent the dang text to Momma. I’m so sorry.”

  Of course she’s making snacks for senior citizens. I tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear while I fumble for my truck keys. “It’s no big deal. I don’t think I’m up for anything tonight.”

  “Okay, sugar.”

  I throw my gym bag across to the passenger seat before climbing in behind the wheel. “I’m in a bad mood, and I don’t want to take it out on you.”

  “I understand.”

  I lean my head against the steering wheel. The only thing that’s going to make me feel good tonight is to lose myself in Bryant’s curves. But it’d be wrong. You can’t use people to make yourself feel better. She deserves better than that.

  “Ace, sugar,” she says softly, “after I’m done making all these bars, my hands are going to be so sore from mixing and patting and cutting. It’d be nice if someone were to give me a vigorous hand massage.”

  A smile cracks across my face for the first time since…well, the last time I saw her. “A vigorous one, huh?”

  “Yeah, and if the massage extended to ot
her places on my body, such as my arms, back, legs, and feet, that’d be okay as well.”

  “Good thing you have a boyfriend who’s willing to make these kinds of sacrifices for you.” Boyfriend? Christ, am I really thinking of myself as her boyfriend now? What has this woman done to me?

  “I was just thinking that myself. Also, I’m curious about what’s going on with those Stranger Things kids. Maybe we could watch a few episodes?”

  “I think I could swing that.”

  “Perfect. I’ve got to run now. These marshmallows aren’t going to melt themselves. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  “Great.”

  She hangs up before I can say anything else, which is a good thing. Another minute on the phone with her, and I’d be admitting an uncomfortable truth. I’ve never loved anything more than football, but the prospect of ending this shitty day with Bryant is more appealing than playing my next game.

  15

  Bryant

  Renegades 5-0

  I miss the next two road games because of sorority obligations, which displeases my father. He likes having me around on game day to smooth out any of our boosters’ ruffled feathers, but although Daddy’s word is the end all and be all when it comes to football, Momma’s word overrides his in our household. And Momma would have a litter of kittens if I chose football over the sisterhood.

  But I fretted over Ace. He sulked all week, and I figured that he needed to nurse his wounds on his own. I did send some baked treats his way, which he thanked me for nicely with a phone call.

  “I’m sorry,” he’d apologized. “I just really want to focus on winning this week. You’re a distraction, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

  “I get it, sugar. You take care of yourself and call me when you get back, okay?”

  “I will. I…I’ll miss you,” he’d said, sounding adorably awkward at expressing such a sentiment. We’d made plans to get together when he returned from the second away game.