by ME Carter
Those things are mine and mine alone.
She started as a groupie, but now she’s my WAG.
Because she’s worth it.
THE END
Do you want an update on what happens between Santos and Mariana?
Their story is coming!
Goalie… coming 2017!
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Goalie
Copyright © 2016 by M.E. Carter
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
There she is.
Looking at her, I can hardly breathe. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous, actually. Long dark hair. Long shapely legs. Killer rack.
Much more glam than my mom bod. I shouldn’t be so critical of myself. I’ve had three kids in the last five years and Theo is only a few months old. It’s hard looking at her, knowing I’ll never be that beautiful again. Is this why my husband strayed?
No, I think to myself. I don’t know that for sure. Maybe he really just is tying one on with the guys like he says.
But I’ve heard the talk. I know the rumors. And she has the answers I need. I just have to have the courage to ask for them.
Ringing my hands together, I take a deep breath and approach her.
“Hi.”
Tiffany looks up at me with surprise. Usually the only one to talk to her during the games is Quincy, the team captain’s girlfriend. Everyone else steers clear, partly because Tiffany is a groupie - well, former groupie anyway. Now that she and Rowen Flanigan are together she’s officially become a WAG, which stands for wives and girlfriends.
People also don’t talk to her because apparently she’s a former soccer player herself. She doesn’t treat games like social events. Instead, she watches the games really closely and ignores everything going on around her, so I know she’s surprised that I’m talking to her.
“Mind if I sit down?”
She looks around like she’s confused. “Um, yeah. Ok.” She takes her feet off the chair in front of her and sits up straighter.
We sit in awkward silence for a while. She’s had a rough go of it lately, what with Rowen having a meltdown on the field leading to a suspension and a nudie pic scandal she was the center of. Compared to how she normally looks, she looks like shit. Which is still better than ninety-nine percent of the population.
I know she feels self-conscious about who has and hasn’t seen the picture that was blasted all over the internet, but I have questions and she’s the only one with the answers, so leaving her alone isn’t an option. Still, I’m not sure how to ask them. Not sure I really want to ask them, if I’m being honest with myself. And I certainly don’t want to end up in a fistfight like she and Jessica Funderling did that one time.
Yeah, she’s had a really rough time lately.
I have to know, though. I have decisions to make. And if my worst fear is true, I’m running out of time to follow through. I have to do this now.
“I have questions for you.” I turn to look at Tiffany, who visibly cringes. “I don’t want to fight with you or anything. I just need information. Honest information.”
“I’ll be as honest as I can,” she says quietly. “I owe you that.” She snorts a sardonic laugh. “Actually, I owe you so much more than that.”
She takes her own deep breath and looks at me. “What do you want to know?”
This is it. It’s now or never. I need answers for my own sanity. I don’t want to know, but I need to.
I make eye contact with her and throw it all out there, no matter what the cost. “Have you slept with my husband.” I don’t ask her. It’s more like a challenge.
She doesn’t look away, just holds my stare. Then she responds in the way I was praying she wouldn’t, but knew she would. She nods. “Yes,” she says quietly, her eyes getting glossy.
I, however, shut my emotions off completely. This is a fact gathering conversation. I can break later.
“How many times.”
“I don’t know.” A single tear slides down her cheek.
“Were you the only one?”
She wipes away the tear with the sleeve of her Texas Mutiny hoodie. “I don’t know. I assume not, but I wasn’t paying that much attention. I was so focused on myself, I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else.”
I turn back to watch the game, my eyes catching on my husband as he stands in the net, bright yellow jersey and matching gloves. He prides himself on being one of the best goalies in the league. He rarely lets a shot through. He defends that net with a vengeance.
It’s ironic he never protected our family the way he protects that damn net.
“I’m so sorry,” Tiffany says quietly. “I was so selfish and stupid. I could pretend no one was getting hurt because I was so far removed from the families. But I see it now, Mariana. I understand and I’m just so ashamed.” She turns completely towards me and is talking so fast, tears streaming down her face. “I know that doesn’t make up for anything, it never will. But you need to know, I need to tell you how so, so sorry I am. And how it will never, ever happen again.”
I just look at her blankly as I get my thoughts in order. I have so many. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m relieved to finally have answers. I’m frustrated. I’m scared. More than anything, though, I have to make sure before I make these decisions. I have to make absolutely, one hundred percent sure she is telling me the truth.
“Prove it.”
“What?” Her brows furrow in confusion.
“I can’t base the rest of my marriage, if there even is one anymore, on what one person says. If I confront him, he’s going to deny it. And I will have no proof except your word. Around here, your word isn’t worth much.” She flinches, but I feel no sympathy. She knows what I’m saying is true. “I need proof that you really did have an affair with my husband. I need solid evidence so when he tells me I’m off my rocker, I can show him exactly how I know he’s lying to me. My entire life is about to change, and I can’t do that without proof. So prove it.”
She closes her eyes and licks her lips, steeling herself for whatever she’s about to tell me. “He um… when he’s about to, uh, finish… he hums.”
My heart drops. I know in that moment, without any doubt at all, it’s true. My husband has been unfaithful to me. I hear a whooshing sound in my ears as my brain tries to catch up. Ten years we’ve been married. Together almost thirteen. Part of my entire college life and all of the years since have been wrapped around this man and his career.
As my senses start to come back to me, the sound of Tiffany’s voice starts to register. “It never meant anything. The parties, they used to get really crazy. Lots of booze, lots of testosterone. It was really easy to fall into it without a second thought. It didn’t mean anything. I know he loves you.”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand in front of her and she immediately stops talking. “It doesn’t matter if it meant anything or not. It still happened.” I look at her and for the first time, it registers how distraught she is. Which is funny because she’s the other woman. As angry as I am at her, I’m glad she feels guilt. I’m glad she is crying over this. She should be crying over this. Women are supposed to stick together, and all that shit, right?
I think back to the nudie pics of her that were blasted all over the internet recently and real
ize, she’s not acting. She’s not trying to save face. She really does feel remorseful. She learned a hard, hard lesson about how your actions can have unintended consequences. My confronting her is another one of those moments for her. And dammit, if that doesn’t make me feel just a tiny bit of compassion for her.
“Look,” I finally say. “I’m going back and forth between hating your guts and wanting to hug you because I can see that you get it. You really understand what you’ve done.”
She nods again and wipes more tears.
“What you did to me, to my family, to any other wives you did it to, it’s despicable.” I can feel myself getting riled up again, so I take a deep breath to calm down. “But you didn’t stand up before God and my family and vow to stay faithful to me. Santos did. He’s the one who broke that promise, not you. And as much as it pains me to say it, I forgive you. Not at this exact moment. It might be a few weeks, but I will forgive you because I know you’ve learned your lesson. So I think it might be time to forgive yourself, too.”
A sob escapes her throat and she reaches to hug me. I hesitate, but ultimately put my arms around her, not in forgiveness, but in thanks for being truthful. I pull away and look her in the eyes.
“That being said, we will never be friends. Ever. In fact, I hope I never see you again. If we do end up in the same place, please do me the respect of staying far, far away from me.”
“Absolutely. I can respect that. You deserve that distance.”
I stand up and start to walk away, but realize I have one last thing to say. “For the record, I don’t care what you’ve done. You didn’t deserve what Mack did to you. I hope you’ll find a way to use all of this mess to help other people know how to be better than you have been.”
She sucks in a breath, like I slapped her. I guess I kind of did. I’m not proud of being such a bitch. I pride myself on my kindness to people, but I don’t have to be nice right now. I’m pretty sure she knows that.
Turning, I walk through the box one last time, grabbing my purse and ignoring anyone who tries to make eye contact with me. As the door shuts behind me, I pull my phone out and press the speed dial button on the home screen.
After two rings, she answers.
“Mama,” I say, tears finally falling. “Can the kids and I come stay with you for a while?”
“Mmmmmmm…..” I begin to hum. I squeeze my eyes shut, shifting my body weight on my knees, and grab her hips tighter. I feel myself getting close to the orgasm I’m chasing.
Suddenly the door flies open, breaking me of my rhythm.
“What the fuck, man?” I yell, Darren Pumin strutting through the door.
“Sorry. I thought you were done.”
“Santos.” Sasha reaches between her legs and starts stroking her clit. “Keep going, Santos. I’m so close.”
I ignore Pumin, who walks into the closet and starts riffling around. Instead, I look down and see Sasha’s creamy, flawless ass. I slap it once, making her squeal and begin relentlessly pounding into her again.
“Hey, you want a Cuban?” Pumin yells from the closet. “I’m only bringing out a few.”
“Hang on,” I shout back. “Let me finish here first.”
I thrust a few more times and Sasha begins clenching on the inside.
“I’m coming!” she shouts and then begins screaming through her orgasm.
“Right behind you, mmmmmmm…..” Seconds later, my balls tighten up and I feel a familiar sensation as my orgasm races up my spine, exploding in the back of my brain. My hips continue with small thrusts, practically involuntarily, as I come down from the high.
“Damn, you two are loud.” Pumin is standing in the doorway of the closet, holding a few cigars.
“No one asked you to hang out for the show, dickhead,” I respond, kissing Sasha on the neck and pulling out slowly. “Thanks, baby. That was just what I needed.”
She drops down to her stomach in exhaustion while I pull the condom off and fling it in Pumin’s direction.
“Ah!” he yells. “Keep your dirty spunk away from me! And pick that condom up off my floor, asswipe.”
I pull my jeans up and leave them unbuttoned as I do what he asks. “Relax. I never leave a mess behind. I’m more of a gentleman than that.”
He scoffs. “What you were doing right there, that didn’t look very gentlemanly to me.”
“I can be a gentleman and a dirty, dirty lover at the same time.” Sasha snorts a laugh into the pillow. “See? She agrees with me.”
“He’s right,” she says with a seductive grin. “He’s always gentlemanly when he spanks my ass.”
Pumin cocks an eyebrow at Sasha. “Really. What other kinds of dirty things do you like, Sasha?”
She rolls onto her side, baring her naked body to us. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
“Here.” He hands the Cubans to me, never taking his eyes off of her, and whips his shirt over his head.
I throw the rest of my clothes on and head out the door just as Pumin leans back against the headboard, his cock already in Sasha’s mouth. I have no idea how that woman can go so many times in one night. But I’m appreciative of her efforts. There’s nothing like a spine tingling orgasm with a warm body after an intense game to take the edge off.
I’ve been the starting goalie for the Texas Mutiny for three years now. Before that, I was the backup goalie in San Diego. I loved being in California. That’s where my family is. But my wife, Mariana’s family is in San Antonio so when I was traded here, it worked better for the whole family. With three small kids, it’s good for my mother-in-law to come stay when I have long road trips.
After lighting up one of the fancy cigars, I pull my phone out of my pocket.
No texts.
Hmm. I double check and make sure I texted Mariana after the game.
Having a drink with the guys to talk shop. Be home soon. Don’t wait up. Love you.
Yep. It went through. That’s weird that she didn’t text me back. She always does. But the baby has been keeping her up at night. She’s probably just tired and asleep already.
I have serious respect for how well Mariana takes care of us. She’s an amazing mom, an amazing cook, and an amazing housekeeper. She’s been my biggest fan since college when I noticed her at an after party.
Her long, dark hair, big, brown eyes, lightly tanned skin… she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was obvious she was uncomfortable at that party. She didn’t deserve to be there. She was too good for it then and too good for it now. Her heart is truly gold and I would never subject her to some of the things that happen here. Even if I subject myself to them regularly.
I feel a twinge of guilt over the fact that I’m here, drinking, smoking, having dirty sex with a groupie, while she’s at home with the kids. But Mariana deserves to be made love to. She deserves intimacy. She doesn’t deserve to be fucked from behind like a filthy whore just so I can get a nut off to relax. I’m sure that’s terrible justification, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Truthfully, it’s the one I’ve been using for a few years now, so I’m almost numb to what I’m doing.
Almost.
“Hey man, where’d you get that smoke?” Nate Funderling asks me. I pull a spare out of my back pocket.
“Pumin had them. Sasha distracted him before he could pass them out.”
Funderling chuckles. He’s not immune to her ways, either. Sasha is a freak. There is nothing she won’t do, and no one.
“Speaking of groupies, where are Tiffany and Rowen?”
“Careful, man,” I warn. “You don’t want Rowen to hear you saying the words ‘Tiffany’ and ‘groupie’ in the same sentence anymore.”
No one saw it coming when they got together. Tiffany had been the best groupie we had for years before Rowen was moved up from the practice squad. They hit it off right away. It didn’t take long for her to quit fucking us so she could stay monogamous to Rowen. I didn’t begrudge either of them. They’re both good people
.
“I think they’re still laying low for a while. She’s still kind of shaken up. She’s not sitting in Section 100 anymore. She’s only sitting in the box during games.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “No shit? Because of that nudie pic Shivel posted? I thought for sure she’d be over it by now.”
“I guess she’s still getting harassed when she sits in the stands. They were the biggest sports story for a while there, ya know.”
“Have you talked to Shivel since it happened?”
I shake my head and take a puff on my cigar.
“He’s been cut.”
“No shit?” I say slowly. “Because of the picture? Does Rowen’s daddy have that far of a reach?” His dad, being the legendary Ryan Flanigan, a soccer god among men, is still very, very active in the sport.
Funderling lights his cigar and takes a puff before answering. “Apparently a six game suspension and being demoted to the practice squad didn’t help him keep up his skills very well. Some younger mid-fielder surprised everyone and just took off with his abilities. He’s in. Shivel’s out.”
I don’t say anything because there really isn’t anything to say. We all watched Shivel’s decline happen for about a year. He stopped practicing as hard. Started partying harder. Gained a little weight around the middle. He didn’t become an alcoholic or anything. Just let the perks of the job go to his head. It happens. If you can’t stay focused, it can all go to shit quick.
I spend the next couple of hours in a fog of cigar smoke and Jagar shots. By the time a couple of groupies get naked and start making out with each other in the middle of the room, I’m ready to call it a night. It’s fun to let my hair down, so to speak. But children get up early and if I don’t get at least one solid REM cycle, I won’t be able to function in full dad-mode.
I schedule a cab on my handy dandy taxi app and say my goodbyes. Within an hour, I’m stumbling through my house, trying to stay quiet so I don’t wake anyone up. I consider going all the way to my bedroom, but I don’t want to wake Mariana up. Plus she hates the smell of cigar smoke. I don’t want her to wake up to the odor and put her in a bad mood to start the day.