"I can't believe you drink this shit."
"The irony amuses me."
"Right. Say what you're going to say."
"She don't want you to be hurt."
"I don't need her to protect me."
"Somebody has to. You do a bad job of protecting yourself."
I glare at him. "So that's it, then? Let it go?"
"I can't tell you what to do." He sips the sickly sweet "juice" and takes on a serene, sage expression. "I see that you have before you two choices. You have many options, but only two choices. You can give up or you can try. One of those choices, you'll regret for the rest of your days. Only you know which one that is."
"How do I know?"
He tips his head back, narrows his eyes, and furrows his brows. In a gravelly voice he says, "Only what you take with you."
I glare at him. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know. Just drink the Hawaiian Punch and go to sleep, cousin. When you rise in the morning, your heart will be true, and you will know what you must do."
"Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Akele."
I stick the half-empty glass of punch in the fridge and trudge up the stairs. I shove my pants off and throw my jacket aside and sprawl on the bed.
I toss. I turn. I sleep a little, wake, dream of Ana and wake up sweaty with a hard-on the size of the Empire State Building. Even thinking about her is different. I can't close my eyes without seeing hers, so inviting and sharp and sad, her soft lips and the airy sound of her voice, the way her accent picks up when she's excited or upset.
I swore I'd never let myself feel this way again, but it's different now.
I can't stop myself. I get up and sit on the edge of the bed. My cock stands straight up against my stomach, and now I can't stop visualizing her with my eyes open either. I flop back and take myself in my hand, thinking of her. Her lips, her eyes.
A guilty feeling washes over me when I remember the feeling of her breasts in my hands. I pulled away quickly and she was wearing a bra, but they were so soft. Her skin must be like silk, warm and silky smooth. When she was lying on top of me, loose strands of hair brushed my face, tickling me.
I'm so fucking hard I can't stand it. My balls throb and tighten as I think about her. When she was on top of me, she gripped my hips with her thighs and I could feel how hot she was between her legs. She wanted me. I want her to ride me like that, rake my chest with her nails and work her hips
I grunt as I come, clenching my teeth, imagining the tightness of my fist is her body clenching around me. I want to see her come so badly, see the flush on her skin and her eyes unfocus, hear her cry out in pleasure because of me, wring my dry.
Panting, I lie on the bed, feeling drained. I certainly am. I sit up and clean up, but I still need a shower; I'm soaked with sweat. I have morning classes, then practice.
Leaning against the shower wall, I let the water scald my back and think. My mind is not made up. To be blunt, I'd hoped jerking off while thinking about Ana would get her out of my mind. I want it to be purely physical. I can be as poetic as I need to be, the truth is she's hot as fuck and even if she was a total bitch it wouldn't matter. I'd be another one of those drooling idiots ogling her while she walks around campus, trying to look down her top in class.
No, it's more than that. It's her smile and her laugh and the sadness in her eyes that cries out for someone to do something. She needs a knight.
Ah damn it, Jason.
My first two classes are a struggle. I try to keep her out of my mind, but I space out during the lectures and think about Anastasia the entire time. I know there's something wrong because I'm not thinking about her breasts or her ass. Well, not exclusively anyway.
When you think about fucking a girl, you're horny. When you're fantasizing about walking with her, it's more. Guilt creeps along behind me like a lurking creature, following me from class to class and then to practice. I told myself those feelings were dead, that I'd never let anybody get to me again. I told myself I don't want to. I'm better off alone. Better off taking care of myself.
On the field, I'm unfocused, distracted. I miss throws, fumble the ball, run out of energy too fast in wind sprints. The thought of Ana weighs me down until I sit on the bench and hold my helmet between my hands, staring at it.
"Powell!"
Coach Richter is five feet, eight inches of angry, demanding football coach. He constantly works his jaw like he's chewing on an invisible cigar and carries a clipboard like an infant, always cradled to his chest. He glares at me with the intensity of a betrayed father.
"What's wrong with you? You're off your game today, son."
"Just thinking. Distracted."
"Your academic advisor called me yesterday afternoon. She says you're in danger out of falling out of the program."
"Yeah. Bad grades. Math."
"If you sounded like you gave a shit, I'd be a little mollified. Mollified. You English majors like words like that, right? Am I getting through to you?"
"I'm listening, Coach."
"Listening and hearing aren't the same thing. What is it that's got you out of sorts, Jason?"
"Nothing."
"Girl?"
I shake my head.
"That's one of those yes-nos. You gonna get so twisted up about her that you'll put your whole life on the line? I hope she's special."
"She is."
"That was sarcasm."
"I know."
He rolls his narrow shoulders. "You're the big man on campus, Powell. Do whatever you need to do to forget this girl. There's others. They're lined up around the block pitching panties in your window. Get it out of your system and get ready to get your head in the game. We're playing the Badgers again this weekend."
"I know."
"After that performance last Saturday, I'm wondering if I should just walk out on the field and let them run the ball into the end zone until they get tired. It'd be a more effective defense than we put up. That shit you pulled with the fake pass isn't going to work every time. If you want—"
"I know."
"You're not accomplishing anything here. Get off the field and don't come back until you're ready to focus. Shower up and get lost, Powell. If this keeps up, I'm pulling you off the starting roster."
I stand up, looking through him, and slow-walk to the locker room, and shower again. Afterward I sit on the worn wooden bench in front of my locker in a towel and look through my folded hands into the floor.
Last Tuesday I wouldn't have needed that speech. I'd have been giving it. Last week I had two focal points in my life: my grades and football. There was no room for anything else. I went to the Deerhead on Saturday expecting to dance with some girl, go home, take care of myself, and keep my head in the game.
Now I don't know where my head is and it feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.
Ana
My phone bleats at me. Incoming video call.
Now what? I can't stand another salvo from Mother right now. She must be furious if she's awake this late back home, to message me in the middle of the day. I slip my phone out and sigh in relief.
It's Konstantin, my brother. I glance at the time; I have a good hour before my next class. I chew my lip; I can't talk to him with Bjorn and Thorlief following me. Damn it. The call ends, and I send him a text.
Can't talk now. Bodyguards.
Ah. I forget, it's the middle of the day there, yes?
Yes, brother.
I saw The Royal Exposé.
Apparently everyone has. What of it?
Are you seeing this man?
I sigh. Loudly. Thorlief glances at me.
I studied with him.
Is that a euphemism?
I can just picture my brother hunched over his phone, laughing at me. The image brings a smile to my lips. Konstantin has always been the dearest of brothers to me, the only true family I have. It is him I miss most of all from home. I barely speak with my other siblings; Mother did everything
she could, it always seemed, to keep us apart from one another. Perhaps she was afraid we'd gang up on her.
It is not. I studied with him last night.
You have a crush.
I do not.
Yes you do.
I do not.
I saw the paper. He was touching your boobs and you liked it.
What do you know about touching boobs?
Much. I have touched many boobs since you left, dear sister. I am a boob touching machine.
I laugh out loud, and my bodyguards give me a look. I hold the phone closer to my chest, trying and failing not to appear suspicious.
Anastasia: He did more than that, Konstantin. I don't know what's happening. I'm afraid of it.
Konstantin: Why?
I chew my lip.
Anastasia: I can't have a boyfriend. You know this.
Konstantin: Can't? Oh I am sure that you can, dearest Ana. I am sure you are beating them off with a stick.
Anastasia: I am not beating anyone off.
Konstantin: What is his name?
Anastasia: Jason Powell.
Konstantin: What is the rest of it?
Anastasia: That's it. He only has two names. I think. Maybe he has a middle name.
Konstantin: What kind of barbarian only has three names? Oh Ana, falling for a peasant, how unlike you.
Anastasia: :P
Konstantin: :P
I head into my next class.
Anastasia: Konstantin, I don't know what to do. I just want to have a boyfriend. I'm lonely. I miss home but I don't want to go back. I see all the other girls here with their boys and I just want to be like them.
Konstantin: You do?
Anastasia: I see them with their boyfriends and wonder what that feels like. To be close to someone. No one is close to me. No one is allowed to be close.
Konstantin: Sister, don't lose your head.
Anastasia: You don't know what it's like. Mother doesn't care if you carouse. I take one look at a boy that's not on her list and she wants to skin me and wear it for a cloak.
Konstantin: She can't, you're the heir. You will be queen.
Anastasia: Then I'll be like her.
Konstantin: Never, sister. Never you.
I smile.
Anastasia: Video chat later. I have class now.
Konstantin: Waiting for it, sister mine.
Jason
I'm still sitting there when the rest of the players start piling in, exhausted from rigorous practice. The mood is dour. The last game was a win, but it was a close-fought win and we had luck on our side, and a trick. If I hadn't pulled that off, we'd have a losing record for the season.
I could not care less. Ana. Ana, Ana, Ana, Ana, Anastasia.
I want to scream at myself to stop it, but it won't work. With every passing moment it becomes clearer. I raise my head and I look, like Akele told me to. I see a future where I grind out my college football career and quit the sport, no matter how many hookers the scouts pitch through my windows, as Coach likes to say. I take my newly minted degree and I suffer through coaching high school football until I can get tenure, and I live a quiet life. Maybe I get a dog.
That was my dream. Now it sounds like hell.
The other path, I don't know where it goes. I can't see past the first few steps, and I don't have to. Anastasia is standing there, and if she walks it with me, it doesn't matter where the journey takes me, the destination won't matter anymore.
Akele and Aheahe are the last two in the locker room. They sit down on either side of me, and the bench creaks dangerously, bowing in the middle from their weight. I start to rise, and Akele's meaty fist lands on my shoulder like a bag of concrete and pushes me back down.
"So, you been thinkin', man."
"I don't know what to do."
Aheahe nods. Akele says, "I can only show you the door, cousin. It's you that's got to walk through it."
A Matrix reference? Really?
"All right, Morpheus. If you don't stop with that, I'm going to walk through you."
Akele laughs. "I'd like to see you try."
So would I. My head lifts up. Somewhere, angels raise trumpets to their lips and blow. The sky clears, the storm clouds roll back, and a light blazes down from on high to show me the way.
I might not make it down that shining path, but I'm sure as hell going to try.
I throw back my arms and slap the Thunder Brothers on the shoulders. The bench creaks under our weight.
"Boys. I need your help."
"What with?" Aheahe asks.
Akele smiles his serene smile, full of wisdom. He already knows.
"We're going to rescue a princess."
Akele stands, then kneels. He glares at Aheahe until he does the same.
"You have my sword," Akele pledges. "My quarterback. My captain. My king."
"We can't do this alone. We have to call in all our favors. Let's get back to the house. We've got plans to make."
Aheahe rises. "Great! I want a calzone first."
Chapter Seven
Anastasia
On my way out of my last class of the day, my phone buzzes.
Jason: Ana. Call me.
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Please.
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Please!
Anastasia: No.
Jason: Pretty please with fish on top?
I snort. It takes effort to type no.
Jason: If you love me you'll come study with me.
Anastasia: I don't love you.
Jason: You lie.
Anastasia: I barely know you.
Jason: I'm a knight. You're a princess. We fell in love at first sight. It happens.
Anastasia: There is no such thing. It is childish.
Jason: I think it's the most mature thing in the world.
Anastasia: I can't be with you.
Jason: Can't be or don't want to?
I chew my lip and look at the phone.
Anastasia: Can't be. Let it be.
I start to put the phone away and it buzzes in my hand. Squeezing it, I shove it into my pocket and make it three steps before I pull it out again.
Jason: I'm going to save you.
The words sit there on the screen, burning at me. Cocking my head to the side, I drift to the wall and lean against it, trying to understand what he means. Save me?
"Princess?" Thorlief says. "Is someone bothering you?"
"No," I yelp.
I shove the phone in my pocket and head for the stairwell. Descending slowly, I mull over my options for the evening. Eat and study; study, eat, then study; study, then eat. Perhaps watch a movie.
I want to jog back to the house, but I end up walking. Slowly. I take a circuitous route that sends me walking down Main Street.
The broad avenue is lined by shops, cafés, bars, and restaurants. The Deerhead is at the far end, the public library and the McDonalds at the other. I walk that way, planning to cut across the street and walk the back way to my house.
I pass the Days of Knights, the game store. Stopping at the big picture window, I look down at the miniature figures on display, tiny knights and monsters arrayed for fantasy battles. Beyond them I see a young man, tall and skinny, with a petite girl in an oversized sweater, talking animatedly to each other about a book entitled The Temple of Elemental Evil.
Across the street at the cafe, the cast-iron tables are all peopled by small groups and couples. One such are sharing a single tall coffee, passing it from one to the other and sipping as they talk. Their fingers touch when one takes the cup from the other, and they smile and touch their feet under the table.
I hurry along before anyone notices I was staring, choking the strap of my messenger bag. All around me, pairs of students walk up and down the street, holding hands or embracing each other.
A young man and woman ride up the street on a tandem bicycle, one riding behind the other.
Oh please, is that really necessary?
<
br /> More couples swarm around me and my temples begin to throb as I wait for the walk signal to cross the street. Thorlief and Bjorn walk tightly behind me as I cross, eyeing the drivers as if they expect one of them to try to run me down.
I happen to glance into the car closest to the far side of the street as I pass. The couple inside are kissing while they wait for the light to change.
My pace picks up. I turn up the street to my house, and there I find a red ribbon on the ground. I stop with it between my feet and blink. At first I thought someone dropped it or discarded it, but it's taped down, and it's running up the sidewalk.
I follow it. I'm going that way anyway.
Cautiously, I follow the red path down the sidewalk, stopping again when it takes a sharp right turn. It is taped flush to the steps leading up to my front door. It leads up the door to an enormous pink cardboard heart.
"Princess, wait here," Thorlief says, nodding to Bjorn.
Thorlief goes first, carefully walking up to the door. He sniffs the heart, literally sniffs it, before lifting it from the door, pulling it free from the tape.
Crouching, he removes the lid.
He looks at me, at the box, then at me, and then closes the lid.
Do I see a hint of a smile on his lips?
"What is it?"
"Candy."
"What?"
"Chocolates."
"It's candy."
"Yes," he says.
"Give it here."
I walk up and hold out my hand.
"Princess, we don't know where—"
I yank it from his hands and snatch off the lid. There, I find a note resting on top of the candy pieces.
Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) Page 9