Play Me

by Alla Kar

  A loud roar fills the room. Everyone files out of the locker room and onto the practice field.

  The warm Arkansas air hits my face sending the smell of freshly cut grass against me. There isn’t one smell in the world that I love more than a freshly cut football field. Whether I’m tackled to the grass or I’m running full speed down the field it makes me feel alive. It’s the one place I belong.

  We line up in our stretch lines and follow as coach blows his whistle for each switch. Scouts are coming to our first game, and I’m fucking nervous. Sure they’ve been here before and watched me play but now I’m a senior. Now it’s time to show them what I’ve got. The last I heard, Coach Turner told me the St. Louis Rams, Miami Dolphins and the Buccaneers are coming. I’m pumped and fucking ready. I don’t think I could be any more ready.

  A loud thud catches my attention and I glance over to the sidelines. Roxy and the other trainers are picking up a fallen ice bucket from the ground. Roxy bends over, the fabric of her pants pulling tight against her ass. Blake was right … it is nice. Round. Plump. Her hips are nice too, not to wide not to slender, enough room to grab a hold of them and pull her back against–

  “Get into special teams!” Coach Turner yells.

  Fuck.

  We take the field in our special teams and get into position. Crouching, I scan the row of offensive players in front of me. Quite a few of them are freshman. I can see the determination in some of their eyes. The same determination that got me where I am today.

  “38 blast. Time to shine, Wes. Time to shine, hut,” Jason yells out. My eyes meet his and I nod.

  Players explode around me, everyone running to their positions. I run to the B Gap on the right side. Throwing my shoulder in front of me, I break one tackle, pushing through him and running as fast as I can. My breath is heavy, my eyes focused. I was made for this. I am football.

  Pushing through the second tackle, the freshman grabs onto my left leg while two other players knock me to the ground. I watch as the field becomes the sky, as I roll onto the field. A sharp pain shoots through my upper leg, scorching a searing ache deep down.

  “Take a knee! Take a knee!” I hear Coach Turner screaming, but I’m hurting too fucking bad to look. Jesus Christ this isn’t happening. Nope, not freaking happening. I’m dreaming. No, I’m having the worse nightmare of my entire life. Yes, a nightmare. That has to be it. I cannot be hurt. Not when I need to practice for the first game.

  “Weston! Wes, can you move?” Turner or Perry? Fuck, I can’t even tell. Open your eyes, dumbass. Opening one eye, I stare up at my position coach. A line of worry is creasing his face. He’s nervous. A bead of sweat drips from his forehead onto the field. “Can you move, son?”

  Can I? I haven’t tried. “I’m fine,” I lie. Trying to move, another ache shoots up my thigh. “Fuck!” I scream.

  “Jesus Christ, dismiss practice. We have to get this taken care of, Perry.” I hear Perry talking to other players and chewing them out. Probably the freshman asshole that thought he was going to tackle me, which he did but look at me. I’m hurt. The pain is burning my thigh. Stupid freshman always trying to look badass. A player moves in front of me and pulls off his helmet. Dom’s eyes widen. “Dude, are you okay?”

  I shake my head instead of answering.

  A few seconds later, both coaches grab me by the arms and carry me like a baby between the both of them. This is ridiculous. I do not get hurt. Ever. I’ve only ever hurt myself once when I sprained my ankle. And that was because a big girl sat on it at recess in fifth grade. Clearly not my fault. But I guess it doesn’t fucking matter who’s fault it is because I’m hurt either way.

  They hurry me into the training room and put me on a table in the middle. “Get one of the trainers in here now!” Turner yells. “You’re going to be okay, Wes.” He pats my head with his huge hand and nods. It’s not a very reassuring nod but I’ll take it over nothing.

  The door swings open and Roxy walks in. Her eyes land on me and she frowns. “Maybe someone else would be more equipped for this job?”

  Perry jerks his head toward her. “You’re a physical therapist in training, right?”

  Biting her lip, she nods.

  “You work for us as an athletic trainer, right?”

  Another nod.

  “Then get your ass over there and check him out before I fire you!” Perry yells at her.

  She grinds her teeth together and I hear it from the opposite side of the room. I wish she’d stop being such a bitch. I don’t want her to be my trainer any more than she does. She drives me crazy.

  Walking over, she shoos Perry out of the way. “Where is it hurting?” she asks, holding her hands out like she doesn’t want to touch me. Ditto, sweetheart.

  “My fucking thigh, where do you think?”

  Her green eyes widen and she gnaws harder on her lip. “Where on your thigh?”

  I point. Reaching out, she grabs it and presses her fingers down in the middle. “Here?”

  “Higher.”

  She moves her fingers upward and presses down. “Fuck! Stop!” I slap her hand away and she takes a step back.

  “I can’t help you if you slap my hand away, Weston.” She clenches her fists at her side. It’s killing her to not say anything.

  “Well don’t fucking hurt me and I won’t have to,” I snap. I know this isn’t her fault but I can’t help it. “Just fix me.”

  A soft sigh comes from her lips and she brushes a piece of hair from her face. “It’s not that simple. It looks like you’ve pulled your quadriceps … badly. It may take a few weeks or even a month to –,”

  “No! Fix it!” I yell. “I don’t have that long. I have a week tops!”

  Coach Perry sighs. “Are you sure, Rachel?”

  “My name is Roxy, and yes, I’m sure.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ll need help. It’s going to hurt you to walk for the first week. You’ll need crutches. Then you’ll need to keep off of it until it heals.”

  Coach Turner sighs and rests his hands on the table beside my body. My broken body. Goddamn it. Why? Why now? “Fix it.”

  Rolling her eyes, she shrugs. “I can’t. You’ll need someone to help you stretch and rub it every day. You’ll need help getting to classes. You’re going to need rehab for this. I’m sorry –,”

  “You’re not sorry!” I toss my hands in the air. “You don’t fucking give a shit! This is my life! My entire life!” God I know this isn’t her fault but the words just flow freely.

  Anger swarms her face. Both of her fists clench at her sides. Turning, she grabs a bucket from the counter and tosses the ice water on top of my head.

  What. The. Fuck.

  The water is freezing and drenches my practice jersey, sliding it against my skin. She did not just do that. No, she didn’t. Couldn’t have. This is just someone fucking with me, right? Am I high right now? Someone drugged me.

  My mouth is agape watching her watch me through narrowed eyes. Her breaths coming faster. She’s pissed. We stare each other down. Her green eyes burning a hole into me.

  “Wow!” Coach Turner yells, backing away from the water on the floor, breaking our stare down. “Out. Now! Go to the training room.” He looks at Perry with a help me expression then follows Roxy out of the door.

  “Weston,” Turner says. “Calm down. We’ll get you worked on and ready in a few games. These kinds of things happen. You’ll get better. Have I ever lied to you?”

  “No, sir,” I say, trying to stay calm. But my shirt is soaked and I’m mad. Fucking mad. Who does she think she is dumping water on me? Me?

  The door creaks open and Coach Turner walks in guiding Roxy back to the table. “Do it.”

  She shakes her head slightly.

  “Do you want your job?”

  A frown pulls from the corner of her lip and she nods. “I’m sorry, Weston.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I take her in. She’s biting the inside of her mouth to hold her tongue. This isn’t a re
al apology. I’m not stupid. For Coach’s sake I nod. “Okay.”

  Before anyone says a word she starts toward the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” Coach Turner says.

  She turns around and places her hands on her hips. “Home.”

  Coach Turner stands straight up. “No, you’re helping him with rehab. Every day. Work out your schedules together and find time. When y’all are done come to my office.”

  Coach Perry slaps my back and follows Turner out of the training room. I blink. Twice. Three times. Is he for real? He did not just stick me with the woman that drives me insane and poured ice water on my head.

  “Just fuckin’ fabulous,” she says, turning to me. Stepping toward me, she points her finger in my face. “Just great.”

  Grabbing the edges of the table, I push myself up, so I’m closer to her face. “Don’t start with me. Do you hear me? This already sucks and now I have to deal with your obnoxious ass.”

  A small smile rises from the corner of her full mouth, drawing my attention to her lips. “And I thought you liked me.” She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t any better for me, Weston. I have … “she trails off.

  “You have what? A life? I hardly believe that.”

  Her cheeks turn bright red but she doesn’t break our gaze. “What’s your schedule?”

  Sitting back, I cringe as another pain shoots up my thigh. “Shit!”

  “Are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward. Her small fingers rest on my upper thigh as she digs her thumbs into the muscle. “Feel better?”

  Does it? Fuck that feels good. Scooting down more onto the table, I lay my head backwards. A low growl leaves my throat as she presses harder. Looking over at her, I notice her entire face is red. She’s embarrassed. Oh, this is going to be fun.

  “A little higher,” I say.

  She moves her fingers upward about half an inch. “Higher.”

  She hesitates but then she moves up higher. Her hand is so close to my dick right now. “Higher–,”

  She pushes me hard in the shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” she says.

  Rising up on my elbow, I give her my bedroom smile. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.” I sit all the way up. “Let’s get this fucking schedule worked out so I can go home.”

  ***

  Coach gives me a pair of crutches from the weight room and advises me to use the elevators at my apartment building. I hate being handicapped. I have too much testosterone for this. I need to go have amazing sex with some freshman girls. Or go have a drink with my team.

  Groaning, I wobble my way toward my truck. Thank God I didn’t get the standard Dom tried to get me to buy. A loud thud draws my attention to the front parking lot.

  Of course. Roxy’s hands are curled around the top of her car and she’s kicking her tire. It’s actually amusing. Her cheeks turn red, her face scrunches up too. My hands curl around my truck keys. I want to go. Just get in my truck and leave. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been a dick. Now she’s throwing rocks at it.

  Shit. Just walk away Weston, she threw ice on you. More rocks. Goddamn. Bending my knees, I close my eyes. I can’t leave her. Fixing my crutches, I wobble over toward her old green Honda Civic.

  “Hey, do you need a ride?”

  Rocks fall from her fists and she turns toward me. “Really?”

  Sighing, I shift my weight and shrug one shoulder. “Yes. I’m a dick but I’m not that big of a dick. Come on and I’ll give you a ride.”

  She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. If she wasn’t so damn annoying it’d be hot as hell. Is she really having to consider taking my ride? “I just threw ice on you.”

  “Yes, but you getting raped and killed out here by yourself is a wee too big of a payback for the ice.”

  She kicks a couple of rocks.

  “I’m not going to bite you,” I say, leaning closer to her. “Unless you ask me.”

  Her green eyes narrow. “Okay. Straight home.”

  “What? No drive out to make-out point for my heroism? Roxy, I’m ashamed of your lack of southern hospitality.”

  She rolls her eyes, pushes past me but stops half-way toward my truck. “Do you want me to dive? I mean …” her eyes drift down to my thigh.

  Tossing my head backwards, I bark out a laugh. “No one drives my truck, sweetheart. No one. Ever. No one but me.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Really? Even in a situation like this? Where it’s going to kill you to use your leg?”

  “Really. You’re not driving my truck. Now get in the passenger seat before I come to my senses and leave your little ass here.”

  Grinding her teeth, she turns on her heel and marches the rest of the way toward my truck. She’s crazy if she thinks I’m letting her crazy ass drive my truck after she tossed ice water on me.

  Roxy slides into the passenger seat while I try to get my crutches into the back. After five minutes of shoving, I slam the back door. Those are going to get really old, really fast.

  She’s resting her elbow on the console while holding her chin in her hand. An eyebrow is lifted and a small smile is on her face. She’s laughing at me. “Is something funny, Roxy?” I ask, pulling myself into the driver’s seat.

  “Nothing at all.”

  Humph. Starting the truck, I turn the lights on. “Where to?”

  She points down the farmer’s road. “I don’t live on campus. Take the farmer’s road. I’ll show you.”

  Pulling out of the parking lot, I pray no one sees us. I have too many friends with benefits and seeing me driving a girl around is not good for business. “Could you like duck down or something? I can’t let you ruin my reputation.”

  A loud snort erupts from her throat, and she whips her head around to stare at me. “Hell no. You offered to give me a ride; you didn’t say anything about me having to hide. So, drive caveman.”

  I should have known. “Okay, maybe just pull your hair down.” I reach over to grab her ponytail holder and notice a scar running underneath her chin. How did she get that? It’s long and jagged. She sees me staring and pulls her hair down before I can get a better look.

  “Where did you get that scar?”

  “None of your business.”

  Damn, she told me. “Come on now, Roxy. I believe our relationship has come a long way in the last couple of days. First you interrupt my pleasure time at the party, which I forgive you for. Then I buy your Snickers bar at the store which you repay me by throwing ice over my head today. And then I even offer you a ride home. And you won’t answer my questions? What a wonderful payment. I believe a real apology is in order this time around.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “Can I get a hell no? The apology you got in the training room is the only apology you will ever get from me, Weston. You can go ahead and let that fantasy float from that overstrained head of yours.”

  A smile forms on my face before I can stop it. “Oh, I have fantasies about you, stalker, but apologizin’ isn’t in one of them.”

  With red cheeks, she narrows her eyes at me. “Stop callin’ me stalker.” I grin. “Are you always so obnoxious?”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  I hold my palm out. “Then that’s your answer.”

  We ride in silence for a few minutes, and I check her out with a sideways glance. She’s stiff as a board, her hands latched around her thighs. If she doesn’t stop breathing hard I’m going to need to adjust myself. Why do the hot ones have to be crazy?

  “Up here,” she says, pointing toward the left. “Duplex 6,” she says. I pull into a small duplex about six miles from the school. The eight apartments are in a semi-circle. There’s a dead tree in the middle with a small concrete wall surrounding it.

  Duplex 6 has a small welcome mat and a potted plant sitting by the door. “Well,” Roxy says as she grabs the doorknob. “I wish I could say this was fun, but …” she shrugs and wrinkles her nose.

  Rolling my eyes, I lean back against my seat. �
��Hmm. And I was beginning to think you really liked me.”

  “Right,” she says opening the door and stepping out. With one hand on the door she turns to look at me, but not before she rolls her eyes at me. “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Leaning forward, I give her a wink. “Can’t wait.”

  She scoffs. I watch her walk toward her apartment when the blinds flicker down and then slap closed. Boyfriend? Roommate?

  I put my truck into reverse and start toward my apartment. Does she have a boyfriend? I scoff.

  “Poor guy.”

  Chapter Four

  Roxy

  “Weston Garrison.”

  A spray of Coke spews out from Erica’s mouth while her hand flies out to knock what’s left of her Coke onto our café table.

  I jump back, sliding my chair across the tile of Java City’s floor. “Gross, Erica.”

  “Weston Garrison? Did I hear you correctly?” Erica wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve and peers at me over her hipster glasses while trying to clean up the Coke about to run over the edge.

  “Yes, you heard me correctly. And don’t get your hopes all up. He isn’t exactly how you pictured him.”

  Scooping up the drenched napkins, Erica furrows her brow. “Fucking hot?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “No, an ass.”

  “Oh ass bass. Who cares? He’s smokin’ hot and you get to caress those big muscles every day. I think I just became your frenemy.”

  Biting on my straw, I shake my head. “He is the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, Erica.”

  She rolls her eyes, then stands up to throw the napkins in a nearby trashcan. A guy with a bullish nose ring whistles at Erica when she bends over and she flips him off. I hide my smirk as she tilts her chin and walks back to our table. She’s a little thing and a firecracker at that. She’s been my friend since I transferred here two years ago. When I had no friends, no job and hardly any money. She took me under her wing and helped me get on my feet. More than anyone else has ever done. “So,” she says, sitting back down. She pulls her beanie off and braids her long blonde hair to the side before putting her beanie back on. “Why is Weston Garrison the biggest almightiest ass again?”