SNATCHED (A Sports Romance)

by Harper James

Chapter 15

  Two weeks.

  I haven’t heard from him in two weeks.

  No texts, no phone calls, no emails.

  I texted him once, but got no reply.

  I emailed him once, but got no reply.

  In fact, the only email I get regarding Finn Thorne is from Dr. Reams.

  Miss Sullivan,

  I am very disappointed to hear that you are no longer tutoring Mr. Thorne, and am particularly disappointed that I had to hear about it via his professor rather than you. This is incredible irresponsible of you— Mr. Thorne is not only of great importance to the Harton football legacy, but is also a client.

  As I have always stressed, tutoring clients are to be respected and taken seriously. Parting ways with your client without setting up a new tutor, alerting his professors, or alerting me, your advisor, is against tutoring center policy and makes me question your dedication. If there is a reasonable excuse as to why you would abandon your responsibilities so blithely, I would certainly like to hear it.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. J. Reams

  Is there an excuse?

  Well, Dr. Reams— Finn and I were having a romantic and very, very sexual relationship, often on top of math books that he’ll probably wind up selling back to the bookstore. We broke up because I was freaked out he’d cheat on me, and so that’s why I’m not tutoring him anymore. That happened, by the way, a half hour after we had sex on the fifty yard line of the football field.

  These are things I want to write back but, of course, don’t. I just ignore the email entirely.

  I’m not the cry-into-pillows-for-days type, but I am definitely the moping and junk food eating sort. I’ve plowed through a truly embarrassing amount of Twirlers and tacos from the combination Mexican/Chinese take out place down the street. My mother is annoyed with me for disappointing Dr. Reams, though I can tell she can’t bring herself to totally blame me. She hates football players, and I’m sure she thinks whatever happened must be Finn’s fault.

  Mandy feels guilty for suggesting we spy on him, but she’s one of those people who handles guilt really poorly— rather than apologizing, she’s mostly saying things like “Well, what was I supposed to think?” and “I’m not crazy for suspecting him!”. Bradley is annoying the absolute shit out of me by saying things like “Hey, buck up”, as if he’s the dad from a 1950’s TV show.

  “Hey— I just told them I’d stay here,” Mandy says when I come out of my room on Saturday, wearing yesterday’s mascara. She was supposed to go tailgating at the football game with Bradley and her friends.

  “You don’t have to. I don’t care if you go to a football game just because my ex-boyfriend is playing in it,” I say, shaking my head at her before starting to the kitchen for Lucky Charms. Lucky Charms are proof that God loves us, or in the very least, that God understands getting your heart stomped on.

  “I can watch it here,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t need to tailgate. Besides, my tailgating dress is too tight right now. Bradley’s always convincing me to go get burgers and it’s starting to show.”

  “I haven’t noticed, for what it’s worth,” I say.

  “Well, thanks,” she says, but I can tell she has, and that it’s bugging her. She’s making game-watching food, and it’s all super healthy stuff like veggies and hummus and turkey wraps. She brings all this over to the couch and sits down, looking surprised when I join her. “You’re going to watch it?”

  “Yes, but just so you know, today I’m rooting for the other team,” I say, and she grins.

  The Harton team comes out to massive fanfare, the stadium packed with screaming fans and cheerleaders and the marching band. It’s hard to believe I was lying on the fifty yard line, in Finn’s arms, just two weeks ago— but then, so many things about that night feel hard to believe in retrospect. Adams is the starting quarterback, and the announcers are already doing a crazy amount of comparison— they display his and Finn’s stats side by side, their photos, their histories, seeming to relish referring to them both as bad boys at every opportunity.

  “That guy is so gross,” Mandy says as the camera zooms in on Adams. “I have to admit, even though I was pretty mad at Finn for getting arrested and all with you around, I wasn’t too sad to see Adams’ black eye.”

  I frown. “He had a black eye?”

  Mandy grins. “My friend that works at Sephora said he came in every day for a week to have one of his fuck buddies cover it up with waterproof concealer.”

  Harton is ahead, though barely, at halftime; the station airing the game cuts to some guys talking about the game, about what Harton and the other team needed to do in the second half, about what an amazing player Adams is—

  “Honestly though, the thing is, he’s made such a name for himself off the field that I think it’s going to be hard for anyone at the NFL to want to take him on. He’s a liability,” one of the commentators says.

  “Yeah, but you know, he’s good on the field, and regardless of what happens off it, he’s a good leader. They’re in the business of winning football games—“ another begins.

  “But they’re also in the business of selling merchandise, and tickets, and broadcast rights—“

  “If anything, a squeaky wheel like Adams is going to make those things more valuable. He attracts attention, even if it’s not always the good kind,” the first announcer finishes. “Now, I think that we’re actually going to see Finn Thorne playing in the second half. With Adams probably going pro at the end of the season, they need to start giving Thorne a chance to lead this team.”

  The other commentator nods. “Absolutely. Truth is, I think Finn is the stronger player. Adams, you can tell, is playing for the crowd— he likes being the football hero. But Thorne is all about the game, always has been. The Florida scandal seems pretty well behind him now, and honestly, I can’t wait to see how this guy plays compared to Adams against the same opponent, so we can really compares apples to apples.”

  Mandy turns to me. “He’s going to play terribly, that’s how. They’re all going to play terrible! Harton’s going to lose! My sister gets her football-y revenge!”

  I laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I can’t believe I dated a football player and only saw him play live once. I feel cheated.”

  “Don’t. You see one game, you’ve seen them all. Trust me— you know how many regattas I’ve had to go to since I started dating someone on the rowing team?”

  “Three? Four?”

  “Eleven,” she says. “And they’re not even real regattas— those are in the spring. These are like…training rows. Training regattas. Or something. And he gets all emo if I don’t go.”

  The camera pans across the field via the blimp I know is hovering above it. Just as I’m about to reply, they change shots, to a close up of the seats right at the fifty on the Harton side. They’re the seats reserved for friends and family of the players— though getting them isn’t easy even if you are friends or family, since eacb player only gets a handful for the entire season. The pan across those seated, the announcers mentioning who today’s guests are— Steven Franklin’s twin sister, Reece Dawson’s girlfriend and her mother, and—

  “And that’s Finn Thorne’s father here, at today’s game. Always so nice to see a father and son bonding over the game,” the commentator says.

  My jaw drops. Finn gave his father one of the friends and family tickets? No. There’s no way.

  “You okay?” Mandy asks, frowning at me.

  “That’s Finn’s dad.”

  “I know. They just said that.”

  “No, I mean— Finn hates his dad. Like, really hates his dad. No way would he give him a ticket to the game.”

  Mandy shrugs and eats another carrot with hummus on it— probably so much hummus that it undoes any calorie-saving the carrot might have gained her. “Maybe he’s changed his mind in the last few days. Or maybe someone else gave him the ticket.”

  I give her a look. “Why would someone else give Finn’s
dad a ticket to the game?”

  “I don’t know. Why would his dad wear that shirt? It looks like something from an eighties Western bar,” Mandy says, motioning toward the television. Finn’s father was indeed wearing a rather ridiculous rhinestone shirt, with RIDE HARD emblazoned across the back.

  The camera lingers on Finn’s father a touch longer, then goes to the tunnel where the players will appear. When it happens— doors open, balloons go up, cameras flash, cheerleaders perform feats of gravity— Finn is leading the pack into the stadium, barely recognizable in all the pads and protective gear. The cameras toy around with different shots for a moment, then close in on Finn again once the team is on their sideline.

  “That’s Stewart Adams talking with Finn Thorne— maybe giving the guy some tips on the second half!” one of the commentators jokes. I make a face. Whatever Adams is saying, it’s definitely not helpful. Adams and Finn exchange a few words, then Adams points toward the stands. Finn looks where he’s pointing—

  The camera has already moved on to another player, but I can see Finn in the background— can see his body go stiff when he sees his father in the friends and family section.

  “Adams got Finn’s dad in. To psych him out,” I realize out loud.

  “Seriously? Damn. That’s cold,” Mandy says, though she looks almost impressed at the level of sabotage.

  “Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let him get to you,” I say— still out loud.

  “Are you seriously talking to your ex-boyfriend to the TV right now?” Mandy asks.

  “Shhh, I’m watching,” I say, flailing an arm at her.

  The second half begins, and Adams has found the perfect distraction. Hyper-focused Finn was now struggling, fighting to keep the team together, commanding them by virtue of their following skills rather than his own leadership skills. The Rams miss a chance to intercept the ball, and the commentators came down hard on Finn for it.

  “I have to tell you, this isn’t really what I was expecting to see. Might just be an off day, but at this level, you can’t have those,” one of them says.

  “No one asked you, dick,” I snap at the television.

  “Geez, calm down,” Mandy says, looking at me like I’ve got two heads. “I thought you were going to root against him.”

  I ignore her. The rest of the game goes by in a flash— for the first time in my life, I find myself hanging on the edge of every play, every move, every moment. Finn manages to get it together toward the end, though the commentators barely give him credit for it. They also keep panning back to his father celebrating Finn’s every success, like it’s the most tender thing they’ve ever seen. Which I guess it is, if you don’t know that it really, seriously, totally isn’t.

  Harton wins— barely, and largely thanks to a bad kick on the other team’s part. The stadium goes wild, sportscasters attempt to get close to key players for interviews. When they try to find Finn, he’s disappeared. They settle for Adams.

  “We saw you giving Finn Thorne some advice there just before the second half started— what did you say?” A peppy woman in a red dress asks, shoving a microphone in Adams face. I have to wonder how tall the woman’s heels are, that she even reaches Adams’ chest height.

  Adams grins; Mandy scowls audibly next to me. “You know, young players like that sometimes get fixated on the wrong thing. I was just trying to get his head in the game. It’s important to me that I leave a strong team when I go.”

  “Indeed— and us Harton fans are grateful! Rumor is that you donated one of your own friends and family tickets to make sure Finn’s father could come see him play today. Is that true?”

  “Of course! I happened to meet Finn’s dad and he was so excited about his kid—everyone ought to get to come see their son play,” Adams says. How is no one else noticing the devilish gleam in his eye? Not devilish-sexy-cool, just straight up, monster-devilish.

  “What you just said, that— that’s what it is to be on a team,” the woman says. “Back to you in the studio.”

  “Where do you think Finn ran off to so soon?” Mandy wonders aloud as she clicks off the television.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  I really don’t. I don’t have a clue where Finn is right now, hurting, angry, probably alone. And the not knowing is killing me.

  Chapter 16

  I never knew I could miss sex so much before I started having it with Finn.

  I suppose that’s why I take my vibrator out of my underwear drawer a week after the football game— I can’t stand going without something any longer. It’s a cheap one that a friend got me ages ago as a partial-joke, but it’s always gotten the job done before, and I’m not convinced I can get myself there with just my hand if Finn isn’t around to make doing it so unbearably hot.

  I wait until I hear Mandy leave with Bradley for Olive Garden— yes, for whatever reason, my sister has wanted all Olive Garden all the time lately, even though it’s basically the worst— to turn the lights off and lie back on my bed. In the dark, I can almost, almost imagine that Finn is here with me. I inhale deeply, convince myself that I can smell the spicy scent of his skin, that I can feel the heat rising from his body, that his broad shoulders are above me.

  Finn— imaginary Finn, as it were— doesn’t speak to me; he kisses my neck, gently, then pulls my arms above my head and holds them there easily, pinning my wrists down with one of his large palms. I don’t fight it, but I know I couldn’t break free even if I tried— he’s too strong. He presses his free hand firmly against my side, then slides it down to my legs. I fight him for a moment, keeping my thighs together, and I hear him make an amused sound from his throat; it takes nothing for him to push his hand between my legs and force them apart. His fingers slide along my slit, then his thumb comes to rest on my clit, circling its edges expertly. I moan and arch my back in response.

  Finn continues to stroke my clit as he slides one finger into my pussy, turning it so that it rubs against the front wall, where I’m most sensitive. His fingers there and on my clit make me tremble with want, and I begin to pant. I want him to bring me close, then fuck me the rest of the way to my orgasm. I want to feel him come in me again. I want him, I want him, I want him.

  My hips begin to pulse up and down in time with his touch, and my body heats up in unusual places— my eyelids, the backs of my knees, the places under my breasts, like my brain isn’t sure how to process being aroused this much.

  Finn releases my wrists and climbs on top of me, he body engulfing mine. He lines his cock up with my pussy and hesitates, teasing me, making me desperate. When I think I may burst from need, he relents, and pushes into me, filling me, releasing me. I moan loudly and tilt my head back; he leans down and runs his tongue along my neck as he thrusts into me, gaining speed.

  Even as he quickens his pace, he always fills me completely with long, solid strokes, and I can feel his cock swelling in me as fucking me makes him harder. The fact that I do this to him— the fact that being in me does this to him— rounds my edges, knocks the last few corners of sanity I had away.

  I lift my hips and wrap my legs tightly around Finn’s waist. The new position allows him to go even deeper, and he groans at the sensation. I’m going to come soon, I can feel it, and I want him to come with me. He slaps against my ass as he pushes into me, then reaches under my hips to lift them farther from the bed. Finn’s eyes are on mine, hungry and dangerous and demanding— he’s going to make me come. He likes having that power, likes being able to make me cry out, likes knowing I’m his.

  His cock pulses inside me, and it’s time, it’s time for both of us. I let go of the meager attempts I’d been making to hold back; my orgasm tears through me like electricity, racing to my fingers and toes, numbness and explosions all at once in my pussy. At the same instant, Finn moans and I feel the hot wetness of him filling me, coming deep inside me, nothing between us, nothing separating us.

  I whimper as the orgasm tapers off, as the electricity
crackles away. I lower my legs, panting, and after a few moments of dizzied breathing open my eyes.

  To darkness. To nothing. Finn isn’t here. It’s my own hand by my pussy, a vibrator penetrating me rather than his cock. Finn is gone, and it’s only through imagining him here that I can begin to feel a fraction of what I felt when I was with him.

  I fall asleep at some point— I’m not sure when, exactly, but I last remembering staring at the clock in one of those miserable, self-pitying ways at about ten. I’m woken to the sound of the front door opening as Mandy arrives home.

  I quickly shove the vibrator, which is still lying among my sheets, under my pillow, just in case she barges in. She doesn’t, though; I hear her step into the bathroom, water running, then silence. Bradley must not be with her— he never thinks to be quiet when it’s late, even if I might be asleep. I’m about to drift of again when I hear her say something. A single something, actually, a repeated word.

  “Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit,” she’s saying under her breath, the word ebbing and flowing like she’s pacing in the bathroom. I frown and sit up. If she weren’t my sister, I probably would assume she’d just bombed a test or cracked her eye shadow compact or something. But I grew up listening to Mandy’s voice, and so I’m confident that there’s something actually wrong— there’s a stressed note in her words, a shake, a genuine fear.

  “Mandy?” I call out.

  “Yeah?” she answers cheerfully. Fake cheerfully.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah!” she says again. This time, however, her voice cracks. She’s trying not to cry.

  I shoot out of bed, barely thinking to slide pajamas pants on before I hit the door. The bathroom door is locked; I pound on it.

  “I’m fine!” she says again, but now there’s no denying there’s a sob threatening her. I jump and grab the little Allen wrench key from the top of the door frame, jam it in the lock, and have the door opened in seconds.