by Autumn Avery
This girl is dynamite.
But now she’s gone. Running back to her boyfriend, making up some story about how she stayed out at her girlfriend’s house and forgot to charge her phone or something.
What do I care?
I mean, how many girls have come in and out of here, never to be seen again? Most of them I don’t even think twice about, so why is Emmy any different? Thinking back to last night, I can’t get over that rack. I can still feel her soft skin under my fingertips and the warmth of her body against mine.
I was sure that when Emmy and I had sex, because I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist, that we’d have hate sex – angry sex. But we didn’t. It was…passionate. I mean, sure I fucked her brains out, but I was actually thinking about how she was feeling. Normally I just do my thing and hope the girl has a good time too.
Obviously she always does, but with Emmy, I found myself thinking about her more. Looking into her eyes while she took all of me, which was in itself a big surprise, was fucking hot! I could see every single one of her reactions with each of my strokes.
I guess I liked seeing her out of control. She’s always so composed and professional. But there’s only so composed you can be when you’re riding the Stallion.
But I guess that’ll be the one and only time with Emmy. She’s run off, back to her boyfriend. What’s he do again? Pre-med? Pre-law? Something like that. Probably a stuck-up douchebag. But I guess they deserve each other. Here she is being pounded by me while he’s pounding the books. Not like I wanted to see her again anyway…but it is always disappointing to find out that a girl you think is cool is actually a bitch.
Today is game day!
I’ve gotta get my head right. Normally I have a strict rule: no pussy before you play. Some people say fucking drains the testosterone levels, some say it raises them, but all I know is it wears me the fuck out.
And today is a big game too. We’re playing Alabama and the scouts will be there. Last time we played it was a close game, but a winning catch from yours truly in the last ten seconds won us the game and led to one of the most righteous celebrations in Colt’s history.
And I’ll be damned if it’s gonna be that close again.
We’re gonna sweep the floor with those pussies today, regardless of whether or not I broke my rule last night by running Emmy ragged. If either one of us is catching a nap today, it’ll be her.
“Yo, Kyle!” I shout, pulling the door open.
“Yo?” He replies from downstairs.
“You got the shakes going?”
“Five minutes!”
“All right,” I say, grabbing my towel. Quick shower, then one of Kyle’s famous protein/energy shakes, and it’s off to the locker room and warmups. A lot of guys will shower there, but I like to be ready to go when I hit the stadium. Football is a very mental game. It doesn’t matter what kind of shape you’re in if your head’s not right, and that’s why I gotta stop thinking about Emmy now.
Which is easier said than done. I still smell like her, and it takes like three dousings of body wash to even begin to mask her scent. She must wear a tiny amount of perfume, or maybe it’s her deodorant. Or maybe she just somehow smells like something you get off the shelves. Either way, it’s great. But I can’t have it on me on game day.
I dry off, throw some clothes on, grab my bag and head downstairs, where Kyle is going crazy wizard in the kitchen. I dunno how many of these bro-shakes of his I’ve had, but to this day I still have no clue what’s in them. And frankly, I don’t want to know. They’ll probably end up killing me, but the boost of energy you get from them is enough that sometimes I’ll have him whip half of one up for me after a hard night of partying, just to knock the edge off a hangover.
“You fucking ready, dude?” I shout at Kyle, smacking him hard on the shoulder.
“Hell, yeah,” he replies enthusiastically. “Gonna kick the shit out of these guys.”
He’s got the blender going full speed, and he must have added something new to the mix, because today’s shake, instead of being a typical milky white, is a sickly slime green.
“The fuck?” I ask, bending down for a sniff. I recoil instantly. “Smells like bad pussy.”
“Knock you on your ass, man,” Kyle laughs.
“What’s making it green? – actually no. Don’t answer that. Just pour me a glass.”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle mocks. I snag a tall glass from the cupboard and Kyle drains about half his wizard’s potion into it. I plug my nose and chug. About halfway through, I gag.
“Shit, man!” I sputter, wiping green slime from my lips. “This tastes like bad pussy too! Is that what you’re going for?”
“Man up, dude,” Kyle roars, taking a swig from his glass with a huge smile. There’s no way he actually thinks that tastes good. He’s just messing with me. I flip him the bird, grimace, and down the rest of it.
“Ah, that’s smooth,” I say with a chuckle, sucking some water from the faucet to wash things down.
“Ready to rock?” I ask Kyle.
“Yeah, let me get my bag—“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jordan interrupts, coming into the kitchen. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“We have some shit to discuss first. Namely, what the hell was that reporter chick doing sneaking out of here this morning?”
Shit!
This is not something I want to discuss right now. I’ve been doing good keeping Emmy out of my mind, and now here’s this dickhead bringing it back up.
“You saw her?” I ask. “What time?”
“I dunno,” Jordan says with a smile. “She looked pretty scared though. What’d you do to the poor girl?”
“What do you think I did?” I say, growing more and more annoyed by the second. “I fucked her brains out, man. That’s what I do!”
Kyle roars with laughter and high fives me. I’m putting on a show, trying to make it look like I don’t give a shit, but in reality I’m being pretty thrown off right now. “Really though. What time did she do the walk of shame?”
“I dunno, man,” Jordan replies. “You think I mark these things on my calendar or something?”
Fair enough. I’m not sure why I care so much. If she left, she left. It doesn’t matter what time it was. But I do wonder if she fell asleep and then sort of snuck out while I saw snoring, or whether she woke up early and decided to beat feet before I woke up. What a disappointment.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but Emmy had been a firecracker. Underneath all that professional reporter crap, that good girl exterior, there’s a freak just waiting to get out. When I grabbed a fist full of her hair I could see it. The look that came over her face…I wish I’d pulled out my phone and taken a picture.
Stop it!
I gotta get my head right. I’ve got a game to win, and today is an important day.
“All right, enough of this shit,” I say, heading for the door. “I’m going. You idiots coming?”
The rest of the guys grumble but follow me out the door. I don’t say a word the entire walk to the field. It’s normal for me to be quiet before a game. I don’t like to distract myself. Getting into the zone is what separates the men from the boys. Guys coasting along on the back of the best players just end up gossiping and playing a mediocre game.
Not me. I focus. But today, with last night’s events still fresh in my head, I’m having a hard time getting my game face together. As I step into the locker room to suit up, I can feel myself fighting to keep her out of my head. Even when Coach P comes in to give us our pregame “motivational talk,” I’m barely listening. Not like I haven’t heard it all before, but this is bad.
Get it together! I want to scream at myself.
I clench my teeth and ball my fists on the way out to the field. The roar of the crowd helps. There’s nothing like hearing forty thousand people cheer for you or chant your name. No matter how many sprints I run or how many drills we
do, that’s one thing that will never get old.
Finally something to take my mind off her.
Coach P doesn’t like us celebrating or being dicks on the field, so I keep my head down and join the rest of the boys on the field. I check my laces and pads, just out of habit for the most part. There will be photographers out there today, as well as everybody with their cell phones, and all the lenses will be trained on me. Everyone knows it’s my big day today.
The turf’s in good shape. It feels good to be on the field. I’m more at home here than anywhere else. All the familiar smells – the musk of the turf, the bitter smell of sweat and worn equipment.
We start running plays to warm up as more fans filter in. The place isn’t fully packed just yet, but there are still a lot of people. Their gaze motivates me. Some guys don’t like it and have to pretend they’re all alone out there, but I’m the opposite. The more the better. My dream would to have all eyes on me at the Super Bowl, sprinting to towards the end zone, a Hail Mary arcing over the opposing team, stretching my hands out to catch it…
The rookies run drills and toss passes, doing their part until it’s their time to step up and shine. My catches are on today, which isn’t a surprise. The only question is whether or not I can keep my head in the game.
I wonder if Emmy’s here.
No matter what I do, I can’t shake her. Uncontrollably, my eyes begin to scan the faces in the crowd. Would she be here? I’m not even sure where we stand right now or what she’s doing about the story on me. Just bailing like that has left me hanging.
I opened up to her, and now I’m regretting it.
A pass hits me in the chest.
“Wake up, Johnson!” I hear Coach P’s voice and turn to see him looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Get your head in it!”
Coach must have caught me daydreaming. Shit. This is going to be harder than I thought.
And there are scouts here today! I’ve got to get it together.
I put my head down and focus until kickoff. The first play I get a breakaway twenty-yard pass, but it’s a sloppy catch. Anyone else would be thrilled, but for me that was about a seven on a ten scale. The crowd loves it though, and so will the scouts. Coach P is cool with it too. Hey, at the end of the day, yardage is yardage.
“What are you, Mr. Butterfingers?” Troy chuckles from behind me, smacking me on the ass. It’s a harmless jab, but today it pisses me off.
“Hey, just watch thirty-two, all right? You just about missed your block there, am I gonna have to worry about you today?”
“Jesus, man,” Troy looks surprised at my outburst. “I got you. I got you.”
I can’t help but scowl as he gets back to the line. Even at seventy percent I’m better than most of these guys at a hundred, but I need to be killing it today, not just getting by.
The fuck is this girl doing to me?!
I let out a roar of anger that the boys take to be a battle cry and yell back in unison.
Jim calls the play and shouts, “Hike!” It looks like my little outburst helped Troy, because he just about murders thirty-two this time, giving me plenty of room to cut through the line for a pass. I’m wide open, but over my shoulder I can see Jim getting harassed.
I cut right, trying to give him a better angle. I’m wide open. As I look back, something happens that kills my concentration.
I see Emmy sitting in the stands.
She came, I think, feeling a tightness in my chest. All over me last night!
Adding the humor to my thoughts does nothing to relax me. What the fuck is she doing here? Why would she bail on me in the morning, only to show up at the game? Is this some sort of game of her own and she’s the star player?
Our eyes meet. She smiles.
And something hits me in the neck. Shit! I missed the pass!
I hear the crowd go crazy and look back to see the football hitting the turf.
I MISSED a pass!
Even my teammates are looking at me like I’m crazy.
“What the fuck was that, dude?” Jim shouts at me as I make my way back to the team.
“Lost it in the sun,” I mutter, trying to come up with something believable. Inside I’m screaming. This is exactly what I was afraid of. My head’s not in the game, and today of all days, when the scouts are here. There’s no way they didn’t see that.
So it’s one pass, I tell myself, trying to shrug it off. I don’t want to look over at her, but I can’t help it. It’s like my eyes are magnets and they’re drawn only to her. But when I see the look on her face, my heart sinks.
She’s…disappointed.
No. She’s concerned. Wondering what’s up with me, just like everyone else in this stadium. Forty thousand people can’t believe Walker Johnson just missed that pass. Hell, I didn’t even try to catch it. I just let the thing hit me in the neck.
Time to get my head in the game.
I tear my stare away from Emmy, feeling my heart racing, and it’s not from the sprinting either. All of a sudden I’m aware of the Texas heat and can feel every bead of sweat on my face. This girl is really messing me up.
“Let’s just run it,” Jim says angrily.
“No!” I roar, grabbing him by the shoulder pad. “I’m going long. Don’t fuck it up.”
He can see the determination in my eyes and nods. I set myself as he calls the play.
“Hike!”
And I’m off like a horse out of the gate. I juke past one defenseman and quickly glance to Jim. He’s about to take a hit, but at the last second, ducks and sends the guy over his head and onto his ass.
Here comes the pass.
Jim winds up and shoots a rocket at me. I’m already twenty yards out. This could be a touchdown if I make the catch.
My laser focus kicks in. No distractions. I can see every lace in the ball, every spin as it hurtles towards me. And like it was nothing, I reach up and snag it out of the air.
The crowd goes ballistic. A quick glance behind shows I’m all alone. A surge of adrenaline kicks in as I sprint towards the end zone. The roar from the crowd grows louder and louder. In my peripheral vision, I can see people leap to their feet.
Go, go, go…
My feet kick off the turf. Closer. Closer. The end zone is right there. No one is behind me. This is all mine.
I can’t help but smile as I cross the line and spike the ball.
Touchdown!
The place goes wild. I turn around in time to catch Jim leaping onto me.
“Hell yeah!” He screams, smacking me on the helmet. “That’s how we do it!”
“I told you!” I yell back as the rest of the boys come in to celebrate. I can’t help but look back into the crowd, my eyes scanning the cheering bodies, searching for Emmy. I find her, clapping from her seat, slightly obscured behind a superfan waving a foam finger.
Her smile is all I needed. I still don’t know what’s going on between us, but maybe she isn’t the coldhearted bitch I thought she was. Maybe she had a legitimate reason for bailing on me this morning. Only time will tell. But for now, seeing her clapping is enough to keep my head in the game.
Plus, when she sees me win, she won’t be able to resist going round two with me. If she thought I gave it to her last time, just wait until tonight.
We win by a landslide. It’s a blowout. Three touchdowns – two by yours truly, one run in by Bobby and one by Noah. He was pretty pumped. He hasn’t had a down in five games and was starting to lose his confidence.
My performance will be all anybody talks about though. Noah’s only a junior. He’ll have his time to shine next year. But for now, the horde of photographers and media at the sideline are all about me.
“Walker! Is it true you’ve been approached by New York!?”
“Will you be leaving school early!?”
“Has anyone made you a firm offer!?”
Coach P doesn’t like us talking to the media, and I see him shooting me a stern glance from the bench. So I shut my m
outh, keep my head down and head for the locker room -- that is until someone steps in front of me.
“Quite the game today. How about that missed pass on the first play?”
I stop in my tracks and look up to see Emmy smiling in front of me, holding her phone out like a microphone. She’s grinning like a sexy little she-Devil, and I could honestly take her right here and bang her from behind in front of all these people.
“Intentional,” I grin. “Had to give them a fighting chance.”
Coach won’t like that one. I see my wisecrack register on Emmy’s face like a small jab. But she comes back right away.
“You weren’t distracted by something?”
“And what would that be?” I say suggestively, causing the crowd of reporters around me to all laugh. Emmy twists her lips, trying to suppress a smile.
“Can you tell us anything about the rumors of you being drafted to the pros?”
“I can,” I tell her, pausing a moment to watch the surprise come over her face. “But I’ll have to tell you tonight – at my place.”
Every reporter’s eye immediately moves from me to Emmy, who looks like a spotlit actress alone on a stage. You could cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife. Finally, someone chimes in.
“Well?”
Emmy scowls, her personable demeanor flipping back into the snippy little girl I first met at my party.
“Typical jock attitude,” she quips. “Well, let me be the first girl to openly turn down Walker Johnson.”
Bitch!
Her little comment draws a series of oohs and ahhs from the crowd as she turns to go. My blood is boiling. Talk about my stellar game being overshadowed by drama. As she walks away, I get a view of her ass, and something snaps inside me. Coach P is gonna kill me, but to Hell with it.