by Lucy Snow
Finally, the alarm decided to do its thing and I had no choice but to get up and start getting ready if I wanted to get to Radio City Music Hall on time. New York City! I’d arrived yesterday and promptly tired myself out walking all around, my eyes wide open and practically climbing out of my head trying to take it all in.
Of course, that was purely on the surface level. If we got a little deeper, to where sports allegiances lived, I hated New York City with a burning passion stronger than anything I’d ever felt for a boy.
New York City had two professional football teams, though only one of them should really be considered one, I liked to say to anyone who would listen. The Jets were the typical second team in a big city - their fans constantly groused about being passed over while their terrible team continued to languish in the basement.
The Giants, though, they were another story. The Giants had destroyed perfection, and not through any skill or talent, but because of sheer luck. And for that, the Giants should never win another game again.
Yikes, I could feel my bile rising as I started to get into my internal Giants monologue. No time for that, Lily, big day ahead! Just because this was New York City doesn’t mean I didn’t have to represent New England and my team.
I got into the shower, loving the fact that hot water was instantly at my beck and call. This was pure luxury…even though it could hardly be considered such. Tough times at newspapers and media outlets around the country meant I totally missed the days when journalists would get to live it up while covering cool events like the draft. Now it was a Howard Johnson’s, and a continental breakfast if we were lucky. Still, the nearly-unlimited hot water did make it tough for me to complain at the moment.
After I showered and toweled myself off, I got out and stood in front of the mirror, carefully collecting all the pieces of paper I’d taped to it last night.
Last minute research - I’d been memorizing team stats and draft needs for today. I knew that covering sports was typically, and by that I meant historically, a man’s field. Any women who were involved were usually just eye candy.
I aimed to change that. My father had quizzed me on Patriots trivia and stats my entire life - I’d collected baseball, football, hockey, and basketball cards as a kid, and those binders of cards were as important to me as any girl-related toys had ever been.
So I looked at draft day like a big test - I might get called on to know how the Patriots or the Giants or any of the 32 teams might have done in the last couple years and who or what they might be looking for in the draft, and if that was the case I knew I had less than a couple seconds to respond without looking at notes.
I didn’t think most of these men I’d be talking to today had something against women in their field, but I did know they’d find ways to test me and see if I knew what I was talking about, if I had the chops to hang with the big boys.
I looked at myself in the mirror as I piled up the papers, careful not to get them wet as I finished drying myself off and applied my makeup. I’d been studying those last minute stats last night as I brushed my teeth, but if I didn’t have them down by now, they wouldn’t help anymore.
I’d picked out my draft day outfit last night and had it cleaned by the hotel staff one last time in case I missed anything, then hung it up in the closet away from anything else, just in case. I wasn’t gonna take any chances.
I’d gone with something a bit more conservative than I would normally wear out. I wasn’t by any means a flashy girl, but with my curves, most clothing ended up being a little flashier than you’d expect when you saw it on the rack. So I made sure and err on the side of not getting myself into trouble.
If sports were up until recently a man’s game, I didn’t want to come off as one of those women who was a casual fan because she liked to see men in tight pants, though I was not complaining one bit about that. I didn’t want to be around famous athletes so I could meet them or date them or sleep with them - I really loved sports and I wanted people to take me seriously.
The Patriots! Draft day! I almost started hyperventilating as I got dressed. This was the big day!
Holy shit! It was finally here! After I checked myself over one last time in the mirror and threw my phone and everything else I needed into my purse, I slipped into my shoes and was off to meet the other members of my team for breakfast. The actual draft didn’t start till this afternoon, but we had plenty of setup to do, final interviews, scheduling, etc. It was gonna be a long day, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I was finally ready. Radio City Music Hall, here Lily comes! Were you ready for draft? Were you ready for some football (in a month)?
I sure was.
CHAPTER 06 - DRAKE
Earlier that day, 8 hours before the draft…
Draft day! Thank FUCK it was here.
“WITH THE FIRST PICK IN the draft, The WHATEVER-TEAM-PICKS-FIRST PICKS…DRAKE ROLLINS, WIDE RECEIVER, CAL.”
It sounded amazing, and I couldn’t wait. Just like I couldn’t wait for all those touchdowns. The end zone was gonna be my new home. The professional end zone, I meant. I’d spent enough time in the high school and college end zones already.
I was so over this other shit, it was time to get my PROFESSIONAL game on. I was gonna be the next big thing in pro football, after I’d spent a couple years burning it up in college.
They hadn’t made a defense that could hold me down. Nope, I’d broken all time college records. Shit that had lasted decades. All gone, all starting fresh in my name.
It was good to be this good. I was a gift to football, and I was here to make sure today that everyone knew it. Whichever team decided that my services were critical to their future, I was gonna light up. The whole league was gonna regret it - I was gonna make one team very, very happy today, and the other thirty one teams could go fuck themselves.
Cause that’s what not drafting me was like. Drake Rollins, wide receiver from the University of California at Berkeley, home of the California Golden Bears.
Fuck everything else.
I lay in bed, my hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. Damn it felt good to be this good. Light was just starting to come into the hotel room through the shades I’d drawn before going to bed.
I turned my head to the side and looked down at the girl lying next to me. I smiled, looking at how beautiful she was. Nineteen…or was it twenty? I couldn’t remember.
We’d met outside a club the night before, a pre-draft day party. She’d been with her girls, trying to get invited in by some soon-to-be players. She’d stopped me when I pulled up and we’d talked a bit, she pulling me down to whisper in my ear all the nasty shit she wanted to do with a pro football player the night before the draft.
Of course, I had to oblige. We’d gone in and had a couple drinks before coming back to the hotel, and she had definitely lived up to all the things she said she liked. I shook my head at some of the dirty stuff we’d done, and I started to get hard again just from thinking about it.
I knew she’d be up for round two. Hell, this wasn’t even round two. At about 3am I had woken up to find her under the blankets, sucking my cock as I woke up. After a few minutes of that I’d fucked her again, finishing off in her mouth. That was the only good reason to get woken up in the middle of the night as far as I was concerned, besides a fire.
I turned over to face her, my hardening cock pressing into her side. She was gorgeous, blonde, tight little body, huge tits that felt amazing in my hands. Just the perfect little athlete-fucker groupie.
It wasn’t just good to be this good, but the perks made it so much better. This girl might think she was special, might think we’d see each other again, but she was like an entire army of girls back in college. And not just at Cal, which was full of smart girls. Any school we’d gone to, there had been girls lining up out the door to take care of us.
College girls just loved football players, I could not explain it. And not just college girls. Every girl wanted a p
iece of a guy in this good shape, about to make this much money. Intoxicating.
She…Bianca, was it? Started to wake up, her eyes still closed, her hands reaching out and touching my huge shoulder, a smile etching its way across her face.
“Good morning, big boy,” she whispered as she finally opened her eyes, fluttering them in an attempt to look sexy, which didn’t really work when those sleepy-things were hanging off them.
“Hey yourself.”
“Wanna go again?” Her voice sounded hopeful yet cautious.
“Yeah,” is all I said in return, unwrapping a condom, rolling it on me, and pulling her on top of me like she barely weighed anything.
“Mmmhhmmm,” she smiled and closed her eyes again as she reached down and guided my cock into her. “Go slow, I’m still sore from last night.”
“Right.” I didn’t go much slower, but Bianca, if that really was her name, was a trooper, taking all of me as soon as she could.
“You feel amazing.”
“I know.” I had my hands back behind my head again, and Bianca took the hint, raising and lowering herself on me, doing all the work of getting us both off. That’s how it should be. I didn’t have the time or energy to make this happen myself. And plus, this was a privilege.
For her.
I just lay back and enjoyed the view of Bianca’s heavy breasts as they rolled back and forth. Occasionally I’d lean my head forward and suck on her nipples as they came by.
A few minutes later I pushed her off me and took the condom off. Bianca knew what I liked by now and immediately started sucking me off, taking another load and swallowing it like a good girl when I came.
I lay back and didn’t say anything. She tried to cuddle up to me at first, but she got the hint pretty quick that that wasn’t going anywhere. It never did, and I liked it that way.
I had more important things on my mind. Fucking draft day. All my hard work, all my sacrifice, all those long hours in the gym, eating right, lifting weights, on the practice field, all of it. All for today.
Today my legend continued. Fuck yeah. Whoever got me on their team was getting the best new receiver in decades.
Thousand yard season? Shit. I would double that if I decided to work hard this year. 10 touchdowns? Maybe by the halfway mark, if I didn’t take a breather on running up the score a few times.
Sky was the limit when you got talent like I got talent. And the world was gonna recognize that soon. I may not have gone to the biggest football school around, but I could ball. I could ball hard. And I had the stats to back it up.
And not just that, I actually went to class too. Graduated early in electrical engineering on top of playing D1 football in the Pac-12, which was probably soon to be the Pac-11. Nothing was gonna hold me back anymore - just had to figure out which team was willing to take me, and I’d be off on the next plane.
Though maybe I’d stop in Las Vegas first and get my party on, post-draft day style.
“Ready for the draft?”
Oh yeah, she was still here. Bianca. “Yeah, I will be. Got a few hours to kill before then.” I didn’t look at her. No need to.
I could hear her smile, though, as she ran her hand over my huge shoulder, admiring the tattoos. She licked her lips loudly, and I knew she wanted more.
I wasn’t really feeling it anymore; I had more important things to do, so I took the high road, such as it was, and cut her off just as she opened her mouth “Yeah, I got some stuff I gotta take care of before I head out.”
“Can I stick around?” She moved her hand lower, down my stomach toward my crotch. “We could,” she swallowed, “keep playing some more while you get ready.”
“That sounds nice, but I really gotta concentrate.”
“Oh, ok.” She was clearly dejected, but she got up from the bed and started looking around for her clothes. I looked around the room, grinning, seeing parts of her outfit from the night before hanging from the strangest places.
We’d had some fun last night, she and I. But now it was time for her to go. I watched her get dressed, not saying a word.
“Sure I can’t stick around?” She asked when she was all set to leave, one last try. I’d seen a lot of hail mary passes in my high school and college career, and caught many a touchdown from them, but this was one of the most valiant I could remember in a while.
“Some other time, maybe,” I said, hollow, “I got a lot going on today.”
“Ok. Good lucky today.” She turned around and left the hotel room, closing the door softly on her way out.
I lay back in bed and sighed, investigating the ceiling. That was a little awkward, I don’t know why she didn’t get the hint sooner.
Shit, I hadn’t checked my phone since I had woken up! Usually it was the first thing I did, but I must have gotten distracted by draft day sneaking up on me like this.
As if I hadn’t been preparing for it every day since I was 10.
I found my phone where I’d tossed it the night before in the hurry to get my clothes off and get with that girl, whatever her name was, and thumbed the screen, scrolling through all the messages from my friends, teammates, coaches, and more than a few of the girls I’d slept with in the last few years.
It took a lot of scrolling to see all the messages.
I replied to a couple messages, but decided to save most of them for after the draft. Once I knew which team I was in gonna play for, I’d have a lot more to say.
A bunch of messages were from my agent, but I didn’t really pay attention to them. He was a stodgy old guy, who wasn’t really into technology. Still, he was a shark when it came to making deals, and I knew that I was in good hands.
The league’s best new receiver needed to be making big, big cash. And not just from my contract, from endorsements too. I had expensive tastes, and now was the time to indulge in all of them.
The question was, which team would take me? Yeah, yeah, I knew all about how my draft stock had fallen in the last few months. All those stories in the papers and on social media about me, getting into trouble, had all these coaches thinking I had character concerns.
What the fuck were character concerns, anyway? All they needed to know was that I showed up to practice, showed up to the games, and I caught the fucking football.
Everything else was my business and no one else’s.
Yeah, so I liked to party it up. Yeah, so I liked to drink a little on the weekends, when I didn’t have a game. I was just like any other college guy. Except on Saturdays, instead of watching from the stands, I caught touchdowns. And they wanted to tell me what I couldn’t do with my time?
Fuck that.
And yeah, I liked girls. I liked to sleep with a lot of girls. So what? Who fucking cared, except maybe their fathers. I laughed to myself, remembering the look on the Dean’s face when he stormed into my room one morning and found his daughter in bed with me. I’d never forget it.
And I guessed he wouldn’t either.
I checked the phone part, and I had voicemails, again from my agent. All that stuff could wait till after the draft. I didn’t need to hear anything from him right now. As much as I wanted to know which team was in a play for, I kind of wanted to hold onto the surprise just a little bit longer.
I wanted to learn with the rest of America which team Drake Rollins was going to play for.
Finally, I got up and got ready for the draft. It was gonna be a full day, but by the end of it, I was gonna be a professional football player.
Drake Rollins, professional football player.
It had a nice ring to it.
CHAPTER 07 - LILY
Three days after the draft…
Bill Thompson wanted to see me in his office.
A couple weeks ago if you had said that to me I’d be both giddy with anticipation and excitement and really nervous. But now, two weeks later, there was nothing but dread.
I had only been on the job 10 days at the Boston Globe and I already was used to Bill Thompson an
d his attitude toward younger journalists, especially women younger journalists.
Especially women younger journalists who covered sports.
You see, Bill Thompson didn’t quite understand why women wanted to come to work when they could just as easily stay home and raise families while their husbands brought home the bacon. And he certainly didn’t understand how they could make it in the tough trenches of daily news coverage. And he even if he got past all that…a woman covering a professional football team? Wasn’t that what the cheerleaders were for?
All of these things I had learned in just two weeks of working with Bill Thompson. Still, despite his terrible and outdated opinions about women in the workplace, just covering the same beat as him was exhilarating. The man had forgotten more about the Patriots than I’d ever known, and pro football in general was his thing. He was an acidic and tough to deal with even on a good day, but his writing was fantastic, and before I could read my dad would read each of Thompson’s columns to me out loud when they came in the paper.
So yeah, I might not like being around Bill Thompson, but putting up with his sour looks and even sourer demeanor was a small price to pay to get to cover my favorite team for a living. I did hold out some small hope that some day I could bring my dad around to the Globe offices to meet Bill; he was such a big fan and it would have been one of the highlights of his life.
It was funny that real people had a way of being nothing like who you thought they’d be from taking in their body of work.
But on to more important things.
the draft. Damn. That had been a day.
After Steve and I caught Drake Rollins’ outburst on camera, the rest of the draft had seemed ho-hum, nothing exciting despite being the biggest thing happening in football since the championship game months earlier.
It should have been a huge deal, covering it for the first time for the Boston Globe, but something struck me about it after that kerfuffle with Drake. We had argued for a few minutes longer, Drake alternating between almost child-like wonder at his predicament and anger at the world for treating him like this.