by Layne Harper
I take off my practice shorts and shirt. I leave my clothes lying nearby, in case someone comes out here to piss all over my night.
She’s got a champagne bucket that someone sent us for a wedding gift filled with five one-liter bottles of water. “I don’t think that’s what Waterford intended it to be used for?” I slide into the hot water, and let out a low moan. Why had I never thought of this before? It beats my bathtub, hands down.
Charlie slides next to me, and carefully rests her head on my chest. “Great game tonight.”
“Thanks,” I say. I can feel my muscles loosening.
She reaches behind me and grabs a bottle of water out of the bucket, opens it, and hands it to me. She sits up and begins speaking, in her know-it-all way. “I was a tad perplexed as to why you chose to throw the ball on fourth and two at the eight yard line. The defense clearly was expecting it. If I were you…”
I put my hand over her mouth. “Shut up, Charlie.”
There’s enough light from the moon that I can see her face. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her chin is tilted toward her chest. I can tell that she doesn’t have a clue if she should be angry at me, or how to respond.
“Football stays at the stadium. I’ve already been questioned about every fucking play that I made tonight by the press. I don’t need a game critique from my wife.” I sigh, and lay my head back on the cool flagstone. I hope that I didn’t sound like a dick, but damn, I don’t want to talk about the game. I finish the bottle of water, crush it, and toss it somewhere near our bedroom door.
She changes tactics. “What are you doing when they announce your name and you run out of the tunnel, and then take a seat on the bench and drop your head?”
I need quiet and solitude after a game. I don’t like talking about anything, and now she’s feeling all chirpy. “I say a quick prayer, thanking God that he’s blessed me with the ability that I have. I also ask Him to watch over me and my team, and protect us from injury. I conclude with a blessing for the fans that have come and ask Him to watch over their safety on their way home.”
“You pray?” she asks, as her eyes grow wide with surprise.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just didn’t know that you prayed. I’ve never thought of you as religious. I mean, I know that you believe in God and stuff, but I…” I take her mouth to shut her up. My gorgeous wife is dressed in something skimpier than her bra and panties, sitting in our hot tub, and I’m naked. The last thing that I want to do is talk about my relationship with God.
She pulls away first. “Message received.” Charlie climbs onto me, straddling my lap. She’s careful to not touch my ribs. She places her hands on my cheeks. “I don’t know what you want me to do after games. Should I talk to you? Should I leave you alone? Do you want to be touched?”
I lean forward and give her a peck on the lips. “I always want to be touched.” I lean back and watch her tits are bobbing up and down with the bubbles. She looks like raw, pure, sex and it doesn’t go unnoticed by my dick. “I just need to be for a little while, but I can be with you.”
She seems content with my answer and crawls off my lap, snuggling into my side and being cautious of my ribs. I wrap my arm around her, and just concentrate on nothing. I don’t think about the win, or my game stats. After a game is the only time that I can just zone out and not think about anything. Tomorrow, the coaches will hammer me for my mistakes, and then we’ll start preparing for the next game. I need my couple of hours now.
After I’ve finished my second bottle of water, I lean over and kiss her sweaty forehead. “Ready for bed, my beautiful girl?”
When she doesn’t respond, I lean forward, and see that she’s fallen asleep on me. I watch her sleep for longer than I care to admit. Soft curls that escaped her messy knot frame her heart shape face. I watch her eyelashes that are so long that they brush her cheek flutter as she readjusts her head against me. She’s the most gorgeous sight – natural. This is when my girl is her most beautiful.
I think about all the shit-talking during the game. I got my fair share tonight, mostly mouthing off about me walking out of the Espy Awards. Stupid stuff, like, “Am I going to take my ball and go home?” I was impressed, though, that the guys talking smack didn’t mention her. I know it’s coming. I’m not stupid. I just can’t let it get to me.
I gently stroke her bare shoulder, and think about what a lucky motherfucker I am. I don’t know if I actually believe in soul mates and shit like that, but I do think she was meant to be mine. There’s never been another woman who’s made me feel like she has. There are times when she makes me crazy mad. I spend a lot of time pissed that she just won’t let me take care of her. God, I fucking hate her job.
But she’s my heart. As crazy as she makes me, she also challenges me. She holds me to a high standard that I want to meet for her. She makes me a better version of myself.
I can’t get enough of her. I let myself drift back to when I was taking too many painkillers. I know now that I was looking for a substitute for the feelings that only she has been able to force to the surface. I’m sure that there’s some dickwad shrink who would say that it’s unhealthy to feel this level of need for another person. Hell, maybe it is, but I’m addicted to her. And I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to do when I have to leave her for my away games.
I vow, right then and there. She’s just going to have to travel to all my games. I can be persuasive. I won’t let her see what a desperate, pathetic, fuck I am. I’ll just assume that she’s coming, and book her flights and hotel rooms. Will she just let me without putting up a fight?
Who the fuck knows, when it comes to her?
The hot tub timer shuts off the heater. I hate to wake her up, but I’m too fucking sore to carry her into the house, and the water is going to start cooling down.
I take one more unguarded moment and drink in the sight of my gorgeous wife, leaning against me. I hope she does this for me after every game.
I gently kiss her face, and run my hand over her hair. She opens her lavender eyes and looks at me, with a shy smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I fell asleep. Some company I am.”
I take her hand as I stand up. “Come on, beautiful girl. It’s bedtime for both of us.”
I help her out of the hot tub, even though it makes my ribs scream in protest. She picks up the towels that she placed on the outdoor table and dries me off as if I’m breakable, which makes me laugh. I just got pounded on by dudes; her tiny little body is not going to break me, but I let her towel me off anyway, because I like how it makes me feel cared for. I follow her into our bedroom through the door that opens to the backyard.
Lying by the bed there are massage oils, and pillar candles burning. “Non-drip candles, I presume?”
I watch her face light up at our little inside joke. “We can’t afford to ruin another piece of furniture, right?” She reaches behind her and unties the strings on her bikini top freeing her perfect, round, full breasts. Next, she slips off her wet bathing suit bottom. My dick throbs at the sight of my naked wife. “Lay down, and let me work on your shoulder muscles.”
Is there a red-blooded American male that would turn down a massage by a beautiful woman? Um…maybe Brad. I lie down on our bed, and silently thank God that she’s back in my life, because her hands kneading my shoulders, and her mouth whispering words of love to me, makes me whole again.
Chapter Ten
Charlie
Colin McKinney is on fire. It’s another beautiful late fall Sunday afternoon here in Dallas, Texas. The question on everyone’s mind is, can he maintain these kinds of stats? Especially when you look at the defenses he’s facing. Yet, every week we ask this same question, and he finds a way to win. Last week, he helped himself out and scored a touchdown. He’s got one thing on his mind…a trip to New Orleans.
It’s Sunday, and my husband’s mistress has come calling. The life of an NFL player’s wife can be summed up in one word—lonely. Today’s a
home game. The positives are that I don’t have to get on another plane and sleep in a cold hotel room while the man that I love is somewhere in the same hotel, but not allowed to spend time with me.
Another plus is that, at least on home game weekends, I get to kiss my husband before he leaves for the stadium.
I’ve traveled to every away game. Colin hasn’t given me a choice. Jenny forwards my airline ticket and hotel confirmation to my email the Wednesday before I’m supposed to leave. Like the good wife I am, I board the plane, and sit in a hotel room waiting for Colin’s text to let me know he can spend an hour with me. I never know what version of Colin I’m going to get when he arrives at my room. Is it passionate Colin, who takes me against the hotel room door? Is it reflective Colin, who just holds me, and doesn’t say a word? Is it my sweet Colin, who spends our stolen time making love to my body? He tells me that I’m his good luck charm. Whether he believes it or not, I love that he wants me so much that he just assumes I will travel with him.
The negatives of home games are that I’m still a doctor. And, just because I happen to be married to the starting quarterback for the local NFL team, doesn’t mean that people are respectful and don’t do really dumb things to get themselves injured on game day. Essentially, I’m on call, when I’m not crisscrossing the country on a plane.
I love my job. I’m a surgeon. I get to use power tools to fix people. It’s not the same as having a practice—I’d describe it as a different kind of perfect. I’m on call all the time, so that means a lot of late night trips to the hospital, but it also gives me the freedom to go to all of Colin’s away games. Colin is beside himself that I work at a charity hospital, but he’s just got to get over it. For the first time in my career, I feel like I am giving back. It’s rewarding to work with people who really need you.
The only other negative of the home game is that Colin’s parents come to every one of them. Susan and John have put on their happy pants since Colin and I are no longer living in sin, but there’s still a valley of tension between us. I get it. I hurt their son terribly. However, I feel like I’m still being punished for a crime that I committed in my early twenties. Isn’t there a statute of limitations?
As Colin says, “You’re my forever, and they can fucking get over it.” Their opinion has been added to Colin’s I Don’t Give A Fuck list.
I’m still not pregnant, and it’s not from lack of trying. I use my ovulation monitor and make sure that we have sex while I am at the most fertile point. Sexy, huh? It’s comical to me how Colin and I’ve gone from sex anywhere, anytime to, “Honey, I know that you just had your body destroyed by three hundred and fifty pounds of man, and your ribs are so bruised that it hurts to breathe, but I could really use your baby-making stick right now.”
We’ve been trying now for five months. I used the restroom this morning, and saw that I had started my period. I put a tampon in and hid the evidence from Colin. He doesn’t need that level of disappointment right before a game.
I plan on calling my girlfriend from medical school who is an ob-gyn. I know that the industry standard is to try for six months and then come in for a check, but why wait another month? Colin’s been ready to be a father since college. I’ve made the decision to be a mom, and my personality doesn’t understand failure.
“Ready to go, Caroline?” Brad says, knocking softly on my bathroom doors.
I wipe the hormonal tears off of my cheeks, and reply, “Give me two more minutes.”
I splash cold water on my face and reapply the makeup that I cried off. I give myself a pep talk in the mirror. “It’ll happen, Caroline. You will make Colin a daddy.”
I wish I believed it.
I let out a sigh and slide my shoes on. One final check in the mirror, and I’m good to go. I’m wearing a great pair of jeans that actually give me a behind. My top is purple, with a cowl neck. I’m quite aware that I will be caught on camera and make an appearance at least once during the game broadcast.
Colin and I laugh, because they never know how to identify me on television. The other wives and girlfriends get a TV caption that says something like, “Suzy Smith, wife of quarterback Joe Smith.” Instead, for me, they just say, “Doctor Caroline Collins.” There’s no explanation as to what significance I play in Colin’s life.
We didn’t intend for this to happen. All we wanted was a private wedding. However, when we asked our friends not to share our wedding with others, apparently they took it to heart. Now, it’s kind of become a game. Just how long can we be married before the media finds out?
When I step out of the bedroom, Colin’s parents are sitting in the living room, visiting with Jenny. She goes to all of Colin’s home games with me. Since Colin moved his office out of our house, Jenny and I’ve become friendly. I think each of us having our own space has helped define our rolls in Colin’s life.
Brad rolls his eyes at me, and points toward Susan behind her back. That’s Brad way of letting me know that Susan is in rare form today.
She spots me immediately. “Oh Caroline, are you ever going to wear Colin’s jersey?” His parents are wearing one each, and Jenny’s hair is blue and silver. Brad has on jeans and a T-shirt that reads, “Some Like It Hot.”
Oh, Susan. You really, really don’t want to mess with me today. I put on a bright smile. “As part of our marriage vows, I can’t wear it until Colin wins the Super Bowl. You’ll have to talk to your son.”
She makes a tsking noise under breath, and grabs John’s arm. “Well, at least Colin’s parents wear their jerseys,” she says, just to John but we all hear, and puts way too much emphasis on the word “their.” Then, encompassing to all of us with a sweeping hand gesture, she declares, “Shall we go?”
I bite my tongue as we all pile into the maroon Escalade and head to the stadium.
* * * *
I wish that I didn’t know what hits like this were doing to the athletes’ bodies. It’s the second quarter, and already there have been numerous players who’ve been helped off the field. I glance over at Brad, and can tell we’re on the same page. The training staff will be busy tonight after the game.
Colin’s on the sideline, his helmet off, gripping his shoulder pads just above his heart. He does this a lot. I always wonder if it’s because he doesn’t have his ring to fidget with. He’s talking to the offensive coordinator, whose wife has become a friend of mine. We keep trying to find a time to have lunch.
Liza, who always sits in the suite with me now, leans over and asks me, “How was Colin before the game?”
“Anxious. Ready to play. They’ve been preparing for them all season. Knew it was going to be physical. What about Tyler?”
She laughs. “It’s Ty. He’s just happy that he gets to touch the football every week.”
It’s so true. Ty has got to be the most chilled out player in the NFL.
Defense held them to three and out, so Liza and I watch our boys trot back on the field. They’re starting at about the two-yard line. That means that Colin’s going to have to drop back in the other team’s end zone to throw the ball. Quarterbacks hate being in this position. If they get sacked, the other team gets two points.
I can tell that Dallas is running a conservative offense. My heart clenches tightly in my chest, as I watch Colin drop back and launch the ball. It’s caught by one of the receivers, and Dallas picks up a first down.
I let out the breath that I was holding, and glance at Jenny. She’s wringing her hands. There’s just something in the air today. It could be that this is a huge division rival game. It could be that Dallas has a perfect record so far. I don’t know, but I’ve come to accept that Jenny gets Colin like I do. We both have a sixth sense when it comes to him. I think of her, only in my head, as Colin’s work wife. The strange part about it is that I’ve seriously become okay with it.
She’s sitting behind me, so I reach back and squeeze her knee. Jenny gives me the knowing look that only wives can share.
Brad distracts m
e out of my worried state, thank goodness, by leaning over and commenting on the tight behinds of the players and then theorizing on what exercises they do to get such nice asses. He decides he’s going to start a list of the best asses in the NFL. No, no. That’s not good enough. It’ll be a blog. He’ll charge subscribers.
I tune him out as I watch Colin, who’s now lined up on the forty-nine yard line. He fakes a pass and hands it off to Ty. Liza is on her feet, screaming next to me, which makes me smile. My rock star stylist friend has become a huge football fan. Tyler picks up six yards, and bounces back to his feet.
“Do y’all have plans for Thanksgiving?” I ask Liza.
“Not really,” she says leaning in so I can hear her response over the noisy stadium. “Since the game’s on Thursday, we were talking about celebrating on Friday. Maybe going to watch the LSU game back home.”
“I think I’m going to fix dinner on Thursday night, because we’re going to the A&M game on Friday. They’re honoring Colin during halftime with some sort of award.”
“They’re not giving you one for being a doctor?” she teases.
“Nope. This is football country, honey. Quarterback trumps doctor any day,” I joke back.
I watch Colin scramble inside the pocket, looking for a receiver. There are huge men who smell blood coming after him. He drops back, and tosses the ball away, when one of the giants takes him down.
I hold my breath, and wait for him to stand back up. He does, but he’s a little slow getting to his feet. He’s going to spend lots of time soaking in the hot tub tonight.
He walks it off for a minute, and I see him wave off the trainers who are poised to run on the field with a seconds notice. He raises his hand and gestures for the team to huddle.
“I love it when they lean over like that. You can really see their tight asses,” Brad drones on beside me.
I grab the binoculars that are in our suite—I presume they belong to the team— so I can get a better view of Colin. The huddle breaks, and the offensive line gets set.