by Lane Hart
“Your boyfriend coming to the game?” I ask Roxanne when there’s a pause in what is evidently Quinton’s stand-up act.
Her head whips around in my direction, sending her ponytail swishing in Quinton’s face.
“You talking to me, Ladybug?” she asks with both of her blonde eyebrows raised, lips quirked up.
“Yeah, since Quinton doesn’t have any boyfriends. At least none that I know of,” I state, causing our quarterback to flip me off from the other side of her
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Paxton’s my best friend, not my boyfriend,” Roxanne says.
“Oh, really?” I ask skeptically, remembering the protective way he acted toward her and the threat on my good knee. “Then you might want to tell him that.”
Roxy snorts and then covers her mouth as she continues to laugh. “Believe me, there’s no doubt that Paxton knows we’re only friends. I’m not exactly his type.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” I mutter. “What man in his right mind doesn’t want a tall, beautiful, blonde woman?” The words leave my mouth before I even realize what I’ve said. It’s the truth, but I didn’t mean to blurt out that she’s beautiful in front of our teammates.
“How about a gay man?” she answers with a smug smile.
“Oh,” I reply as I chew on that tidbit. Didn’t see that one coming.
So does that mean Roxy’s not currently dating anyone? Because that’s not good, not at all. I was banking on another dude in her life to make sure I didn’t make a move on her. There are still other hurdles, like her being my roommate and teammate, but none of those were as big as the boyfriend one. Or maybe now that I know she’s not seeing anyone, I can’t stand the thought of her falling for someone else, someone like Quinton, the notorious heartbreaker. There are too many thoughts swirling around my head, and there’s only one thing I’m certain of when it comes to Roxanne.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter Twenty
Roxy
After getting dressed in a small, private room at the stadium, I line up in my full pads and wait in the hot, stuffy tunnel with the rest of my teammates. Hearing the crowd roaring just beyond, even if they are booing us since we’re the visiting team, is still one of the proudest moments of my life.
For years I’ve dreamed of being on this field, while I was told over and over again that the only way to make it would be to trade in my cleats for pompoms. Fuck that, I told them all. And now, here I am.
When the announcer introduces us over the PA, I run out behind a few of my teammates; and instead of boos, the sound of the crowd flips like the coin about to be tossed in the center of the field, changing to clapping and cheers.
Glancing around the Knights’ massive dome, I realize that the camera is broadcasting me on the jumbotrons, and the crowd’s actually on their feet…for me, the first woman to ever play professional football, despite all the negative press I’ve received about the accident and the fact that I play for the visiting team.
They understand and appreciate that this moment is a historical event, not just for me, but for an entire half of the population that’s been a long time coming. I never had any feminist agendas when I started playing flag football. Football is the sport I’ve always loved like it’s the most natural thing in the world, ever since my dad taught me how to throw a football when I was four years old. And while the boys and men who I’ve played with haven’t made it easy for me, I stuck through the tough times and never gave up, overcoming enormous obstacles to be right here on the green turf with spotlights shining down on me.
Oh shit.
The weight of everyone’s expectations is suddenly a pressure on my shoulders so intense that I can’t seem to move or get any air.
While I never intended to be a role model, I have to accept the fact that I’m here representing women all over the world and that there are probably young girls watching me right now, looking up to me, wishing me success.
Oh God. What if I screw up and can’t hack it with the big boys? Then I’ll go down in history as the first failed woman in football. That’s not the legacy I wanted to have. I wanted to be the best damn kicker in the league so that no one even gives a shit about my gender.
“Don’t do that,” a voice on the sideline calls out to me, reeling me in from the rising panic from staring at all the people in the noisy stands. Down here on the field, I suddenly feel like an insignificant ant that’s about to get trampled.
“Roxanne?”
Hearing my name, I turn in the direction and find Kohen propped up on his crutches on the sidelines. And just like every other time I see him, I feel guilty that he’s not dressed in his pads and uniform ready to play. Seeing him also triggers a few other types of emotions, ones that are new and becoming addictive. Kohen’s beautiful and…mesmerizing, making me desperate for a taste of him. Only I already know that one taste wouldn’t ever be enough. If I let myself indulge in him, it could possibly turn into a lifelong dependency that I’m not sure if I could handle.
“Don’t you dare do that,” he says as if reading my mind. Hobbling over closer, his chiseled jaw with a hint of dark stubble is clenched tight either in annoyance or pain.
“Don’t do what?” I ask, peeling my helmet off to try and suck in more oxygen. Is there enough for all of us in this freaking dome? Then I get a whiff of Kohen’s scent that’s masculine and delicious like hazelnut, matching his melted candy bar eyes.
“Don’t doubt yourself. Or panic. You’ve got this, Roxanne. Your leg is one of the best in the league.”
His comforting words reel me in, centering me, calming me, and right now that’s what I need.
“What if I fuck up?” I ask him seriously. Speaking the words aloud has my heart beating triple time in my chest.
“You’re not gonna fuck up. Just pretend that we’re on the practice field and nail the ball whenever they need you to through the uprights like you always do.”
“I don’t want to let everyone down,” I say, meaning my teammates and all the little girls who look up to me.
“No one’s perfect, not on this team or in the world. If you make a mistake, learn from it, and don’t do it again,” he says with a slap to my shoulder pads as if it’s that simple. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat with a nod.
After we all stand for the national anthem, our team captains win the coin toss and defer until the second half. Thankfully, Warren is kicking off and doing the punting tonight. All I have to worry about is field goals and extra points.
It doesn’t take long before my number is called. In the first quarter, our defense gets the Knights’ offense off the field with three and out, then Quinton easily moves the ball right on down the field to score a touchdown. I can’t even celebrate the points on the board knowing that this is it. I’m no longer just a woman in pads wearing a Wildcats jersey. It’s finally time for me to jog out onto the field and do my job.
My teammates shout encouragement as I set up for the extra point. Warren’s holding for me, and I’ve done this hundreds of times in practice. In college, I made every single extra point. Now’s not the time to break that streak.
Waiting for my signal as the seconds on the play clock tick down, I give a nod and then Warren calls for the ball. I drown out everything else, focusing only on the familiar pigskin as Warren stands it up underneath his finger, laces out just like they’re supposed to be. Moving forward, my foot connects with the seam of the ball at full speed; and then it’s sailing through the air and dead center between the uprights.
Thank fuck!
My breath rushes out in relief as the guys congratulate me with pats on the back and on my helmet.
In an elated daze, I follow my teammates back over to the sidelines, getting more congratulations on my very first point before I end up in front of Kohen, who is smiling like a proud father. There’s not a trace of jealousy or anger that it was me on the field and not him.
“Easy, right?” he asks.
“Easy,” I agree with my own grin, wanting to hug him but refraining as I take my helmet off and go over to the practice net to try a few kicks just in case. Now, let’s hope our offense scores on every drive so I don’t have to try to make any field goals.
The game clock ticks faster than I expected, and I end up kicking just one more extra point before halftime. When we retake the field, the Knights decide to stage a comeback with a vengeance. Hugh Vincent, our second string quarterback, goes into the game for the second half to get in a few reps; but unfortunately, his first throw is picked off and run back for a touchdown.
The score is tied twenty-one to twenty-one, and the clock is running out, which means I’m facing my worst nightmare. We get the ball back, but Hugh is out of timeouts and Coach doesn’t want to risk a turnover, so they send me in to try and nail a fifty-two yard field goal to win the game. We’re indoors with no wind gusts to worry about, and I’ve made a sixty yarder in practice several times. Should be easy, right?
As I take the field, over the PA system blares a new song they haven’t played all night, “Roxanne” by The Police. Great, nothing instills confidence like a song with my name in it about prostitution.
Then, when I line up on the right hash mark, the uprights look like they’re miles away rather than just fifty-two yards. Telling myself I can do this, I try to block all the other noises out. But as soon as I raise my leg, I know the ball’s not gonna make it. I hold my breath as it flies end over end too fast through the air and then breezes past the left goal post by inches.
Fuck.
“It’s all right.”
“Good try, Roxy.”
“We’ll get them in overtime.”
My teammates try to sound upbeat, but I know they’re disappointed in me. I can’t even look at Kohen, because I’m certain he would’ve easily made that field goal, but he’s not playing because of me.
Our defense is obviously tired from enduring a full game, and most are inexperienced second and third string players that are vying for a roster spot during these preseason games. So it’s no big surprise when, on the first play of overtime, the Knights’ quarterback launches the ball forty yards down the field, and their wide receiver catches it and runs it into the end zone with not a single touch from our corners.
Game fucking over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kohen
I knock softly on Roxanne’s hotel door and prop my shoulder against the wall to help keep the crutches steady. Shit, I know she’s kicking herself in the ass, and she shouldn’t be. After we had lost in overtime, Roxanne shook hands with the other team and then headed for her changing room since they don’t have locker room facilities to accommodate her. When I asked the guys, none of them saw her on any of the team’s buses, so I’m not even sure if she came back to the hotel yet.
“Roxanne, if you’re in there, please open up,” I say through the door while knocking again.
“Go away,” it sounds like she replies. Good, she did make it back okay; only, she’s not getting rid of me that easily.
“I’m gonna keep banging on the door, then your neighbor’s gonna call and report you for noise if you don’t let me in,” I warn her with another loud knock.
I hear the chain on the other side being undone, and then she cracks the door open about three inches.
Fresh from a shower I assume she took in her room, Roxanne’s blonde hair is damp and piled up on top of her head. She’s wearing black cotton shorts and a thin, white Wildcats tee. Did I mention her shirt is see-through and she’s not wearing a bra? Yeahhhh.
Swallowing and lifting my eyes to hers, I say, “I, um, just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We’ve all been there.”
“The mighty Kohen Hendricks has lost a game? I find that hard to believe,” she says with a shake of her head. “I choked. I fucking choked.” Her voice breaks on the last word as she turns away and her shoulders shake as she starts to cry. I know that’s just one more thing she’s gonna hate about herself in the morning --- crying in front of me. And fuck if I don’t hate seeing her upset, doubting herself when she shouldn’t.
“Come here,” I say as I hobble further into the room, letting the door shut behind me. Once I’ve hopped over to her, I let go of my crutches to reach for her shoulders, turning her around and pulling her into my arms.
“That was a long ass field goal, and Coach just wanted to give you some practice,” I tell her, wobbling to keep my balance on one leg. “He didn’t actually expect you to make it.” Roxanne scoffs at that last comment and tries to pull away from my arms, which I don’t allow. Only, the push and shove motions throw me more off balance. I try to throw my palm out to grab the wall, but Roxanne shifts her weight, and then we’re both going down to the floor with her on top of me. Air rushes out of my lungs with the force of impact.
“Shit, sorry,” Roxanne says as she sits up, straddling my waist with her palms pressed against my chest to push herself up. “I swear I’m not always trying to hurt you; it just seems to happen.”
From this new position of hers, the see-through t-shirt falls forward, giving me an unobstructed view of her bare tits. Jesus, they’re mouthwatering perfection with rosy pink nipples.
Roxanne wiggling to get off me only makes the proof of my physical attraction to her more obvious. And when she gasps and freezes above me, her water-filled green eyes widening, I know she’s felt my cock hardening through the thin layer of my nylon pants. Tonight I may be wearing boxer briefs, but there’s no containing the Kraken when it decides to rise.
“Um, is that a dildo in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Roxanne asks with a giggle, pressing her ass down harder onto my erection and making me groan.
“It’s a dildo,” I tell her, sitting up on my elbows. “You know, for when you tell me to go fuck myself.”
“I haven’t said that all day,” she replies innocently, not so subtly rocking her hips.
“A new record,” I mutter, my fists tightening by my sides with the urge to grab her hips and press her down or reach up and squeeze a handful of her tits while she continues to look so fucking tempting sitting on me. “Now stop riding my dick unless you’re gonna get naked.”
Roxanne’s big, surprised eyes meet mine, and then time seems to stand still. Seconds tick by, each one pushing me deeper into that alternate reality, the one where this gorgeous woman is as desperate for me as I am for her. My words may have come out casually, but I don’t want her to move off of me. No, I want her to pull my pants down and sink her pussy that’s so hot I can feel the heat through our clothes, right down on my cock.
When Roxanne doesn’t move off of me, I start to think that maybe it’s possible that she actually does want me. Is she waiting for me to cave and make the first move?
Unwilling to let this moment pass without finding out, I sit up at the same time Roxy leans forward until our lips meet. This is no soft, sweet kiss either. Our tongues anxiously stroke against each other for the first time in two weeks, and then it’s game over.
The intensity of the kiss forces me to my back; and with my hands gripping her face, Roxy has no choice but to ride me down, our tongues still fighting for dominance. I’m losing, and it’s so goddamn good that I let her take control. Panting breaths are exchanged into each other’s mouths while we only pause long enough to jerk Roxy’s shirt over her head. Her smooth hands slip underneath my tee, caressing my skin while pushing the material up as she goes until it’s coming off. Cold chill bumps erupt and every muscle in my body tenses when her fingernails brush over my abs and spread up and over my pecs. My hands are jealous and want to feel more of her. I shove them both down the back of her shorts, underneath her panties. After sneaking a quick squeeze of her ass cheeks, I shove them down her legs, eager to get them out of the fucking way. Roxanne lifts up long enough to remove them and then returns her lips to mine.
My nylon pants and boxer briefs are the only remaining pieces of clothing between us. But not for lon
g. Roxanne jerks just the waistbands to my thighs. And the next second I groan against her lips, trying not to shoot my load when she starts working her wet pussy down my shaft. She tortures me with one tight little inch at a time. And by the time she hits rock bottom, I can’t take anymore.
I want to roll us over so that she’s on her back underneath me and I can pump my hips, fucking her hard and fast; but in the shape my knee’s in, I know that’s not gonna happen for a few more weeks.
Wait, that’s assuming we’re gonna still be doing this in a few weeks. I already know I would move mountains to be able to get inside of her again.
“Ah fuck,” I groan against her lips when Roxy sets the pace with slow rolls of her hips that are definitely gonna drive me fucking insane. My hands circle her narrow waist, wanting to slam her harder and faster on my cock. But then she sits up, breaking our kiss. Arching her back, she moans in pleasure. She’s so fucking beautiful riding me, and the sounds she’s making are so sexy that I decide she can take me any way she wants.
“Right there! Oh, God, Kohen!” Roxy cries out, her eyes shut, lips parted as her pussy clamps down on me, and I can’t complain anymore. Now she’s grinding on my cock frantically like her life depends on it, and I’ve got a front row seat as her tits bounce in front of my face, even more spectacular than I imagined. I’m almost scared to touch them, afraid they’ll disappear like a mirage. Oh, but I have to risk it, reaching up to cup them both. So soft and full in my palms. Perfect.
There’s no hope for me to last any longer when Roxy’s pulsating pussy milks me dry in record-breaking time. Too short but too fucking amazing to stop, I come with a growl of insane pleasure as my cock erupts deep inside of her.
Roxy collapses on my damp chest after that, resting her face in the crook of my neck as we both try and catch our breath. That’s when reality all starts coming back into focus, reminding me that I’m on the floor of my teammate’s room, taking advantage of her when I knew she was emotional. Dammit. I was supposed to be watching out for her, not fucking her!