The Sexy Jerk World

by Kim Karr

  Her chest rose with the forceful inhalation of her breath, as if she was waging a war to decide, but then she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Tempting, but we really should get going.”

  I got up too, and like her, started to dress.

  As she pulled her panties up, I stared at her, watched her, and memorized everything I could about her.

  “Will you touch yourself this week and think of me?” she asked bluntly.

  Most of the time she amused me and I found myself wanting to laugh at the things she simply blurted out.

  I liked that about her.

  A lot.

  But this time I didn’t laugh at her straightforwardness. This time I answered seriously. “Every night,” I admitted.

  Her eyebrows went up and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You could call me.”

  The thought was like receiving an electrical charge. “How about as soon as we get back?”

  She was tying her dress when she looked up with a flush that made me realize just how sweet she really was. “Ummm…sure.”

  I pulled my shirt over my head. “Why do you sound uncertain?”

  While she slipped her sandals on, she said, “I’ve never had phone sex.”

  How could I not chuckle? “Me either, but how hard can it be? No pun intended.”

  At that she laughed. “Call me, and let’s find out.”

  The statement was simple, but it made my body roar with the need to have her. Our time was up though, so I settled on crossing the room and kissing her for the few minutes we had left.

  This kiss turned soft and tender. It was a direct contradiction to the raging out-of-control kisses we had shared up until now.

  When she pulled back, she said a little breathlessly, “I had a really good time on our date.”

  I waggled my brows. “Girl, if I knew dating was this much fun, I would have done it a lot sooner.”

  She fixed me with a stare that was a lot like her father’s when he was pissed.

  I raised my palms. “Kidding, just kidding.”

  “It wasn’t funny.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I confessed.

  She grinned at me. “Come on, smart-ass, we have to go.”

  With a shake of my head I took her hand and headed for the door. In a hurry, I never slowed until we reached the lobby. Once there, I disentangled our hands just in case anyone knew us, which I was certain no one would, or else I would have been worried.

  Neither of us said a word, but we both felt the implication of what we were embarking on.

  This private affair.

  It was not without consequences.

  It was off-limits.

  Forbidden.

  Outside the hotel, I bent down so that I could see inside the back of the Uber car. With my hand grasping the door, I said, “Later, Strawberry Fields.”

  She gave me a wave, and then I closed the door.

  I didn’t like ending the night this way. It felt wrong, but all I could do was stand on the curb and watch the car pull away.

  “Hey, Carrington.”

  I turned to see Thor with his arm around a girl and his mouth hanging open. I knew he would be at the hotel, but never thought I’d run into him. I mean come on, the chances of coming and going at the same time were small, and yet they were still there.

  I should have been smarter.

  “Was that Coach’s daughter you were with?” he asked, a shocked expression on his face.

  Unnerved, I ran a hand through my hair. “Thor, this stays between us.”

  “Coach’s daughter,” he said again, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

  “Thor,” I hissed.

  He patted his girl on the ass and kissed her. “Bye, baby,” he said, and then set his attention on me. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Now, come on, roommate, we need to hustle if want to catch that bus.”

  He knew about Gillian and me, but at least I knew he’d keep quiet.

  What I didn’t know then—that was only the start of the dominos I couldn’t stop from falling.

  17

  The Grind

  Lucas

  Today was fan day.

  Although practices had been opened to the public for the past week, it was the first time the players were required to interact with them.

  Since days in NFL training camp were beginning to seem infinite, I wasn’t as opposed to what was coming as the vets were. They’d started bitching about it days ago. Guess they knew what to expect.

  Waking up before six, breakfast seemed like nothing but a chore. Today, I was so sore from the day before that I decided to skip it and just sleep in.

  The drops of water I felt splashing me had me jerking upright. “What the fuck?”

  Thor was standing over me shaking his wet head. “Hey honey, wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”

  With my glare, I told him to back the fuck off.

  Fresh from the shower, he was naked. I swore the dude never had his fucking pants on. “Seriously, Carrington, time to get up.”

  “Relax, man, I’m skipping breakfast,” I said.

  All of a sudden the covers were jerked off me. “No fucking way. Whitney will eat me for breakfast if I show up in the cafeteria without you.”

  I rolled over and punched my pillow. “Then skip.”

  The mattress dipped. “Dude, you know I’m all for booty calls, right?”

  Not wanting to hear his wisdom, I put the pillow over my head.

  Thor laid his body right beside mine.

  I wasn’t having that, and I shoved him off the edge.

  Unaffected, he sat up. “What I’m saying my friend is you might want to get some sleep tonight.”

  I glared at him, but I knew he wasn’t exactly wrong. For the first few nights after our date, Gillian and I met at the bridge and then went to our own rooms before curfew, where we spent another hour or so on the phone. But then somehow the phone thing started to seem ridiculous. I mean she was just a few floors away. That’s how I ended up sneaking down to her room and slipping out later.

  It wasn’t smart, but then again I wasn’t thinking with that head, was I?

  “You listening to me?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Then get the fuck up. I have to get over there and chow.”

  There was an edge in his voice that sounded like concern. I avoided looking down. “Why? What’s going on?”

  The dude didn’t know when to cool it and got back on the bed. He pressed his head into my pillow like we were about to cuddle. “Yesterday, after the second practice, I weighed two hundred and sixty-two pounds,” he sighed.

  No wonder the bed hadn’t collapsed when he got on it. “Man, you’re eight pounds under your magic number. Isn’t that a fail for you?”

  The bed did wobble when he stood. “Fuck you very much for finally getting it. Now, get your horny ass out of bed and let’s go.”

  Not wanting to be a dick, I got out of bed and threw some clothes on. I figured I’d better eat too. If I went down on the field because I’d skipped breakfast, Coach would have me up on that podium tonight for his daily roasting, and trust me, fun was fun, but that didn’t look too fun.

  In truth, as quarterback I didn’t have to adhere to the same weight standards as the positions. Some guys were too heavy, some too light, either way they were cut on the spot at weigh in time if they didn’t hit their magic number.

  Not being accountable for that rule was a good thing for me because I had always been on the lean side. No matter how much I ate or worked out, my weight stayed the same. I was built like my father and my brother.

  Lean, mean, fighting machines was what Nick called us.

  So yeah, I got Thor’s issue. Felt it. And the kicker was I knew he had a reason to be worried. Right now the team was sitting at seventy guys, twenty had already been let go, and it seemed lately each day another one dropped due to i
njury or because they broke one of Coach’s rules.

  To make matters worse, the team trainers had started keeping tabs on every bruise, strain, or ailment reported. If an injury was reported, that player became obligated to attend treatment sessions during the few windows of downtime that existed throughout the day. This was quickly becoming a great incentive for the players to not report any injuries that were otherwise manageable.

  Thor was unusually quiet as we walked along the pathway to the cafeteria, not a word about his girls or Gillian.

  It was so unlike him, I knew he must really be worried. I had to try to ease his mind. “Hey, dude you’ve been killing it in practice lately. I’m sure even if you’re under weight, your performance will be taken into account.”

  He was wearing his baseball cap so low that if I was trying to read him, I wouldn’t have been able to. “You hear about Robson yesterday?”

  I shook my head. “Just saw him bagging his stuff, but I don’t know why. Do you?”

  Some of the dew from the trees dripped down onto his hat, and when he took it off, he glared over at me with an entirely too pissed off look. “Yeah, I do. And so would you if you weren’t so preoccupied.”

  “Just tell me,” I snapped.

  “His goal weight was two hundred and fifty-nine pounds. He weighed in at two hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, it happened just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “His weigh in was before practice started. And not even an hour later, he was carrying his shit out to the van, which, by the way, was waiting to take him and three others back to Soldier Field. Things are getting serious around here, Lucas, and you might want to remember that the next time you head downstairs after curfew, or any other time for that matter.”

  Seriously, that comment was uncool, and I glared right back at him. “Don’t take your shit out on me, and keep your mouth shut about her.”

  He shook his head. “Whatever, dude.”

  The mood altered, I kept my own mouth shut the rest of the walk and so did he. Wouldn’t you know it though, as soon as we opened the big double doors, the first person the both of us see, was Coach.

  And our mood once again altered. No longer angry, but now nervous, anxious, anything but ready to face him.

  Of course I had a shit ton of guilt to deal with, and Thor had the reaper hanging over his head, so being pissed at each other was no longer on top of the list. We both turned our heads toward each other and started talking, and walking faster. It was a great avoidance strategy, and it usually worked with Coach.

  Just not this time.

  “Carrington,” Coach yelled, almost as if he were waiting for me to arrive.

  A cold sweat poured from my brow, as I nodded my head toward him in acknowledgement.

  “Grab your tray and take a seat over here.”

  Did he know where I was last night?

  That I was with Gillian.

  With his daughter.

  “Yes, Coach. I’ll be right there,” I told him as I passed by him, and then hustled as fast as I could to escape his appraising glance.

  “You’re on your own,” Thor muttered.

  While I grabbed oatmeal, eggs, and two glasses of juice, Thor went for whole-grain pancakes. Stacks and stacks and stacks of them. When he covered them in syrup and brown sugar, I seriously thought I might puke.

  “How the hell are you going to scoff down all that food and keep it down during practice?” I asked.

  He grabbed some silverware. “I don’t care about keeping it down during practice. Just until after weigh in.”

  “Good luck.” I patted him on the shoulder.

  At the end of the line, he veered to the right.

  I had no choice but to go left. “Thor,” I called.

  He turned his head.

  “See you at practice. You got this.”

  With a nod, he mouthed, “Thanks.”

  I took a deep breath, and headed toward Coach. I wasn’t headed toward his office, but it felt that way.

  There was a roil in my gut that more than likely was going to prevent me from eating anything. But with Coach watching me, I knew I would be doing what Thor was going to do, force it down.

  Over the past few days Coach had been relentless. His end-of-practice lectures had grown more scolding. His ire raged when players dropped balls, missed blocks, or showed a lack of concentration.

  I got it.

  It wasn’t the individual he was after. As a team, we weren’t connecting, and he could see it. We were running every play four to five to six times, and we were still making the same mistakes.

  Something had to change, and it was up to him to make that change.

  Was I going to be it?

  The cafeteria was almost full, but the seat across from Coach was wide open. Guess it was my lucky day.

  Hardly.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t been spending enough time with him. Only a minimum of two and one-half hours a day. He was the quarterback coach, after all.

  And it wasn’t like each and every time I had to look him in the eye, I didn’t want to confess that I was banging his daughter.

  Not using those words exactly.

  Of course, I also wanted to let him know I had the upmost respect for his daughter.

  Which I did.

  And it wasn’t like every time I stepped foot out on the field I thought it could be my last.

  I did.

  This time would be no different. Worry plagued me. Did he know? Did someone see? Did he see? Was I out?

  By the time I got to the table, I seriously thought I was going to puke.

  Turned out Coach had finished his breakfast and was studying a playbook that he had in front of him.

  He was using his pen to draw lines. Coach was a fanatic when it came to pace. Always wanting us to move faster, think faster, act faster, and I was certain he was coming up with something to make that happen.

  This was about football.

  Thank fuck!

  “New plays?” I asked as I set my tray down, relief rushing through me.

  With a glance in my direction, he pushed his reading glasses up on his nose. “Yeah. After yesterday’s practice it’s became pretty damn obvious the offensive line needs some help in learning how to move together.”

  Not that I would ever disagree with him to his face, but I didn’t think they were that bad. The problem wasn’t the line, but rather a single person on that line. “You think?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I said nothing more, and shoved a forkful of eggs in my mouth.

  The book had his new play ideas mapped out to the letter. He pointed. “The offensive line’s priority is to work together. They are a moving, thinking, adapting wall that is supposed to be protecting you, and at the same time, creating space for the running back to run. The problem is there are way too many Goddamn cracks in the wall.”

  Okay, so I nodded, which I hated doing because I felt like I was selling the team out. But he was right. And he was looking right at me for affirmation. As I gulped my juice, I had to force myself to relax my throat or it was coming back up. And with my luck, more than likely landing right on Coach’s playbook. That would not go over well.

  There was a red pen in his hand and he used it to demonstrate as he spoke. “If one guy, just one, misses a block or goes in the wrong direction, then the entire wall comes tumbling down. That’s what I’m going to change.”

  Whether he knew it or not yet, the issue was the starting center. Walton was a three hundred and five pound rookie who needed some help. Execution wasn’t his problem. He could snap the ball to me like it was no one’s business. He just couldn’t call the plays to the line fast enough or loud enough.

  That was for the Offensive Coordinator to work out, not me, but he hadn’t addressed it yet. I guess Coach must have noticed it though, or he wouldn’t be working on new strategies.

  After walking me through several different
eighteen-second plays, all meant to prevent me from getting crushed nose-deep in the turf, I had to admit I was thankful for the time he was taking to work on the situation. The days were proving to be pretty grueling.

  When he looked up to tell me about another idea, his gaze went over my shoulder and he called out, “Gillian.”

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  I wanted to get up and excuse myself before she came over. I wanted to run hard and fast. I wanted to—.

  Just as I jerked my head around, I knocked over that second glass of juice I’d taken—all over the playbook. His playbook.

  Yeah, me, the big tough guy was nervous. But come on, who wouldn’t be. The girl I was…screwing…for lack of a more politically correct way to put it, was being summoned over to the table I was sitting at…across from her father…who didn’t know about us…who also happened to be my coach.

  So yeah, I was nervous.

  Coach glared at me as I popped to my feet and started wiping up the mess with the few napkins I had on my tray. He didn’t help though. Instead he got to his feet and waved his daughter to sit beside him.

  This wasn’t happening.

  Why hadn’t I just stayed in bed?

  “Hi, Dad,” she said as she circled the table.

  “Sweetheart, I feel like I haven’t seen you in days. Where have you been hiding?” he asked.

  “Oh, in Lucas’s pants,” I imagined her saying, and cringed even at the thought.

  “You’re the one who hasn’t been around,” she answered, setting her tray down and giving him a quick hug. “Where have you been?” she asked. She was smart, I had to give her that.

  Me, I was the dumbass wiping up the head coach’s playbook.

  Coach actually looked a little sheepish. “Nowhere,” he said, and quickly directed his attention to me. “Let’s hope you didn’t ruin it,” he muttered.

  With the most amused grin on her face, Gillian followed his gaze. “Lucas, are you okay there? Here, it looks like you could use some help,” she giggled, setting a wad of napkins from her own tray beside me, and taking one to assist.

  Smooth, Gillian.

  I would have glared at her, but then I’d have to explain to her father why I was being rude to his daughter, which would lead to a whole other conversation that was not going to take place.