by Sara Ney
Engaged? Whoa.
Miranda thrusts out her hand, displaying the tiny rock on her left ring finger. “Only four hundred and ninety-seven more days!” she squeals, spreading out her blanket and taking a seat next to me. “Want to share? The ground is so cold. Did you think there would be bleachers?”
I did. “Kind of?”
“Usually there are, but this is just a scrimmage, so they’re not playing on an actual field. This is more, like, for fun.”
“More like an exhibition game,” Renee clarifies.
Miranda moves her hand this way and that, admiring her engagement ring. “We always have to sit here and hope they don’t get hurt during one of these games.”
“What happens if they get hurt?”
“Wellll,” Miranda begins. “For one, they can’t play—obviously—and two, a few of these guys want to play overseas. You know, in Britain or wherever.”
“It’s really popular in England,” Renee explains. “More so than here. No one gives a crap about it here.”
“Do your boyfriends want to play after college?”
Miranda takes a chug of whatever is in her coffee cup. “Thomas doesn’t, even though I’d like him to ’cause—hello! England—I would love to live there even if Thomas doesn’t. But I think that twat Steven plans to at least try. And number two—he’s really good.”
Twat.
I’ve never in my life heard a female call someone that before.
“I bet Kip could if he wanted to. He’s good, plus he’s like, ginormous. The professional players are all super huge.”
Super huge.
Yeah, he is.
Tall. Broad. Big.
Everywhere.
I try my best not to think about his dick, but it’s impossible—especially considering he’s one hundred feet in front of me, wearing spandex compression shorts, the outline of his jock strap leaving nothing to the imagination.
As if he knows we’re watching, he adjusts himself, squatting for a few seconds and shifts his cock inside the cup before resuming his stretches.
Yup. His dick is big all right, just like the rest of him, and I dry humped it nice and good last night before he went down on me.
My sore thighs are proof of that.
“So you’re friends with Kip, eh? He never has people come to the games.” Miranda watches him with me, fiddling with the rim of her cup. “Although one time, I think he had a sister that showed up, because they left together after.”
“How do you know it was his sister?” Renee wants to know.
“She was tall. Plus, same hair.” Miranda laughs. “God, isn’t it just awful? If Thomas grew his out like that, I’d break up with him.” She gives her dark hair a toss, sets down her cup, and adjusts the scarf wrapped around her pretty neck. “I wonder what it would be like to sleep with a guy who had hair longer than mine.”
“Uh—weird?” Renee says. “So gross. Like, cut it.”
I wouldn’t say it was weird; I’d say it was different—not that we had sex or anything, but we did sleep together, and he did have it pulled up. It wasn’t lying loose around his shoulders, and, come to think of it, have I ever really seen it down?
Maybe just while he was redoing his man bun.
Miranda stares at Kip again, thinking. “I remember Molly—our friend who used to date one of these guys—said Kip didn’t always have the beard and was kind of hot.”
“Well he isn’t hot now.” Renee laughs. “No offense.”
I realize then I haven’t told her my name. “Oh my gosh, duh—I’m Teddy.”
“Teddy? I love that!” Renee cries. “It’s so cool!”
“Oh my god, me too!” Miranda gushes. “Don’t you just love male names for women? They’re my favorite. In fact, when Thomas and I have babies—I’m having like, ten kids—my girls are going to have boy names. Frankie, Georgie, Max…”
“Teddy?” I throw out.
“Oh I’m def adding that to the short list.” She picks up her cup again. “You want a sip? It’s hot chocolate.”
“No thanks.”
I can’t believe how friendly these girls are. They’re nothing like Cameron and Tessa, and they’re definitely friendlier than Mariah, who would never have befriended a stranger at a sporting event—unless it was a guy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the rugby house before,” I venture cautiously.
Renee makes a face. “That’s because we don’t hang out there. It’s nothing but cleat chasers and gold diggers—I won’t let Brian party there without me anymore.”
“Right,” Miranda agrees. “Besides, the house is so dirty. No one cleans it.”
“What about you?” Renee asks. “Do you hang out there?”
I laugh. “Ugh, that’s where I met Kip. He, um, caught me at the keg, pouring beer for people, and—I don’t know. We became friends in an awkward sort of way.”
“Awkward sort of way? What do you mean?” Miranda cocks her head, interested.
“You know, we’ve been hanging out at his place, and just…it’s different. He doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks, and he’s kind of rude, and sometimes I’m shy so we’re opposites that way. Plus, I didn’t think I’d like him because of the whole beard thing. It was really off-putting at first, but…he’s grown on me.”
Grown on me—an understatement if there ever was one.
“And you’re just friends?”
“I mean…yes?”
“Why the question mark at the end?” Renee leans in. “Do you like him?”
“I might?”
“Does he like you?”
He likes my body, I can’t stop myself from thinking.
“Shit—he sees you! Act natural.” Miranda nudges me in the ribcage. “Don’t look at him!”
I look.
She clocks me again. “I said don’t look at him.”
“Why? Why can’t I look?”
“Guy 101, that’s why! If he sees you watching, he’s going to think you don’t have a life and you just came here to see him.”
That makes no sense.
None.
At all.
“But I am watching. That is exactly why I’m here—to see him.” I sound like I’m defending myself, but there’s laughter in my voice.
I’m having fun with these two—more fun than I’ve had with Mariah in a long, long time.
“Miranda, give her a break.” Renee giggles. “Okay, he’s not looking over here anymore. You can relax.”
Like that’s going to happen. “Can I watch him once the game starts?”
“It’s called a match, and yes, you can watch him once it starts, which is in”—she checks her phone—“less than ten minutes. They usually try to start on time.”
“I hope they call it early—I’m freezing, and Thomas is taking me to dinner.”
“Speaking of freezing,” I carefully start. “I was, um, at Kip’s last night, and he had no heat. It was awful.”
I’m desperate to discuss what happened with someone who isn’t going to have an angle, like Mariah, who would pump me for information about Kip—not for me, but for herself.
I’ve realized over the past few weekends that she doesn’t have my best interests at heart, not like a best friend should, and it’s probably time to distance myself from her.
“You were at Kip’s place, and you had no heat. Interestingggggg.” Miranda wiggles her eyebrows. “So what did you do to keep warm?”
More brow wiggles.
“We…” I hesitate. I’ve never engaged in girl talk like this before, gossiping about my own relationships, because I’ve never had any to gossip about. I test the waters. “Snuggled.”
“You snuggled.” Neither of them look impressed with my answer.
I nod, biting down on my lower lip before busting out into a smile.
“Did this snuggling include any exchange of bodily fluid?” Miranda impishly smirks over the rim of her cup.
“Miranda! That’s pri
vate!” Renee scolds her. Then she turns to me. “But did it?”
I’m not sure what they mean by that exactly, but, “Some, I guess?”
“Did you do it?” Miranda has no filter. Or boundaries.
“No! Nothing like that.”
“Oh.” She’s clearly disappointed.
“But he did go down…” I point to my vajayjay. “There.”
“Stop it right now! He went down on you? What was it like with, you know—the beard?”
Ha! I knew girls were obsessed with beards and oral.
“Let me just put it to you this way: I’m walking crooked and I have rug burn on the insides of my thighs.” I lean back, bracing myself with both palms on the blanket, feeling smug at having impressed these girls.
“Oh. My. God! Did you orgasm more than once?” Miranda hovers in my personal space.
I sit up. “You can do that?”
“Are you being serious right now? Yes, you can have more than one gasm. One time, Thomas gave me three—two from eating me out, and then he fucked me from behind. My god, I was exhausted.”
“Miranda!” Renee is horrified. “What the hell? Too much information!”
Miranda rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease, I told you all this already.”
“But we just met Teddy, like, five minutes ago,” Renee chastises. “Give her a minute to get to know us before you scare her away. Ease into it, Jesus!”
“Teddy isn’t going anywhere, are you Teddy?” She pats me on the shoulder. “She’s going to be one of us, I can tell.” Miranda winks flirtatiously.
“I didn’t say we were dating, you guys,” I hasten to point out. “I might not come back.”
“Not yet, but Kip has looked over at you at least a dozen times in the last three minutes, so I’d say you were headed that way, especially if he asked you to be here in the first place. And went down on you last night.”
“Did you give him a blowjob?” Renee blurts out, and has Miranda letting out a peal of laughter.
“You just yelled at me for getting too personal, you hypocrite.”
Renee covers her mouth with her hands, laughing. “I’m sorry, it just came out. Teddy, you don’t have to answer that.”
“Yes she does,” Miranda chides. “Kidding, only if you want to.”
“I…didn’t. Should I have?”
“Did he want you to?”
“He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t ask for a blowie?” Miranda’s brows are in her hairline. “Dang girl—you’ve got yourself a unicorn.”
“What do you mean?”
“He gave you oral without wanting it in return? That’s a true find, my friend. Thomas always wants a BJ after he’s gone down on me, unless I let him bang me.”
“Um, I didn’t let him, uh…bang me, but…we did dry hump first. Does that count?”
“You dry fucked first? That is so hot.”
“I remember when Brian and I used to dry hump all the time.” Renee recalls it wistfully, gazing off into the line of trees at the back of the park. “I’m totally doing that to him tonight. I’m gonna try to make him come in his boxers for old time’s sake.”
“Like when we were in high school—I was always afraid to get pregnant, so I would only let my boyfriend dry fuck me through my clothes. God, I was such a prude.”
“It’s not prudish—it’s sexy.”
“Right, but do you know how much chafing is involved? Dude. So much chafing.”
These girls are too much.
I lie back on the blanket, laughing up at the sky, and they join me until we hear a whistle blowing, three short blasts.
“Op! Match is starting.” I get a pat on the thigh. “Pay attention, and we’ll talk you through it so you know what’s going on. It looks like football but the rules are completely different.”
“It’s mostly guys who like to pile on top of each other, get dirty, punch each other in the face, and then go drinking afterward,” Renee teases.
For once, Miranda is the serious one. “Stop that—you know that’s not true. Rugby is a real physical strain on their bodies. See? They’ve only been playing thirty seconds and that guy is already limping.”
“That guy is a pussy,” Renee mumbles under her breath about the opposing player limping to the sideline. He’s replaced quickly by another giant. “And those pileups are called scrums. It’s part of the game.”
I nod, though I don’t understand.
Some of the guys are wearing helmets; most of them aren’t. They’re all wearing mouth guards, their jerseys all stained. Each and every one of them has bruises, gashes, and scrapes.
I hadn’t noticed them on Kip before, but I’m noticing them now. The dark bruise on his thigh I didn’t see in the dark. A cut on his forehead, right at his hairline.
“How long do these things last?” I ask.
“Eighty minutes. Two halves.”
“Basically an eternity, unless they’re playing someone really good, like Penn State or Notre Dame.”
Notre Dame.
“Oo! Watch, watch, watch—Thomas is about to get pummeled. Ugh, why does he do shit like that?”
“Do shit like what?” I ask. “What did he do?”
“He always has to be in the middle of those stupid scrums—he’s going to get hurt again.”
The players from both teams are huddled in the middle of the field, and it looks like a giant bar fight as each man struggles to gain control of the ball.
“Who invented this? It looks awful.” My voice sounds dazed as I watch men jump on top of each other, throwing elbows, shoulders, and gabs. “Jesus, where are the refs?”
“Right? Brian spends the whole next day after one of these complaining, icing himself, and bandaging up bloody wounds.” She smiles. “I think he feels really masculine playing this stupid game, like a gladiator or something.”
I can see that—no padding, no hard helmets, nothing to prevent them from getting seriously injured.
Spandex shorts.
Perfect asses and toned backs. Thick thighs. Muscular arms.
It’s hard not to stare, hard not to appreciate how hard and fine these bodies are.
They’re rough. They’re dirty.
Some of them are as hairy as Kip, but not many.
I train my eyes on him as he dips low to tackle an opponent, heels digging into the ground for traction.
“What position is he? Fullback? Linebacker?”
“You’re confusing rugby with soccer and football.” Miranda chuckles. “Kip is a loose head because he’s bigger and heavier. They wouldn’t put him in the back—they need him in the front.”
“Not that he stays there.” Renee smirks. “He’s a ball hog.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
“So what’s his job?”
“Well…hmm.” Miranda thinks. “He lifts guys up in the scrum—that giant pile we just saw. He mauls people like a savage and shoves dudes out of the way.”
Renee nods along her agreement. “Yup. That about sums it up, but if you really want to find out more, google it.”
I will. For sure.
The game drags on, the ground unrelentingly cold. I’m relieved when the final whistle blows and the referee calls the game in our favor. The girls pack up to leave, and I rise along with them since I brought nothing.
“Come over with us and say hi to Kip.” Renee has the blanket folded over her arm and pulls at my jacket with her free hand.
“No, that’s okay. You guys go, I’m gonna just…I’m gonna go.”
“Why? He’ll be happy to see you.”
“I…no. I’ll feel weird. We’re not dating or anything.”
Rushing the boys after the match seems like a girlfriend-y thing to do, and I know I’m not close to that level with Kip.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He’s not likely to notice when I don’t show up at their side.
The two girls rush off to gush over their boyfriends and congratulate them on
their victory, hugging and kissing them all over. I give Kip one last look before turning my back—he’s bent over the bench, untying a cleat, perfect rear end in the air, black socks highlighting his ridiculous calves.
I sigh, walking toward the car I borrowed from Tessa to get here, the beige Camry she’s been sweet enough to loan me from time to time to make my life easier.
It’ll be a few more years before I’ll be able to save enough to afford a car.
“Teddy! Wait up.”
I pause at Kip’s voice, at the sound of his cleats clicking across the pavement in my direction.
“Where you goin’?”
I look him up and down.
“How are you so dirty?” are the first words out of my mouth by way of greeting, because honestly, he’s filthy. Positively covered in dirt and grime. “It’s not even raining—how are you caked with mud?”
Those giant shoulders shrug. “Don’t know.”
He looks like a Viking warrior, tall and imposing and blond. Beard knotted with that rubber band, so it’s out of his way, hair falling out all over the damn place.
He’s a Viking who just did battle in a yellow and black jersey.
Feet spread apart, he’s breathing heavily and regarding me under the now illuminated street lamps. We’ve been here so long it’s gotten dark, the parking lot beginning to empty as players and spectators head home.
“So…where you going?” he asks again, hands going up behind his head. Biceps bulging.
“Home?”
“Why?”
Uh. Was home not the right answer? “I have to return Tessa’s car, but, I mean, I don’t have plans to do anything.”
“You’re not coming over?”
He wants me to come over? He saw me last night and this morning—isn’t that enough? “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
“I don’t have any plans either.”
“Of course not—it’s not Friday night.” I find myself winking at him flirtatiously.
“We could go see a movie.” His legs are still spread apart, the cold air causing his breath—and mine—to puff out in a slow stream of steam.
“After the match you just played? You must be tired.” And beat, if the blood on his jersey is any indication, the scratch on his knee and the gash in his lip…