by Cassie Cole
“That’s fucking bullshit. The work credit office isn’t going to give a shit about something like that. How would they even find out? Danny’s the captain of the football team and the star quarterback. If he signs off on your PT work and writes a letter attesting to your help, nobody would dare challenge it.”
Lance pointed a finger at me.
“I’m gonna talk to him. That’s a dumb excuse. If Danny’s not man enough to just say why—”
I grabbed his wrist to cut him off. His skin was hot to the touch, matching his anger. “It’s okay, Lance. It’s not a big deal.”
“It just pisses me off when Danny pushes aside his…” He trailed.
“His what?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Lance said. “Danny can be an idiot sometimes, that’s all.”
“Unlike the captivating wide receiver Lance Overmire, who is big and adorable.”
That pulled a grin onto his handsome face. “Naw, I’m an idiot plenty of times. The difference is I know when I’m being an idiot.”
I looked around the party while thinking about that. It was touching that Lance was so passionate about the way Danny treated me. Was he trying to push Danny into a real relationship with me, like a football matchmaker? Or was he being protective of me for my own benefit?
Before I could decide which, a sloppy drunk girl wandered past us. She was stumbling like a newborn fawn, sloshing her beer all over herself in the process. Lance watched as she made her way across the yard and into the arms of two female friends, who then helped lead her around the side of the house and back toward campus.
There was a look in Lance’s eyes that was deep and concerned.
“Let me ask you something. Why do you do what you do?”
He knew what I meant without clarification. “Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s what anyone would do.”
“If doing the right thing was easy,” I said, “then everyone would do it.”
Lance picked up his empty beer cup from where he’d spiked it, then looked inside as if it contained the answers. Then he gazed around the party, searching for something. Or maybe just trying to look anywhere but at me.
“There’s a stereotype about guys like us,” he finally said, deep voice cutting through the pumping music inside the house. “Jock football players who only care about pussy and fame. Getting shitfaced and fucking as many girls as they can so they can brag about it later. Notches in a fucking belt, even if the girls are blackout drunk. I hate that shit. Not all of us are like that.”
“But some are,” I said, nodding to one of the running backs over by the fence. He was flirting with two girls, and had a hand on each of their asses while they giggled and leaned into him. One of them was so drunk that the player was practically holding her up by her behind.
“Some are,” Lance agreed. There was an intensity in his grey eyes that I hadn’t seen before. Like a gathering storm. “That’s why I hang out with Danny and Feña. And it’s why, when I see a girl who could use a little help, I do what I can. I get more satisfaction from protecting a vulnerable girl than from sticking my dick in her.”
“Is that really the reason?” I asked. “You’re just bucking a stereotype?”
The intensity in his eyes shifted, like clouds swirling on the horizon. Now they seemed more vulnerable. Like a wall he had put up was showing cracks. He seemed to be deciding whether to tell me more.
Before he could answer, three sorority girls came sauntering up to us. The one in the middle held a beer out to Lance, fingers pinching the rim like it was the first time she’d ever held a solo cop.
“You look like you need a refill,” she said in a thick Texas accent. There was enough makeup on her face to paint a barn.
“Thanks,” Lance said. I saw the wall go back up, and a fake smile spread across his lips. “I worked up a thirst today.”
“I’ll say,” one of the other girls said. “You were amazing out there. The way you run…”
Lance shrugged. “Just doing what I’m good at. And I’m really good at it.”
Now that I’d hung out with him for a little while, the facade he put up for other people became obvious. The too-big smile, the cockiness. Granted, he was a goofball normally, but he notched it up to 11 when he was around others. Putting on a show.
For some reason, it made me a little sad. Like a celebrity who was so famous that they couldn’t be themselves around anyone. Someone who couldn’t even enjoy the company of a friend without people running up and asking for an autograph.
“Yeah, St. Edwards has no chance next week,” Lance said methodically. Running through a script while wearing a smile that never touched his eyes. “We’re gonna score 50 against them. Maybe 60.”
“What are you doing next weekend?” the lead girl asked. “We have an event after the game. Lots of pledges will be there, and if you were to make an appearance…”
And then I thought of a way out for him.
I snatched his hand and laced my fingers through his. “Excuse me, but Lance is my boyfriend.”
The three girls swiveled their heads toward me as one. I’m not sure they even noticed me before I had spoken. Their collective gaze moved down my body, sizing me up. A girl wearing jeans and a cut-off top. Their confusion was almost comical.
“Yeah,” Lance said, falling into the lie. He let go of my hand so he could wrap his arm around me, then folded me against his warm body as if it was completely natural. “Babs is my girlfriend.”
The girls didn’t look convinced. “Who is Babs?” the one girl asked me, leaning forward with an annoyed look. “Who are you with?”
“Uhh… I’m with Lance,” I said, confused by the question.
The girls glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “I was referring to which sorority you are in.”
“Babs isn’t in a sorority,” Lance said cheerfully. “She’s a kinesiology major. Really fucking smart.”
They were still staring at us like they were ready to call our bluff. Impulsively, I slid my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. My fingers were tight against his rock-hard ass. The girl on the end stared down at my hand as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Not in a sorority,” the lead girl repeated deadpan. Finally she swiveled her head back to me. “You should consider rushing Kappa Kappa Delta. We’re accepting pledges until August 30.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said with a straight face.
The girls turned and left, walking away like they were models strutting their stuff on the runway. I kept it together for a few seconds before letting out a sputtering laugh.
“I can’t believe that worked,” I said, chest heaving with laughter. “They totally bought it.”
Lance’s mouth was open, and his eyes were wide like he’d been given a magical key. “That worked really well. I’ve never been able to scare girls like that off without being a dick.”
“I would’ve thought being a dick was what they like in a cocky jock,” I said as I wiped tears from the corner of my eye.
“Honestly, yeah, half the time it makes them cling to me more. Shit, Babs. I ought to keep you around.”
“I’m like bitch bug-spray!” I said happily.
He chuckled, then looked down at me. “Your hand’s still in my pocket.”
Maybe it was the beers I’d had, or maybe Lance’s goofball nature was wearing off on me. I gave his ass a squeeze and said, “I like my hand right where it is.”
Lance’s hand, which had remained around my shoulder, suddenly slid down and cupped my ass cheek. His hand was so large that it palmed the entire thing. I squeaked as his fingers curled into my cheek, squeezing it the same way I’d squeezed him.
“I can play ass-grab all night, baby,” he grinned down at me. “I always win at chicken.”
I made my face a mask of seriousness. “And here I thought you were different than the jock stereotype.”
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, La
nce kissed me.
19
Roberta
Lance crushed his lips against mine in a long, slow kiss. His hand was still on my ass, pulling my body against his. My nipples were hard against the muscles of his chest, a warm sexy wall of muscle that surrounded me and held me close.
My surprise melted away under the taste of him, the smell of him, like aftershave and musk. I French kissed him before I knew what I was doing, tonguing hungrily into his mouth as his hand gripped my ass harder as he tongued me back.
Pressed tight against his body, I could feel the bulge of his enormous cock in his jeans. Pressing against my navel. I imagined it inside of me, pistoning steadily while his gorgeous body covered mine, sweaty and hot and groaning with exertion, and I moaned into Lance’s mouth at the wonderful thought.
He pulled away with a gasp, his stormy eyes just inches from mine. I could lose myself in those grey orbs if I wasn’t careful.
I just did.
Lance licked his lips and glanced over my shoulder. “They, uh, were watching. It had to be convincing.”
I saw the sorority girls standing by the door to the house, jealous stares sent back in our direction.
“Right, the girls,” I said hastily. I was so wet and randy that I wished we were somewhere more private, not out in the back yard of a frat party. Standing there in his arms, my hand still in his back pocket, I wanted him badly.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling away. The new space between us seemed cavernous. “Thanks for, uh, covering me.”
I smiled. “Like a really good left tackle. Except, you know, you’re not a quarterback.”
He grinned that boyish grin. “I knew what you meant. I’m, uh, gonna find Feña. Make sure he’s alright. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Yeah, no, go ahead,” I said. “I was going to head out anyways.”
Lance ran a hand through his chestnut hair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was nervous. “Thanks for coming out tonight, Roberta. It meant a lot to see you.”
I watched him disappear inside the house, surprised that he’d called me Roberta as much as I was surprised at our passionate kiss.
Great. Now I’ve got two football players on the brain.
Aly was asleep when I got home. But Lance was still ever-present in my thoughts for me to go straight to bed.
I closed my bedroom door, dug out my little vibrator from my sock drawer, and sighed back into the comforter on my bed. As the little toy hummed pleasantly on my clit, I imagined Lance spreading my legs, bending me at the knees, and sinking his long cock into me. His powerful arms held my legs apart as he fucked me deep, not bothering for foreplay. I cranked the speed on the vibrator higher as the imaginary football player slammed his cock into my pussy, long strokes that crashed into my body and shook the bed, and soon I was moaning and adding two fingers to my pussy, trying to imagine what he would feel like, and it was inadequate so I licked my finger and slid it into my tight ass too, and then I arched my back and moaned Lance’s name like a dying whisper.
*
Sunday was the only day of the week the football players had off, which meant that as their trainer it was my only day off, so I slept in until the sun beamed through my dorm window and forced me to get out of bed.
I told Aly what had happened last night. Her jaw dropped, and when I finished she slapped me on the shoulder.
“You bitch! Why do you get two football players and I get none?”
“For one thing, I don’t have two football players,” I said while breathing in the creamy fumes from my coffee mug. “I had a one-night stand with Danny, and I kissed Lance. That’s it.”
“That’s a lot more than I’ve got,” Aly said with a heavy pout. “You need to share.”
I would have loved nothing more than to spend the day vegging on Netflix, but I was already behind on my regular classwork and needed to study. There was no point in being in the five year master’s program if I ended up having to retake one semester of failed classes. I locked myself in my bedroom—out of sight of the television in the living room—and went through my reading assignments for the week. Motor Learning and Development involved rehabilitating patients who had spinal injuries. Strategic Data Analysis in Athletics was four chapters of boring number-crunching. I’d gotten into this field because I wanted to work on people. If I’d wanted to stare at numbers all day, I would’ve become an accountant. Advanced Biomechanics was more my speed, but it was so dry that I had to read the same sentences multiple times to really absorb the material.
Sports Psychology was another boring topic, but I was able to engage myself in this week’s textbook chapters by thinking about applying the lesson to my three athletes. This chapter was all about using mental imagery during training to help maintain motivation. Positive association. Like while lifting weights, imagining scoring a touchdown during every rep. Or hitting a home run while taking an ice bath for recovery.
But that only led to me picturing Lance and Danny stripping their uniforms off their chiseled frames, and then dipping their nude bodies into ice baths. Except their bodies were so hot that the ice melted, leaving them soaking in steamy water while sweat ran down their beautiful faces.
After that I took a break to get dinner at the cafeteria and clear my head. Stupid master’s program, I thought while eating spaghetti alone. Why did I decide to cram a bachelor’s and master’s program into five years rather than six?
“Oh, right,” I muttered. “To save a year’s worth of crippling student debt.”
I buckled down and spent the rest of the night studying, and even got to bed at a reasonable hour.
Even still, waking up early the next morning to head to the gym took an extra dose of willpower.
I was greeted with a rewarding sight when I arrived: Danny, Lance, and Feña were jogging around the track on the second floor. I climbed the stairs and exited onto the track just as they were running toward me.
“Lance is going too slow,” Danny complained to me. “We’re barely breaking a sweat.”
“Then run ahead, Broseph Stalin,” Lance said.
“You’re supposed to be going at an extremely easy pace,” I said. “Just enough to heat up your body. You should be able to carry on a conversation.”
“Thanks, Coach Babs,” Lance said as they rounded the corner of the track, long legs trotting easily. Feña flashed me a friendly grin before they were gone.
I guess there’s no awkwardness between Lance and me.
I found a bosu ball to use as a seat and watched as the guys finished their jog and then went downstairs to begin their real resistance training for the morning. Lance and Danny’s routines I was pretty familiar with by now. Brett had them on a standard reverse pyramid routine. They started with the heaviest weight, did as many reps as they could until failure, and then lowered the weight. They did more reps until failure, lowered the weight, then more reps, all the way down to the point that they could do 12 reps. Then they scaled back up to the second heaviest weight and completed another circuit like that.
I nodded with approval at their routines, and turned my eyes toward Feña. As the kicker and punter, I hadn’t paid as much attention to his workouts. Today he was doing lots of work with resistance bands, which were like enormous rubber bands in various colors. I watched as he did resistance band bent-over rows, then resistance band chest-flies. That was it for upper-body work; he then got on the ground and did glute kick-backs, lateral lunges, and leg raises—all with resistance bands.
I frowned. Resistance bands were a cheap, novice option for people who didn’t have access to free weights. Most of Feña’s exercises could have been done with weighted barbells. And he was in a room full of them.
Maybe it’s because most of the free weights are taken by the rest of the team, I theorized. But as their weight-lifting session went on, there were plenty of benches and barbells available. Yet Feña stayed in his corner with the stretchy resistance bands.
Interesting.
>
I brainstormed about Feña’s workouts all through my morning classes. Even though kickers didn’t require quite as much athletic ability as other positions, they still needed a significant amount of leg strength. It seemed like a waste to not have him doing squats and deadlifts. I even spent my lunch hour researching kicker workout routines. There wasn’t much information to find on the internet, so I shifted over to soccer weight-lifting routines instead. Sure enough: barbell squats, Romanian deadlifts, and lunges galore.
The next time I saw Feña, we were going to have a talk about his morning workout routine.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Lance: Hey, I just wanted to apologize for making it weird at the party. I shouldn’t have done it.
I stared at the screen in shock before responding.
Me: I’m the one who started it by pretending to be your girlfriend. And sticking my hand in your pocket.
Lance: But I took it to the next level with the kiss. It was over the line.
Lance: I didn’t mean to do something unwanted, or something that would make you feel violated or pressured.
Me: Violated! Dude, I kissed you back. It was a good kiss.
Lance: You’re totally just saying that to be nice.
I texted my next line, then stared at it for a few seconds before hitting send.
Me: It was a good kiss! I definitely had a lady boner.
The little bubble that meant he was responding popped up, disappeared, then popped up again. But it still took several minutes before he replied.
Lance: You’re supposed to be my physical trainer, not my PHYSICAL trainer
Lance: I just don’t want it to be weird between us now
Me: How about this: you don’t act weird, and I won’t either. Boom, problem solved. I’m a miracle worker!
Me: Deal?
Lance: Hell yeah, Babs. Deal.
