Full Contact: A College Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

“Just you wait, pal. The Redskins need a kicker. You might find yourself wearing those colors this time next year.”

  “A fate worse than death,” Danny declared. “I think I’ll intentionally break my arm if I get drafted by Washington.”

  I looked over at him. “Wait, are you serious?”

  “Uh, is that a real question?” Danny said, confused. “No, I wouldn’t break my own arm.”

  I waved it off. “I mean you think you’ll get drafted? Is that a real possibility?”

  “Babs, you don’t know who you’re working with, do you?” Lance said. “Despite his shitty taste in football teams, Danny here will probably get drafted in the fifth or sixth round.”

  “Really! Danny, that’s awesome!”

  “Lance has selfish reasons for pointing that out,” Danny said skeptically. “Because he’s projected to go in the fourth round.”

  Lance leaned back, offended. “Late third, bro. The projections updated last week.”

  I was flabbergasted. I’d never even considered that these players would have a chance at a career beyond college. “You guys! That’s incredible! You might go to the NFL!”

  “Don’t act so surprised,” Danny said, patting my leg.

  “I’m just shocked that players from Appleton would get drafted. Don’t most picks come from big schools?”

  “Most, but not all,” Feña said. His dark eyes sparkled. “Being at a smaller school, in a weaker division, allows these two to appear more than merely average.”

  Lance tossed a pillow at Feña, who dodged it easily.

  “What about Nicky Tarkenton?” I asked.

  “He’s projected around the same spot as Danny,” Lance replied. “Which is why our game against them later this year is so important.”

  I stared off in thought. “I guess that explains why they were waiting when you got off the bus. Trying to get in your heads as much as possible, since the draft is on the line.”

  “That, and because they are dicks!” Feña declared.

  I noticed that none of them commented on Feña getting drafted, so I didn’t bring it up. Instead, I said, “Well I think either of you would look good in burgundy.”

  “Shit, Babs,” Lance said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “I’ll look good in any color.”

  We teased each other while eating pizza and watching the game. The Redskins scored first, which of course prompted Lance to dance around the living room and twerk his butt right in Danny’s face. The Cowboys dominated the rest of the game, and Danny took advantage of it by doing the same thing right back at Lance on every score. By the end of the game Lance was grumbling, “Whatever, I’m not that much of a Skins fan.”

  But most importantly, yesterday’s game against Midwestern was long forgotten. As it turned out? One loss wasn’t the end of the world.

  They got back into their routines the next day at the gym and practice. I checked their nutrition levels and made sure they were hitting all of their macros. Especially Lance, who had a tendency to go heavy on the carbs and lighter on the protein when he didn’t pay much attention. Nothing an extra protein shake in the evenings couldn’t fix.

  Feña and I had a great workout together Tuesday morning. We had been progressively ramping up the weight on his lifts, and he was handling each new level with ease. That’s how linear progression was supposed to work, but I didn’t know how it would go with someone who had taken so much time off. He felt so good that we decided to test his one-rep max for deadlifts. He completed one rep at 265 pounds, then 285. Finally we put three 45-pound plates on each side of the bar. Altogether, with the bar included, that was 315 pounds.

  Feña bent down to grip the bar, one over-hand grip and one normal grip. I watched from the side to ensure he kept good form with his back. It remained flawless as he rose the weight off the ground and locked vertically, completing the rep.

  “Hell yeah!” I shouted.

  He let go of the bar, which bounced heavily against the rubberized floor. Joy spread across his sharp face. “I’ve never squatted so much!”

  We high-fived, then shared a sweaty hug. It was quick, but said everything that needed to be said between us.

  “How’s your lower back feeling?” I asked.

  “Completely fine. Never noticed it at all.”

  I wrote down his new max in my notebook. “This will be helpful going forward. Knowing that your ceiling is so high means we can progress the weights more each week. As long as you’re comfortable with it.”

  “Roberta,” he said in that accent of his. “I trust whatever you wish to do. I am only your student.”

  I turned away so he couldn’t see my blush. For some reason, his compliment meant more to me than anything Lance or Danny had said before.

  That afternoon we had an exam in our Great War history class. Specifically on the failures of Austria-Hungary on the eastern front, and Germany’s need to divert troops away from France to make up for their shortcomings against the Russian threat. The eastern front was interesting because it never really devolved into trench warfare. The central powers and Russia kept their armies mobile as they fought within modern-day Poland. I flew through the multiple-choice questions with ease, but I finished so fast that I sat around doing nothing until someone else turned in their scan-tron sheet so I wouldn’t be the first.

  When everyone was finished and the professor continued our lecture, Feña and I passed notes back and forth by writing in my notebook. I’d write something, slide it over to him, and then he would respond too.

  Professor Ambrose has a nose like Toucan Sam

  Who is Toucan Sam? Does he have an enormous nose?

  Oh come on. You’ve been in America long enough to know who that is. He’s in the Fruit Loops commercials!

  I don’t watch TV. Only Netflix.

  Well that explains it. How am I supposed to make fun of our professor if you have such a huge pop culture gap? I should assign you homework to watch every cereal commercial from the last 20 years.

  You could have just said he has a nose like a toucan, not specifically the cartoon character ;-)

  Where’s the fun in that?

  We giggled with each other until the professor shot us a look.

  After class, we walked outside together. Already the Texas heat was beginning to abate as we made our way into October; it was a pleasant 80 degrees out instead of triple digits.

  “How’d you do on the test?” Feña asked.

  “I did great,” I said cheerfully. “What about you?”

  “I think I did fine. We will see.” He smiled over at me. “I forgot to ask you: did you see my kicks at practice yesterday?”

  “They looked really good,” I said. “I think you made almost all of them from more than 45 yards.”

  His smile widened. “I was referring to the distance.”

  “Oh? What was the longest?” from my spot on the bleachers, I could never tell exactly how far he was kicking.

  Feña walked in silence for a few more seconds before finally saying, “56 yards.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks on the walkway. “56—yards? Are you messing with me?”

  “It is the truth.”

  I shoved him playfully in the chest. It was like pushing against a wall of cement. “Why wasn’t this the first thing you told me this morning?”

  “I guess I forgot. It was very early.”

  “Forgot,” I grumbled as we continued walking. “Feña, you’re officially a bad-ass! When was the last time you hit a 56 yarder?”

  “Umm. I think two years ago? Even coach was impressed.” Feña frowned. “He asked if I have been eating spinach. I told him they serve creamed spinach in the cafeteria sometimes, but that made him laugh.”

  “It’s a reference to an old American cartoon,” I explained. “56 yards is fantastic.”

  “I wonder what could be responsible for such an increase in distance,” he said, with a fake-puzzled look on his face.

  “It truly is a myst
ery,” I said sagely. “Hey. Does this mean you might get drafted by an NFL team too?”

  “This is not likely. Place kickers and punters are rarely drafted. Instead, I would receive an invite to training camps and try to make the team there.”

  “But this helps, right?” I insisted. “Improving your distance?”

  He smiled. “Yes, Roberta. Kicking the ball farther helps me get signed by an NFL team.”

  I smacked my forehead. “Stupid question.”

  “It was a little stupid, yes,” he teased.

  We reached the part of the path where we usually split off to go our respective ways. Feña stopped and turned to me, taking both of my hands in his.

  “I wanted to tell you that this arrangement is working out well for all of us,” he said. “I am lucky to have you as a physical trainer. As are Lance and Danny, although for different reasons.”

  I cocked my head. “Why do I get the impression you aren’t just talking about PT?”

  His shoulders rolled in a long, exaggerated shrug. “All I know is Danny and Lance are usually stressed about the season. But this year? Not so much. Have a wonderful day, Roberta.”

  As if his compliment during our weights this morning wasn’t enough, now I was floating on cloud nine the rest of the afternoon.

  Until it all came crashing down.

  37

  Roberta

  Thursday morning, I arrived to the gym to find Feña already waiting for me.

  “Let’s go,” he said gruffly as I unlocked the door. I shook it off as him just being in a grumpy mood.

  But as I gave him his workout for the day and we got started, he moved with rushed purpose. Loading the weights on the bar like he was running out of time, and then squatting faster than normal. Practically shooting the weight back up explosively on each rep.

  “Watch your form,” I warned while doing my own squats in the next rack. “You’re getting sloppy.”

  “My form is fine,” he grumbled, but slowed down a little bit.

  I tried making conversation with him in between sets, but he gave me short answers. He muttered under his breath in Spanish, and paced around the gym rather than spotting me on my own weights. After watching him violently do squats like he was trying to break something, I finally went over and confronted him.

  “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  He tried to unload the plates from the bar, but I stepped in front of him. “Whatever is wrong is going to cause you to re-injure your lower back. So either tell me what’s going on, or we’re done for the day, because I won’t let you hurt yourself recklessly.”

  He pursed his lips and exhaled out of his nostrils. “I failed the test on Tuesday.”

  It took me a moment to realize which one he meant. “Oh no! But it was so easy!”

  I regretted the words the second they were out of my mouth. “Not everything is easy for me,” Feña said stiffly before shoving past me so he could continue unloading the weights.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “What I meant was that you should have asked me for help!”

  “I cannot ask this of you.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “I’m already spending so much time with you guys.”

  He rounded on me with a 45-pound plate in his hands. “That is precisely why not. Because you already do so much for us.” He hefted the plate. “Helping us plan our exercises, helping us perform them. Spotting me in these mornings together. Monitoring our nutrition, giving sports massages, applying KT tape. You are performing the duties of a full-time trainer, and all while going to your own classes. How could I ask more of you?”

  “I thought you were doing fine in class,” I said weakly. “You never said anything, and we goof around…”

  Feña gritted his teeth. “The note-passing in class has distracted me. I should have been more focused.”

  I felt an ache in my chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was such a burden.”

  He ignored me while lowering the bar to the ground, then began loading plates back on it for deadlifts. “The one gen-ed class I absolutely cannot fail, and I have allowed myself to drift when I should be listening to the professor. My spring semester is already full. I cannot afford to move classes around and take another semester. Not if I intend to be a walk-on in a training camp this summer.”

  Feña reached for a plate that was flat on the ground, and I quickly stepped onto it to stop him. He sighed and stood up straight to face me. There was a determined look in his eyes.

  “I cannot let you distract me,” he repeated, more to himself than to me.

  “We can stop passing notes in class,” I said.

  “That is not what I mean. You are—” He suddenly cut off, like he was about to say something secretive. His face returned to stone and he said, “I have to focus, Roberta.”

  “I’m what?”

  His body was very close to mine, filling my nose with his sweaty scent. His musk smelled different than Danny or Lance, in a way that made me tingle. His dark eyes bore into mine as he stepped close to me, so close I could see the beads of sweat gently migrating down his almond-colored skin. His arms bulged underneath his tank top, muscle glistening in wonderful corded contrast. Feña’s face was so close to mine I could feel his breath whispering across my skin.

  “You are…” he said softly.

  I want him. I could feel it in my body, tingling in between my legs and making me wet. I wanted him to bend me over the squat rack and fuck me until the gym was filled with moans of pleasure instead of metal scraping on metal. I wanted to hear him moan my name, enunciating every syllable the way he did with that sexy accent…

  Then he hardened again. “You are in the way of my workout. Please move.”

  Reluctantly, I stepped off the weight. “Want me to spot you?”

  “I am fine on my own, thank you.”

  I returned to my squat rack, but I couldn’t summon the motivation to do my last set of squats. “I think I’m done for the day,” I said in a small voice.

  He grunted something while preparing to do his deadlifts, but didn’t say anything more.

  I retreated to the women’s locker room, then felt stupid because it was in the opposite direction as the exit. With each passing second I thought I was going to cry. Once inside the quiet, tiled room I took deep breaths and tried to calm down.

  I was a burden to him. A distraction. Instead of helping him, I was a roadblock to his goals.

  So much for that 56-yard kick.

  I stood there until I was no longer on the verge of crying, but I still felt like if I walked by him in the gym I would fall apart, and I definitely didn’t want to pile any more embarrassment onto me today. So instead, I grabbed a towel from the rack and decided to take a shower to buy myself some time. I was just going to take one when I got home anyways, so this killed two tasks with one check-mark.

  I usually avoided showering in this building because the water was never hot, but it was wonderfully scalding at this time in the morning. Beating the rush had its benefits. I used a hair-tie on my wrist to pull my hair up and then let the hot water run down my neck and chest, filling the shower stall with steam.

  The feeling in my chest was like a multifaceted sledgehammer of rejection. He wasn’t just rejecting my professional help--he was rejecting my friendship, too. Bluntly telling me that he didn’t have time for me.

  But that wasn’t the kind of rejection that hurt most of all. There on the gym floor minutes ago, I’d wanted Feña. Badly. I could still feel the ghost of that desire lingering in my thoughts. Telling me how badly I yearned for him.

  Paired with him telling me off? It stung like lemon juice into a wound.

  That’s what I get, I told myself. This was a professional arrangement. Physical therapy assistance in exchange for work credits. Being with Danny and Lance was muddying the waters and confusing things. How could I be so stupid?

  I was still berating myself when I heard the do
or to the locker room open.

  The creak of hinges echoed through the room, then slammed shut again. I paused, listening. It was too early for other athletes to be here, but Feña wouldn’t…

  “Roberta?” he called softly. “Are you there?”

  “What do you want?” I replied.

  I heard his bare feet pad across the tile floor. He paused outside my shower stall, his ankles visible underneath the privacy curtain.

  “I am sorry,” he said firmly. “I am blaming you, but you do not deserve this blame. I alone am responsible for my failures.”

  “It’s alright,” I began, but he talked over me.

  “It is not alright for me to lash out at you. As I said, you have helped me more than anyone. You are one of the few things I have looked forward to each morning. It has stopped me from being crushed by the never-ending grind of being a college athlete.”

  There was a lump in my throat. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I am grateful for everything you have done,” he went on. “And if I have been… If my feelings are…” He sighed. “We are merely friends, yet I have allowed myself to think that we could… Even today in the gym, I had a glimpse that…”

  And in a flash of insight, I knew what he meant.

  “I wanted you,” I said, voice barely loud enough to carry over the sound of the running water. “Earlier, when you were lifting weights. You weren’t imagining it. I wanted you.”

  A silence stretched in the empty locker room. I held my breath with anticipation.

  Feña drew aside the curtain. Even though I was nude, I didn’t feel self-conscious under his sharp gaze. His eyes locked onto mine, and his words poured directly into my soul.

  “I heard you the other night,” he said softly, approaching. “When you were with Danny and Lance. I imagined myself there too, with you… I have thought of nothing else since then. You have invaded my mind.”

  He gathered my head in his hands and kissed me.

  Explosions went off at the feel of his lips against mine, a meal I’d been craving all this time and was finally getting to taste. He pulled off his tank top, giving me a full view of his chiseled body lined with rock-hard muscle, veins popping out from the fresh workout.