Mike Goodwyn continues being an asshole and knocking Jordan along with the entire franchise every chance he gets. I actually hope Jordan isn’t following his news stories. “Goodwyn is an ass,” I affirm.
We stand silently and watch after that. The rest of the team does the same thing. It’s rare to go to another team’s hometown and have fans wanting autographs. To have this many show at the airport is unheard of. I’m guessing the Pronghorns now have a whole group of new female fans from around the country.
I’ve been put decisively in my place.
Chapter Nineteen
Jordan
I never imagined in a million years that this many girls would show up at the airport, and it fills my heart to near capacity. Larry being here is another plus. He sent me a text about the fans with pink footballs waiting for me. I didn’t receive it until we landed, so I had no time to mentally prepare.
Eventually, the crowd dwindles and I’m able to autograph the last few balls. I give Larry a quick squeeze before joining the team on the waiting bus.
“Fan club finally thin out?” one of the players asks when I board.
For the most part, the players ignore me, so I’m surprised there’s no animosity in the words. I offer a faint grin and move to the empty seat beside Lane. He puts his arm up. “No big heads allowed in this section. You might want to move to the back.”
I bat his hand away and sit down. “This big head needed relief from first-game jitters. Now I feel better and oh so popular.”
“Pink footballs are something I never thought I’d see.”
A voice from behind us adds, “Yeah. What’s this world coming to?”
“Next we’ll have pink goal posts,” volunteers another.
This is the type of ribbing I took from the college team and it gives me the warm fuzzies. Thinking about all the little girls who now have hopes of playing professional football almost brings me to tears. It’s everything I need to put my game face on and meet the challenges ahead.
∞∞∞
It’s a warm day in Seattle and the stadium is packed. To me it doesn’t seem like a preseason game. I’m in my new number nine away jersey and I’m ready to puke. Lane and I stretch on the sideline as he talks and tries to keep my mind off all the ridiculous thoughts running through it. “God,” I groan. What happens if my cleats stick and I fall flat on my face? I need this day over. Cameras track every move I make. They don’t make this easier.
The starting whistle blows and the game begins. Lane has the opening kickoff. He’s decent, but I’m better. Giving Lane the ball for kickoff is a Pronghorns’ media strategy that the front office formulated for some ridiculous reason. They want my first time on the field to be a scoring situation. All I want is to get rid of my game jitters. That won’t happen from the sideline.
Seattle runs the kickoff to their thirty. They follow up by steadily passing and running the ball downfield. It eventually culminates in a touchdown. I know today’s game and the next three don’t count as far as team standings go, but there’s a lot riding for most of the players and I just want everyone to look good. Me included.
The next kickoff goes into the end zone for a touchback and the Pronghorns start play on the twenty-five yard line. I jump in place on my toes trying to keep my nervous energy under control while spacing out the crowd and cameras. I catch myself staring at Aiden’s tight ass as he pulls the guys in for a short huddle before the ball is hiked. He throws a short pass and the Pronghorns advance six yards. The next play is a handoff to the tight end and results in a first down.
I glance at the goalposts in Seattle’s territory and my stomach rolls. “Shit,” I say and cover my mouth. Lane lifts a bucket up from beside the bench and hands it over. On national television, with the world watching, I puke for the cameras. “Don’t laugh,” I say in horror when I see Lane’s grin.
“Happens to the best of us, shorty. What makes you think you’re different?” He slams his hand against my back, which doesn’t help. “You ready?”
I look to the field and see that during my upchuck episode Aiden has moved the ball to Seattle’s thirty yard line. His next pass is deflected and it’s second down and six. Aiden goes for another handoff, but it results in the loss of a yard, making it third down and seven. This is it, and butterflies attack me again. Aiden moves back in the pocket and passes a torpedo at Randy Byer, who catches it for a touchdown. I don’t have time to cheer or feel relief that I’m kicking the extra point instead of a three for my first time on the field as a professional football player.
I’m on.
“Go get ’em,” Lane shouts when I run out on the field with the special teams’ players. I wish Lane was holding the ball and not Kelson Miller. Not that I have time to dwell on it. It’s strange. Only moments before I could hear the fans in the stadium. Now there’s a whoosh in the distance as I focus on the goal. I take one moment to look up at the stands. Everyone is on their feet. This is it. The center hikes the ball and Kelson catches it at the same time I’m running forward. Shoulder pads clash and players groan on impact. I only have eyes for the ball. Kelson catches it and places it perfectly. My foot connects. The cheers are deafening as the ball flies high between the goalposts.
History is made and the first woman to play in the pros scored her first extra point.
I’m high as a kite when I run off the field. I want to throw myself into Lane’s arms and kiss him but that would be unfootball-like, so all I can do is grin. He meets me halfway and slaps my ass. He’s evil and made sure every camera in the stadium got the footage. All I can do is laugh.
“That was nice. I hope you keep scoring so I can do it again.”
“Smartass,” I tell him.
“Congratulations, number nine.”
I did it. Several players offer praise. I look down the sideline at Aiden. He gives a quick smile and a thumbs up. Kelson takes over as QB and Seattle scores again in the second quarter but we don’t.
We’re down by seven when we hit the locker room at halftime. Coach Mitchel and Coach Morely give pep talks and outline what they expect in the second half. When they’re finished, I barely have time to use the bathroom before we’re back on the field. Kelson threw an interception in the second quarter and the third string quarterback is playing the third quarter. He manages to squeak out another touchdown and I have a shot at the extra point. I’m surprised when Aiden runs out on the field with special teams. He’s my ball holder.
“I asked Coach,” he says at my inquisitive look.
I can’t believe he’s holding the ball for me. I’m sure there’s an unwritten rule somewhere that a starting QB can’t do this, but who am I to argue? Right now it’s time to do my job. Aiden’s ball handling skills are good and the football sails through the goalposts after the kick.
“Do I get to slap your ass?” Aiden asks as we run off the field.
“Nope, Lane’s my designated ass slapper.” I grin as Lane runs up and gives me a solid pat that’s hard enough to sting. Yeah, I’m grinning. I can’t help it.
We lose by three. I scored a forty-yard field goal in the fourth quarter but Kelson came back into the game and threw another interception that resulted in another Seattle touchdown. As soon as the final whistle blows, I’m surrounded by media. I’m hot, sweaty, and elated that I did my job. When the press finally backs off, I sign more pink footballs.
Girls can rock pink footballs and play professional football. I just proved it.
Chapter Twenty
Aiden
The next two weeks are filled with double day practices and the next two preseason games. Pink football-mania is in full swing and so is the number nine jersey, which is flying off the shelves. So far, Jordan is six for six with extra points and field goals.
Several nights a week, I join Lane in Jordan’s room for dinner. The media is so obnoxious it’s impossible for her to go out in public and eat an uninterrupted meal. Things aren’t dying down as Jordan had hoped and they’re only
getting hotter as the first regular season game approaches. The nights I don’t eat with Jordan and Lane, I join my teammates to hold suspicions down about me and Jordan. Besides an intense look or two from Mason and Lane, the rest of the team is oblivious. Lane enjoys pushing my buttons and making jokes at my expense, but he keeps his personal opinion about an inter-team romance to himself.
The dinners with the two of them have opened my eyes to another side of Jordan. She’s smart, funny, and loyal to the Pronghorns. She’s also knowledgeable about football and doesn’t limit herself to our team. She knows hundreds of player stats, game stats, and league stats. Back in my high school and college days I cared only about making it to the next level. Jordan spent those years studying the game and the men who play it.
Jordan manages to dig out my life story in an offhanded way that doesn’t seem prying. She’s a great listener. She also shares the texting marathons she has with my baby sister. The texts are terrifying and humorous at the same time. Terrifying because my sister is sixteen with no filter. Candice has managed to bond with Jordan in a way I never saw coming.
Jordan and I haven’t been intimate since the first time and I’m growing weary of my hand in the shower. I feel like a teenager all over again. This is the first season I’ve had two obsessions: Jordan and football. She’s also brought the joy and anticipation of a new season back into my world by allowing me to see the game through her eyes. It’s impossible not to be excited when she’s talking about plays, waving her hands, and offering refreshing insight into just about every position on the field. She can do a mean impression of Mike Goodwyn too, which leaves me and Lane in stitches.
So far Jordan hasn’t taken a major hit during a game or practice and it has me worried. The team as a whole seems to be coming around. I’ve heard fewer complaints about having a woman on the team from teammates and that’s a direct reflection of Jordan’s dead-on accuracy on the field. We won the last two preseason games thanks to her.
I played two quarters of our second game, leaving us up by a touchdown. Kelson came in and threw the lead away with another interception. Without Jordan’s field goal, we would have taken our second preseason loss. It’s not really a big deal because insiders know preseason is more about finding the right mesh of players for your team and less about winning. Our fans need wins, though, and we have Jordan to thank for handing them two.
Larry, Jordan’s agent, calls regularly and sets up multiple interviews around late night practices and games. Jordan, like the rest of us, is exhausted. It’s her tired eyes and weary expression that keeps me from making a sexual play when Lane heads back to his room after dinners. We need our sleep and when I finally have another shot at Jordan, I want to take my time. So, we play the courtship dance with a touch here and a look there. This building a relationship thing is a first for me but hard dick aside, I enjoy her company.
Tonight is our second to last night in White Sands for training camp and Jordan, Lane, and I are eating dinner out as a way to celebrate. Saturday is our fourth preseason game and first cuts came down today. I’ve been through it before but this is new for Jordan.
“Few players were cut on my college team. We were too small. This is a horrible feeling,” she complains. We take a table at a restaurant about a ten minute walk from the hotel. So far the media hasn’t arrived. Maybe we’ll get lucky.
We place our orders before I answer. “It doesn’t get easier. These guys have dreams and seeing them crushed is difficult.”
“I didn’t know you had a heart, Patrickson,” Jordan teases.
“I do and it’s mostly black,” I say with a smirk.
“Oh, but it pumps sparkles and it’s fighting for change,” she teases.
The strangest thing about what’s happened these last few weeks is that we’ve become friends. Not something I’m accustomed to after having sex with a woman. Jordan’s different. She’s been different since day one and she’s slowly changed my opinion about her playing in the pros. Maybe Jordan can find her place on this team. The guys mostly ignore her even in the locker room, which is about all a kicker can expect. I’ve noticed fewer towels guarding male modesty this last week too. Basically the newness of having a female in the locker room is fading and it’s locker room life as usual. Jordan is becoming a teammate.
“Are you aware they’re giving away ten thousand pink footballs on opening day?” Lane asks and changes the subject away from players being cut.
Jordan groans. “Don’t remind me. I asked Larry if the balls could be preprinted with my signature on them and he said no.”
She and Lane get into a deep discussion about autographs and how much hers are worth. I watch her lips as she speaks. I won’t deny I’m enthralled by her mouth and have been since the day I met her. Her lips make me think of wild hair, deep red lipstick, and her mouth taking my—
“Are you paying any attention at all?” Jordan huffs and brings me out of my lip stupor.
Lane shakes his head. “He’s fantasizing about your mouth again. I see the signs often.”
I arch an eyebrow at Lane. “What surprises me is your lack of lip fantasies.”
“Gross,” Jordan says with a laugh. “He can’t have lip fantasies. If he does, no more ass slapping.”
Lane looks at her with fondness. For three years we’ve played on the same team and I barely knew him. He’s been there for Jordan since the first day. When I listen to the two of them discuss kicking, I appreciate their job more than ever before. Lane is a solid guy and I like him. I also wish he were anywhere but here.
I’m not sure what’s wrong with me tonight but each time I look at Jordan, need sizzles inside me and I’m doing a poor job at controlling it. She’s wearing distressed jeans and a soft yellow tank top that hugs her breasts. Like always, though, it’s her mouth that draws my repeated attention.
We manage to make it back to the hotel without incident and luckily there’s no media around. “See you in the morning,” Lane says before he heads down the hallway to his room. Jordan and I say goodnight and keep walking toward her room.
At the door, I lean in close and whisper, “Invite me in.” She turns from the door and I lift my hand to the side of her head and rub my thumb over her cheek. Her skin is as soft as ever.
“That’s not a good idea and you know it,” she says softly.
“If I don’t kiss these lips in the next few minutes, I won’t sleep tonight.”
She reaches up and pats my cheek. “You poor thing. It must be hard to have a lip fetish and be unable to fulfill it.”
I slide my thumb down and run it across her plump lips. “You have no idea.” I take the key from her fingers before she drops it and open the door myself. I lace my fingers through hers and lead her to the couch.
“I thought you just wanted a kiss,” she argues once I sit down and pull her on my lap so she’s partially cradled in my arms.
So damn sexy. It doesn’t matter if she’s in jeans and a skimpy tee like tonight or in full uniform with a helmet. One look at her and my dick takes notice. With our last preseason game on the horizon, I need to get my head out of my ass and concentrate on the game even if I’m not playing. Jordan and her damned lips make that nearly impossible.
My fingers weave through her hair. “I claim these lips.” I slide my left hand down her waist until I locate the pocket of her jeans. Her eyes grow large when my fingers wiggle in and I take out her lipstick. “Here,” I hand her the container. “Let me watch.”
“You’re weird,” she whispers.
“Indulge me,” I coax.
She takes the lipstick from my hand and pops off the cap. I watch from inches away as she glides the end along her top and then bottom lip. It’s dark red and sexy as hell. She presses her lips together and rubs them against each other in a practiced move I’m sure she’s done a million times. Why this fascinates me so much is beyond me.
Fuck, she’s impossible to resist and I stop fighting it. I mold our lips together and mess up
the color. She moans into my mouth as I deepen the kiss. I snake my hand under her top and run the tips over the lace of her bra. Her moan is heavier this time. A second later my hand is beneath the material and I cup her breast and pluck her nipple between two fingers. The soft tip goes hard as I tease it back and forth. Until this moment, I had no idea how much I’ve needed to feel her body against mine. The only problem is…I need more.
I sit up straight and tear my lips from hers. “What?” she asks on a sigh. I turn her and partially lift so she can straddle my hips facing me.
I rub the lipstick smudge from the corner of her mouth. She lifts her fingers and does the same to my lips. I smile because I must look like a complete idiot with her lipstick smeared on my mouth. I don’t give a fuck. As fast as she can put the stuff on, I can kiss it off.
“What?” she asks again breathlessly.
“You.” I cup her chin. “Your lips do mad things to me.”
“It’s that fetish problem you have.”
“You’ve no idea,” I tell her honestly. I reach for the hem of her shirt and pull it up. She doesn’t stop me and helps slip it over her head. Her bra is lacy white and I’m betting she’s wearing white virginal panties again. I slide my hands behind her to unhook her bra. Her breasts spill before me when I toss the material aside. They’re a perfect handful. Not too big or small and definitely not the cosmetically enhanced ones I’m usually faced with. I don’t remember ever touching skin as soft as hers. I lean in and taste. If I didn’t know better I would say Jordan was created in a lab for the exact purpose of driving me crazy. I crave her lips, the slightly salty-sweet taste of her skin, and the soft sighs she makes when I touch her.
My cock presses against her inner thighs. She half lifts my shirt and I oblige and release her nipple with a small wet pop so I can pull the shirt over my head and toss it aside.
When we had sex after dinner at my mom’s, we were only uncovered from the waist down. I’ve masturbated endlessly to thoughts of her completely naked. Now our top halves are skin to skin and it’s better than all my fantasies combined. I add gentle pressure to her back and she moves closer. Her breasts brush my chest and my cock jerks at the contact. Then I kiss her and drown in her lips.
Goal (Completion #6) Page 12
