Goal (Completion #6)

by Holly S. Roberts

  He’s obviously been talking to someone and my guess his initials are KM. “Morale is right where it should be,” I reply. “We’re working our asses off to have a breakout season and we’re focused on the end game not the small talk about who belongs and who doesn’t. If a player made it through training camp and cuts, it’s because we need them.” I give Jordan a quick look before concentrating on Mike. “If we all do our job, this town will have something to celebrate. It’s a long season and just beginning. To pull out wins, we need everyone working together. That includes the support of the media.”

  “I call it like I see it,” Mike says with no give whatsoever.

  I don’t hesitate when I say, “You keep doing that, Mike. The team will be grateful if you call it like you see it and treat us like the young up-and-coming team we are.” I stand from the table and come close to taking Jordan’s hand in mine but stop myself at the last second. Coach Mitchel and Jordan also stand. The press conference is over and Jordan waves pleasantly at the reporters as we leave the press room.

  “Good job, Jordan,” Coach Mitchel tells her once the door closes behind us. “You kids stay out of trouble and be sure to ice that shoulder.” He walks off and leaves me and Jordan alone.

  I lean against the wall. “You still up for dinner?”

  She nervously runs the palms of her hands down the front of her jeans. “I hate to admit it but I need ice and ibuprofen.”

  “Come on.” I peel myself from the wall and place my arm around her good shoulder.

  She looks around. “What are you doing?”

  “Everyone is gone. If not, we’ll hear them before they see us. Let’s get you to my place. We’ll pick up something on the way and then I’ll baby you tonight.”

  I’m surprised when she doesn’t argue and instead pushes my buttons, “Oh, daddy. You make that sound so special.”

  I give her rib a small tickle. “Cut it out. Now you’re just being weird.”

  “How many football players have you taken care of at your apartment?”

  I stop and pull a few strands of hair behind her ear. She’s doing her best to hide the pain in her eyes. “You’ll be my first practice patient.”

  Her lips curve into a sexy smirk. “Doctor it is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jordan

  Okay. So, I admit, I’m not a good patient. I’m tired and cranky by the time we get to Aiden’s place. The hamburger and fries make me feel a little better, but if I’m honest, my entire body feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Which it basically has. I do my best not to whine but when Aiden places a five pound ice pack on my shoulder I cringe.

  “Big baby,” he accuses with a playful smile.

  “Huge baby,” I agree. I’m sitting on the couch with my head back against the cushion. Aiden kneels and lifts one of my feet to his lap and begins massaging it. “Is it too soon to admit I love you?” I ask teasingly and sigh as he digs into more sore muscles.

  He stops massaging my feet and it worries me that I’ve crossed a line even jokingly. Then his lips quirk. “Those are run and hide words for sure. Could you maybe change it to like?”

  I exhale. I’m glad he isn’t reading the truth in what I just said. “Lust is another good ‘L’ word.” His talented fingers move up my calf to my thigh and my eyes drift closed. I’m too tired to flirt, which sucks. A few minutes later, he shifts to the other leg.

  “I’ll take lust.” He works his magic and the last thing I expect is his next question. “Why football? Explain it to me.”

  I gather my thoughts as Aiden manipulates my body and rolls me over so he can massage the backs of my thighs and lower back. “I don’t remember how old I was. Young, maybe three or four. My dad worked long hours—yard work and things like that around the house. On Sundays during football season he planted himself in front of the TV and took the day to enjoy himself. I would sit for hours watching games with him. As I grew older, I asked endless questions and he patiently answered. I loved seeing the ball glide through the air on a spiral pass. If I hadn’t wanted to be a kicker, I would have played quarterback.” I turn my head and offer Aiden a small grin. “Football and how the game is played became my obsession. My father never told me it was a sport for boys. He bought me my first football and taught me how to hold and throw it. My hands were tiny back then and I could barely grip the ball. When I was six, I asked him if I could play on a city league team. They handed out flyers at school and I grabbed one. He was working overtime that Saturday, so Mom took me to tryouts. I was the only girl there and it still didn’t penetrate that it was a sport for boys. I never played with dolls or tea sets. I wanted cleats and dirt and green fields. The six-, seven-, and eight-year-old boys treated me no differently than other players because they also didn’t know there was this huge gender divide in football.” I stop talking for a moment and hope I’m denting Aiden’s thick skull.

  “I came home from practice scraped and bruised and proud of every mark. I was tall for my age then and I towered over many of the boys. For the next five years, I became a local powerhouse on the field. The coaches drafted teams and I always went in the first round. I could kick and throw with the best of the boys my age.” Aiden pushes my hair over my shoulder and gently massages my injured shoulder while I talk. “Those non-paid coaches wanted to win and whatever team I played for made the finals every year or in the case of my last two years, won the championship.” This is where so much heartbreak enters my story and my voice goes husky with emotion. “When I turned eleven, parents complained.” I fight tears even though it happened so long ago. “That was the end of youth football for me. My parents were furious and I remember feeling…lost.” I fist my hands remembering the pain of being told girls can’t play football. “Football didn’t want me. It was like I sullied the sport or something. I wasn’t good enough to be out on the field with their sons because I had budding breasts.” I laugh quietly. “You’ve seen them. My breasts are not something to brag about. It didn’t matter, though. They stopped me from playing football, and I hated them.” I remain quiet for a moment while I reel in enough emotion to continue. “It was a year later when I discovered there was another reason—no dick between my legs.”

  My voice cracks. “It didn’t matter how far I could throw or kick a ball. I was a girl. The double standard in football sliced me in half before I turned twelve. I put the football my dad gave me in the back of my closet like a good little girl. I went out for soccer and discovered that as long as the ball was round, it was okay for girls to play with it.” Aiden’s hands stop working their magic and I twist my neck to look at him. “It was men, though. Men who wouldn’t conform.” Aiden lifts his eyebrows in question. “My high school and college coaches. My agent…those men. They believed in winning and never gave a damn that I was a girl. Football is war. It’s chess played on a field. You defend your side and sacrifice your body so the other team doesn’t move into your territory. You play to win or what’s the point?”

  I don’t wait for Aiden to answer. “I don’t have a dick but I have a kicking leg that does its job. I never forgot my dream and that’s why I’m here now.” I look away from Aiden. “I’m still a girl. I run and hit like a girl and dammit that’s not a bad thing because I can kick the snot out of a football. The ball goes as high and as far regardless of the equipment between my legs.” Aiden places his hand on my arm and squeezes gently. “I’ve earned the right to play with the boys. Maybe I’ll fail. Or maybe little girls will see me and think, ‘I can play football like her.’” Aiden leans in and softly kisses my cheek. “Maybe someday those little girls in number nine jerseys will play football like a girl and not worry that they’ll be kicked off a team because they have breasts. Or be treated differently because they dare to enter the hallowed walls of a football stadium and think they’ll be judged on their merit and not their gender.”

  “You’ll never stop needing to prove yourself,” he says softly.

  Aiden is listening and
that’s a start. “Do you ever stop proving yourself, Aiden?”

  “No.”

  “That’s football,” I whisper.

  I’m all but asleep when he lifts me from the couch and carries me to the bedroom. He tucks me in and the world fades away.

  ∞∞∞

  Sunlight wakes me. I let out a small groan when I roll over onto my bad shoulder. Warm arms circle my waist and pull me in closer to a hard body. I smile against Aiden’s bare chest.

  “I’m sorry for how I acted on the bus,” he whispers against my ear.

  My finger circles his nipple. “You should be sorry for leaving the bed and not coming through on your promise,” I grumble.

  His hand slides over my hip and one finger trails beneath the elastic of my panties. “What promise would that be?” His playful tone makes me glance into his eyes.

  “I was grouchy because you promised me an orgasm and you never gave it to me.”

  With a husky laugh, he turns slightly and lifts himself above me. His biceps bulge and I swallow. “If I remember right, I gave you an orgasm before we fell asleep that night.”

  “And promised another.” I give his nipple a slight twist.

  He covers my hand and stops me from doing it again. “Now I need the doctor,” he teases. “How’s your shoulder?”

  I roll it slowly. “Better but still achy. I have physical therapy this morning.” I look at the clock, relieved I didn’t miss the appointment.

  “You only get a quickie, then.” He scoots me so I’m lined up perfectly beneath him. He grabs a condom from the bedside drawer and places the foiled package between my teeth. “You’re so fucking sexy when you do that.” He growls as I tear it open and slide the condom over him. His fingers travel between my thighs and slide through my wet heat. “You’re the most needy football player I’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking,” he says as he runs the head of his cock through my folds.

  “Don’t make me wait,” I beg.

  He slides in with a low groan. My fingers splay over his back and one hand winds its way down to his ass. I grab the tight flesh and dig my nails in. My shirt’s still on and his hand slides underneath so he’s holding my breast and playing with one of my nipples. He said this was a quickie but the slow glide of his cock proves him wrong.

  “These,” he says and gives my other breast a squeeze, “are perfect.”

  “I need my shirt off.”

  “We’ll tackle that when you take a shower. Just lay there and enjoy this.”

  “No way,” I reply and give his ass another squeeze.

  He stops moving and I tip my head so our foreheads touch. “You’re killing me.”

  “No,” he whispers before kissing my nose. “I’m making sure you remember this orgasm since I didn’t come through before.”

  “What orgasm?” I complain. “You’re driving me insane.”

  His hoarse laugh only adds to my frustration. I buck my hips and he inhales sharply. He’s not as unaffected as he pretends. He pushes farther inside me and I loosen my grip on his ass. “Let me do the work. You need to take it easy with that shoulder,” he growls.

  “Then fuck me,” I command.

  Our loud breathing fills the room. He increases the pace and my lower belly tightens. The zip of energy between my thighs intensifies and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop what’s happening to my body. My head goes back against the pillow and I close my eyes as wave after trembling wave swirls through me.

  How can being with this man be so wrong when it feels so damn right? There’s a connection here—no rhyme or reason. The timing couldn’t be worse but I can’t see myself telling Aiden no. He’s just too damn good at making my body feel great.

  Lust, like, love. Three ‘L’ words and I think I have them all covered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aiden

  The story of Jordan’s childhood pops into my head at odd times. I think of my sisters and my mom, wondering if they’ve faced inequality. What if Candice wanted to play baseball and not softball? Steph chose a career that wasn’t as accepting of women. She never complained. Hell, Jordan never complains. She takes shit from the media, the players, and hell, other women.

  Mike Goodwyn came back at Jordan on his next show with a lineup of women, including a psychologist, who all agreed that Jordan shouldn’t be playing pro football. One of them even quoted the Bible. Something about women remaining silent. My eye roll was so exaggerated my eyes should have stuck to the back of my skull when that aired.

  Kelson Miller’s trade to another team was announced Tuesday. His locker was cleared by the time we came in from practice. I heard grumbling from some players but for the most part, Kelson won’t be missed. Fergus moved into the second-string quarterback position. He looked good in preseason and I’m hoping he holds onto the position.

  Jordan’s stunt of showing the guys her breasts has opened them up in a way I never expected. They’ve teased her this week and they ask for a flash to inspire them. Of course Jordan doesn’t play their peep show games but she’s good at throwing it back in their faces and laughing it off. The difference in attitudes this week is nothing short of miraculous.

  Jordan was upset over Kelson’s trade. I assured her it was coming and Kelson is the one who sped up the process. This is football. Players come and go.

  Daily practice is brutal. Our season opener is against last year’s Super Bowl Champs the Phoenix Scorpions and the best quarterback in the league, Killian MacGregor. We need a win so damn bad.

  Jordan spends an hour each day in physical therapy and she’s making progress. Our clandestine meetings at her hotel are brief; I’ve only been there twice this week. A thought has been playing around in my head but I haven’t broached the subject with her. She needs a permanent place to call home and I want her with me.

  If… no, when that happens, we will no longer be hiding our relationship. I can’t believe I’m considering this lunacy. It’s her lips. They drive me crazy to the point of running over, lifting her helmet, and kissing her on the field each day. Not that I do it. But yes, I think about it all the time.

  The game against the Scorpions is Sunday night. Jordan’s father, her agent, and friends from out of state arrive tomorrow, Saturday. They, along with Doris, the woman who helped Jordan when the asshole in the store assaulted her, and Doris’ husband are sharing a skybox with my family at the big game.

  The rest of the world may not know about my relationship with Jordan but this weekend our families will. This opens up another set of problems because if our relationship is leaked to the press, it will be bad.

  Early Friday morning I drive to the side of Jordan’s hotel to pick her up. She walks out the side door swinging her arms and I’m relieved to see her shoulder is no longer bothering her. She leans in and kisses my cheek. I hold the door open for her and run my hand up her thigh before closing it. “I missed you last night.”

  “You were horny last night. The phone sex was good, though.”

  What the hell? “We didn’t have phone sex,” I growl.

  Her sly smile should have warned me. “Maybe you didn’t, but I did.”

  My hand freezes. “Who the hell with?”

  She swats my shoulder. “You, dummy. When I said I was breathing hard because I was stretching, I lied.”

  I step onto the side runner of the truck and lean in with my hands to either side of her head. “That’s just wrong.” Her cherry red lips are too much to resist.

  “You’re squishing me,” she says as soon as I relieve her of her morning lipstick application. She runs a finger across my lips before I pull away and go around the vehicle.

  We’re early as usual. Our routine is to work out in the gym for an hour before everyone shows up. We drop our stuff in the locker room and run into Bobby on our way out.

  “Hey, Bobby,” Jordan says and pulls him in for a hug.

  “We’re gonna win. I can feel it,” he grins and then turns to me for a handshake and my usual h
air ruffle.

  “I hope you’re right, big guy.”

  Bobby is one of the great parts of our team. We’re his family and Rick, the team’s owner, trusts him in our care. We take that trust seriously. Jordan and I head to the gym and start warming our muscles. “How’s the shoulder today?” I ask from the treadmill beside her.

  “As good as new. Not a twinge for two days.”

  “Nice to hear.” I hit the button and increase my speed.

  “Thank you for getting the skybox,” Jordan huffs as she runs faster to keep up with me.

  “It’s in my contract. Your dad and friends have an open invitation.”

  She smiles and I wish I hadn’t removed her lipstick earlier. “Quarterbacks are so spoiled,” she says on a laugh.

  We run a few more miles and finish up our warmup. There will be a short meeting before official practice begins. Again, I find it hard to resist taking Jordan’s hand as we walk back to the locker room. I’ve turned into a complete pussy when it comes to this woman and I honestly don’t give a damn. The glaring emptiness of Kelson’s locker is no longer staring at us because thankfully Bobby has moved Fergus’ items over. There is a problem, though. Each locker has a…I move closer because I’m really not sure what I’m seeing. Hanging from a majority of lockers, dead center, is a tampon. Half the lockers have the added feminine product in place and Bobby’s still hanging more.

  “Bobby?” Jordan says in a strangled voice. “What are you doing?”

  He gives her a grin and shrugs. “My dad said these might help the team play like girls and win for a change.”

  I can’t help myself and start laughing. My laughter quickly grows so hard, I sit on the bench in front of me.

  “You’re not helping, Aiden,” Jordan snaps.

  I look at her with tears in my eyes as two players enter the room. They stop dead when they see the tampons hanging from their lockers. “What the hell?” Randy Byer asks with a look of disgust.