by Mariah Dietz
You’ve got this, I tell myself. Flip off your brain. I release a breath and step between his legs. He leans his head back farther, eyes dark with residual anger, a hint of curiosity, and dash of dare. “Don’t let me fall,” I whisper, dropping a knee on the outside of his thigh and then moving the other, so I’m straddling him.
Paxton’s hands wrap around me, one hand resting on my backside. I blame this on the alcohol. He has to look up at me slightly since my neck is level with his eyes that slowly drop to my cleavage. Another strike against the alcohol. When his gaze returns to mine, his eyes are darker, hungrier. A warning bell stirs in my head but is silenced by my own curiosity as his hands draw me closer. I slowly lower myself on him, and for the first time, I kiss my best friend’s brother. My lips are soft, gentle, issuing a fresh reminder of the rules. He groans, and his hands constrict, his mouth bruising mine, challenging me to forget them. I hold the back of his neck with both of my hands and taste the alcohol, breathing it in and tasting it on my tongue and lips like a shot. He pulls me closer, my body flush with his, each part of me fitting against him like a puzzle piece, surprisingly right and snug as I graze his bottom lip with my teeth. He moves his hand, stroking my shoulder and drawing it down the side of my body, his thumb catching the side of my breast, and as wrong as it is, it feels good, stirring that restlessness that has a pressure building between my legs.
I kiss him and taste him, nip, swipe, massage. We go through the steps, again and again, rearranging the actions and testing each of them, changing the pressure and speed. Then I lean back and change the game again as I kiss him softly, slowly. He tolerates it for a few minutes, then his hand moves to my thigh, skating up and down my skin and growing restless. He lets out a quiet growl, and his hand that hasn’t moved from my backside pulls me flush against him again. I feel the hard pressure of his erection against me, and before I can fully register this he leads the kiss, his tongue delivering hard lashes that tease my body, then he pulls my bottom lip into his mouth, teeth, sucking, pressure. I am consumed by feelings and desires, and we are all hands and lips, tongues and teeth, devouring each other on the couch of someone’s house I don’t even know. I’m arched against his body, which lets me feel the entirety of him, and I think I could do this all night long, but too soon, realization dawns, and it feels like we’ve both just crossed a line that we had drawn without ever talking about it. I lean, so our foreheads are pressed gently together, gulping each other's breaths as we try to breathe.
“This is the last time,” I warn him. “You drink again, and I’m out.”
18
Paxton
The weight of the game feels like a boulder resting on my shoulders. I think of the hours I lost this week while working and the time I spent hanging out with Poppy, regret seeping into my nerves and twisting my stomach. As the quarterback, I’m the leader of the team, and though I’m among the top glorified, I’m also the most scrutinized because how I play has a significant influence that often translates to success or failure. It’s why I’m still starting though I’ve fucked up. Our undefeated record is still seen as a testament to my skills.
The second wave of guilt makes my lungs deflate. Poppy and I have been hanging out for three weeks now—friends when we’re alone and something more when we’re not. Her mad organization skills turned out to be a lifesaver last week when she had me list off all of my responsibilities from classes, football, social engagements, and helped me devise a schedule so it doesn’t feel like I’m constantly dropping the ball. I’ve noticed minute differences in her as well. Her smile has been faster and bolder. It’s been smooth sailing, aside from last night when I swallowed too much in a couple of quick pulls to rid the idea of Mike and Poppy, and Paulson, and today’s game.
As I continue down the cement tunnel, my thoughts zero in on the game. This is going to be one hell of a game. We played them last year, and it was a test of everyone’s patience and skills because their defense is not only fast but aggressive and smart. Ian, the captain of our defense, has studied their tape, learning from their sets and moves, adopting some of them for our own defense.
Lincoln flanks me. “This is going to be like that game last year. We’re just trying to get four seconds. That’s all I need to get down the field, then you fire it like a cannonball, and I will get it,” he assures me. I have no doubt of his skills. Lincoln is becoming well-known for his footwork and agility on the field. There’s a target on his back because he’s had multiple big games this season. Derek is our other wide receiver, and as hard as I’m trying to not allow my personal feelings to influence the game because I know it could be detrimental—especially tonight when their defense is gunning for me—the idea of throwing complete passes to Derek so he can run a touchdown makes my blood and stomach sour.
“Why the fuck did Candace have to pick him?”
Lincoln places his hand on my shoulder. “They deserve each other. You use Paulson. Tonight, you have to. Fuck him. He’s not going to ever get anywhere with this game. The only reason he’s made it this far is because his scrawny ass is fast. You’re better than him, Pax. Use him as a means to an end. If we lose this game, let it be on his ass because he couldn’t get down the field, don’t let it be because you wouldn’t pass it to him and got sacked.”
I pull in a deep breath through my nose and follow it with another drink. “You watch for their safety,” I remind him.
“Trust me, Rae already drilled it into me. I will be watching for him and stick to the left side of the field.”
I nod. I have no doubt my sister has been reminding him of this. But their safety is a beast who has injured more than one player this year, and since Lincoln hurt his shoulder our sophomore year, it’s a risk that has me knowing I’ll need to pass to Paulson if he can manage to get open because their defense will no doubt be expecting the ball to go to Lincoln.
“I need a Joe Namath fur coat for my birthday.”
Lincoln laughs. “Wear it while you guarantee wins.”
I grin. “Done.”
“Let’s make some highlights.” His hand grips my shoulder and then releases it in time to reach up and tap the bulldog that is our mascot. I tap the sign as well—it’s a tradition meant to bring us luck and pay homage to those who came before us.
The team gathers with us, preparing to take the field. Some teams make this a big spectacle with fireworks and gimmicks, and throughout the past year, ours has become more theatrical. However, it’s still a relatively classic and straightforward endeavor, one that has my thoughts focusing and my confidence emerging.
Coach Harris makes his way through the players at our back, touching the sign before placing his hand on my back. “You ready, son?”
“I was born ready, Coach.”
He grins. “I know you were. Let’s kick their ass!”
The music starts and the refs join us along with a few security guards, then the sign at the end of the tunnel lifts, signaling us to run forward onto the field. The music is deafening, and still, the crowd is louder. Our games have been sold out for more than a year now, filling every inch of the stadium with cheers that offer me another hit of adrenaline. Hoyt jogs beside me, carrying a flag. Beside him is Ian, who nods at me because it’s too loud to try and talk over the noise.
This is what I breathe for. What I live for, and I realize that the rules Poppy and I made are as vital as the rules of football. One game at a time. One practice at a time. I will prove to everyone that I am still the leader of this team and am a force to be reckoned with.
We received the kick to start the game and our offense takes the field. The breeze hits my face, wintry and sharp. Right now it feels too cold, but soon it won’t be cool enough.
We huddle up, and I announce a run play. We’re known for our speed and it’s how we prefer to start our games, especially with having Arlo back. In addition, the running plays instantly get the crowd excited and also helps settle the nerves, warm the guys up.
Opposing t
eams study us as closely as we do them, so there’s little doubt they know how this is going to start, but our dynamics are vast and Arlo doesn’t play like he’s recovering from a knee injury, rather, like he’s auditioning for the biggest game of his life, each and every time he hits the field. I hand it off to Arlo, and he’s fearless and poised as he hits the hole and charges, colliding with their linebacker and picking up five yards before he goes down, giving us second and five. This is a good tone for us to start off and as we huddle again, I can sense the energy that’s rolling over my team. I call a quick slant for Lincoln. Our friendship has undoubtedly sharpened our game, but I also believe it was the origination. Playing football is in my veins, but playing with Arlo and Lincoln takes this game to the next level for me. We thrive off of each other’s success and play together like we’re in each other’s heads.
I take a quick drop and pass to Lincoln who gains seven yards, giving us a new set of downs. Our rhythm is spot on tonight, and the crowd senses it. They’re on their feet, chanting and clapping. “Let’s take a shot early,” I say, calling a deep out that has our guys fading towards the sideline, one of my favorites to throw. We set up in shotgun formation and I receive the hike, anticipation running in the form of adrenaline coursing through me, warming me and making me aware of each movement. I’m looking the safety off while Lincoln prepares to make his move, but before he can get there, the pocket collapses. I evade the defensive end and start to scramble, keeping my focus on Lincoln. As I get out of the pocket I see just enough daylight for Lincoln so I plant my left foot and throw the ball like an arrow, straight and as far as I fucking can before I’m tackled. The crowd erupts, confirming the pass was a success and then I hear through the radio in my helmet as coach confirms the touchdown.
When the buzzer sounds and the clock runs out, relief fills me, making me forget about the sacks they managed to get in, the way my arm and shoulder are aching, and the hits that made me question tonight’s game on more than one occasion.
We did it.
We pulled off another win and with it another step closer to my goal as the media comes down on the field, cameras flashing as broadcasters and journalists work to gather their stories and shots.
“You did that,” Lincoln says, bracketing his hands on my shoulders. “This was your game, man. This was genuine, old-school Pax who came tonight, and you proved that nothing could stop him.”
I grin, pulling my helmet off. The cool night air blows against my face and the back of my neck that are hot and sticky with sweat as hundreds of flashes blind me. I ignore them, turning toward Lincoln and pulling him into a quick hug.
“You’ve got this,” he says, patting my shoulders before he releases me.
Arlo joins us, his smile as bright as the lights out here. “We fucking destroyed them,” he says, hugging me. “You fucking railed on them. Every time they tried to rattle your cage, you stepped up and sent them packing.” He cups my cheeks like he’s going to lay a wet one on me, and, knowing Arlo, I wouldn’t doubt that he would. “Where’s your girl? This was her. I need to thank that girl!” He looks past the lights and our team in the direction of where family, close friends, and significant others are beginning to trickle onto the field.
“Poppy!” he shouts.
She’s with Rae, hanging back, waiting for us to complete interviews, and shuffle into the locker room. It’s supposed to rain tonight, so the bonfire has been rescheduled, and now it’s a party that I know neither of them is looking forward to attending.
“Poppy!” Arlo shouts again.
She gives a subtle shake of her head, her eyes noticeably round, even from here. We’ve managed to keep our situation public enough without it becoming dirty laundry that we have to wash and sort out among our families because hers, like mine, would likely find our set of rules both childish and insane. But before either of us can control the scene, Hoyt sweeps her off her feet, leaving Raegan with a shocked expression, and starts heading toward us.
I can feel the weight of this moment and how it will, without a doubt, echo into our lives as Hoyt puts her down with a victorious grin. “I got your queen, Captain!”
Indecision swims in her green gaze. I try to offer an assuring smile—a silent promise I’ll be there to face whatever wrath we receive—as I close the short distance between us and thread my fingers into her auburn-colored hair.
“I’m not sure how I feel about what just happened,” she says.
“We can write a rule about it,” I murmur.
She flashes a grin, and I feel it as my lips come down on hers, the trepidation gone as victory pulses through my veins as strong and intoxicating as any drug. She gasps, her entire body tense under my touch. I don’t relent, running the pad of my thumb across her cheek as I claim her mouth, working to silence the chaos that’s happening around us and likely even louder in her own thoughts. I run my fingers deeper into her hair and slant my lips, kissing her more fully. Her neck muscles relax under my touch, and she releases a nearly silent moan that has me parting her lips with my tongue, urgent to prolong the moment and hear the same sound. I kiss her with abandon, without rules, without sense, and she returns the same level of intensity that makes my skin feel too hot, and my thoughts run to darkened spaces and lost clothing.
Cheers break out around us, so loud and raucous that they fracture the moment and have Poppy pulling away. Her cheeks begin to flush, and for the first time in a couple of weeks, she won’t make eye contact with me.
What the fuck just happened?
Lincoln stares at me, questions and something that resembles disapproval etched across his face, but before the message behind his expression can leach onto this moment, Arlo passes in front of him, another gleeful smile. “That’s going to be front-page news,” he says, thumping my back again.
Poppy
Raegan is silent as we drive, her foot punching the clutch before she shifts and accelerates. I’m pretty sure if my best friend weren’t so intent on becoming a cetologist, she’d be a racecar driver.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say.
She glances at me. “Do you?”
“It’s just a ruse,” I tell her.
“I just saw my brother’s tongue in your mouth. It looked pretty real.”
That part was real. Heat crawls up my neck, hitting my face. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know,” she says. “And if you’re starting to develop feelings for each other, I will sign up and get on board with this, but if this is still the ruse, I have questions. It’s been going on too long. His games are improving, he’s going to classes, and you’re getting looks from every guy on campus. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do, right?”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks,” I tell her. “It’s always easy in the beginning. It’s when something happens that it gets tough to stay on track.” I know this from my mom’s counseling sessions that I used to fall asleep to every night while they streamed on the radio.
“If it’s real, Poppy, you need to talk to him.”
I shake my head. “We’re friends,” I tell her. It’s a surprisingly honest answer that rolls right off of my tongue. “And that’s kind of strange because I’ve known him forever, but I’ve never known him.”
“That sounds like you know him naked,” Rae says.
My cheeks flare red. “That’s not what I meant.”
She glances at me, smiling. “Thank God. I don’t think I could take hearing dirty details. I would never be able to look him in the eye again.”
“Do you think that’s how he feels about you and Lincoln?”
Rae instantly shakes her head. “I don’t consider what Pax thinks about Lincoln and me.” She shakes her head again. “I refuse.”
Laughter sparks in my chest as Rae maneuvers through traffic, turning at a light that takes us into a neighborhood.
“His game was good tonight,” she says, glancing at me again, this time apprehension flashes across her fea
tures.
“Pax?”
She nods.
“He was worried about this game.”
“They’re a physical team.”
I nod, recalling Paxton mentioning this.
“He was focused tonight. That same drive he had last fall, he had it tonight.” Another cut of her eyes.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know. I have so many conflicting thoughts about what you guys are doing. I’m relieved and nervous and borderline confused.”
I don’t tell her that I’m feeling the same confusion. It seems like a dangerous admission that could reveal that lines are beginning to cross or at the least blur.
“I love you, and I love him, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I shake my head. “That’s why we have the rules. It prevents things from getting messy.”
She slows to a stop in front of a house on Greek Row. We haven’t been to a party here since last fall. “Give me one of your pep talks.”
I turn my attention from the house to her. “A pep talk for what?”
“Tell me I’m young and that college is temporary, and I’m going to look back and regret not having fun and partying.”
I shake my head. “You won’t.”
She laughs. “You were better at this last year.”
“Last year, you were trying to get over Lincoln, and we were freshmen, and parties here were exciting and new.”
She sighs. “I want him to have fun and celebrate.”
“Lincoln hates parties.” It’s a widely known fact that he’s been repeating since last year.
“He does, but the rest of the team loves to party, and he likes being with them, so even when he says he hates it, he enjoys parts of it.”
