His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  “Baby.” He kisses my cheek and with his index finger moves my chin towards him. He looks into my eyes and when I try to look away, he gets irritated. “Come on. Everything is going to work out. Jeez, first I worry and then you do. It’s like a chain reaction.”

  “Well, there’s a lot going on right now.” I make a weird face and look away again. “And you have your mind on the game, which I don’t blame you for. Still, I feel like maybe this will change. Like, what’s going to happen after the Super Bowl? You’re going to get traded and you’ll have to do a gazillion commercials, and by the end of your break, you’ll be in like China or somewhere a million miles away, and—”

  “Fiona, calm down!” he says, placing his hands over my shoulders. He starts to massage me and, fuck, it feels damn good. I hate it when men do this sort of thing. All the blame and grievances go right out the window. I guess that’s a good thing.

  “I’m going to win this game,” he says, turning very serious. “But not at the expense of you. I’ve learned my lesson. Christ, I was like 18 then. This is my job now, not some dream. I’ve achieved that already. After I win, we’re going to go away with each other. Hell, we could go anywhere. Where do you want to go? China? Done. I’m taking you to China.”

  “I don’t want to go to China,” I tell him. “That’s not what I was trying to say, crazy man.”

  He pounces on me and begins tickling my brains out. “We can go anywhere!” he bellows. “The choices are endless.”

  I jump out of his grasp, unable to breathe or bring my smile back to a grimace. “I’m being a baby, dammit,” I tell him. “But my fears aren’t stupid! They make sense and you know it. And I want to go to Disneyland with you. Can we do that?”

  “I think there’s a Disneyland in China…” he mutters, trying not to laugh.

  “Stop, Jackson.” I grab my jeans and slide them over my butt. He makes a sad face. “Well, that’s what you get for acting like a child. The butt goes away.”

  “Awful. Just dreadful,” he says. “Well, I hear you. That’s all I can say, right? I’m on your side. Things can go bad in every relationship. It’s part of the risk of being with someone else. If you still don’t trust me, I understand. But I’m still going to keep fighting for you.”

  “I like that,” I tell him. “Probably too much.”

  “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

  And he actually doesn’t go anywhere. Tonight, he sleeps in my bed again.

  This time, I’m the big spoon.

  Jackson

  I never want to leave that bed again. I never want to leave her body, her touch, her fiery eyes again. It’s starting to get out of control. Yet, she doesn’t believe me.

  When I leave her house for the first time in days, it’s only because I have to train for the game. Even then, I still don’t see the point. Fuck training. Fuck football. And fuck Landon. Yeah, I said it. The whole thing is a circus that’s gotten too out of hand.

  All I think about is her. Even right now, I’m texting her. What are you wearing?

  Nothing. My ass is totally, one hundred percent, bare. Why? Do you miss it? Of course she gives me a reply that gets me half-hard in an instant. That’s what this girl does to me.

  God yes, I reply back. I do a set of 18 bench presses and place the bar behind me. Normally, this was a favorite past time for Landon and me. It was that, and getting strippers, while downing copious amounts of alcohol. Those days were fun and all, but it’s time to grow up. I’m 28. Fiona is the biggest wake-up call in the world.

  So why can’t I just admit what I know to be true: that I love her? Fuck, I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole entire life. When I look at her lips, I see heaven. When I look at the curves on her body, I’m just grateful she’s back in my life. I’ve missed the way she used to look at me, and now I have it again.

  I never wanted to admit it, but I thought about her constantly after I left for college. I used to sit in my frat house and dream about her. What would my life be like if I kept her in it? Well, I’ve been given my second chance and I can’t blow it now.

  Tell me how much you’ve missed this butt, she texts. I can just see her, standing naked in her bathroom. In my imagination, her tits are hanging free, ass pressed against the couch cushion. It takes a lot for me not to run into the nearest bathroom and jerk off to the thought of it.

  I bet it’s so smooth, I text back. I want to kiss it all over. I want to devour you. I need that pussy, more than you know.

  I thought we were talking about my ass, she replies with a red emoji face. Uh oh, I’ve angered the woman now.

  Can’t a man worship both? I ask her.

  So you worship me now? I guess I should feel good about that, huh? she replies.

  I’m glued to my phone. I’m obsessed with seeing her text me back. Any word I can get from her feels amazing, so when I see those three dots appear in the text message box, I feel my heart actually skip a beat.

  Woman, do not test me, I type out. I’ll fall to my knees for you any day.

  I do the Sports Network show. Everything goes according to plan. “Did you hit him?” the host, Steven Cornish, asks me. I take a deep breath and try not to lose my cool. This is national television we’re talking about, and I know the world at this point is very weary of me.

  “No,” I calmly state. “I did not. And it’s a little shocking that there’s so much talk about this. Me and Landon are perfectly fine. We’re friends and teammates. Sometimes things get a little heated, but I would never sock the guy.”

  It’s a lie, of course, but I go through with it. There’s no footage, nothing being held over my head. As far as I know, he’s forgotten all about that one incident. What I should tell Steven is that he’s being a huge baby. All over my girl. It’s some weird, deep-seated resentment. Fuck it.

  “So, you’re denying the multiple eye-witness accounts?” he grills.

  I laugh and try and look as charming as possible. “What eye-witness accounts?” I ask him, pausing for several seconds. “Seriously, give me one. That’s right, they’re all players for the Black Wings, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yes. Actually, they are,” he says. His right eyebrow rises with curiosity. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of conspiracy?”

  “I never said that. All I’m saying is that some dudes like to talk some crap. It doesn’t mean it’s all true, does it?” I smile and sit back. The rest of the show goes at about the same pace. By the time it’s over, I feel bored and depleted.

  You did great. Sorry about the hassle, Fiona texts me right after. I text back some heart-eyed emoji and head to my workout.

  When I get to the gym, I see him. Landon. That son of a bitch. I try not to give him the time of day. Only, I’m forced to walk right by him since the weights are in the backside of the gym.

  He nods his head at me as I pass by and I can just feel the tension in the room. Some of the guys working out look right at me, as if I’m going to move. “What’s up?” he asks me.

  “Just preparing for the big game,” I tell him.

  “Oh, they’re letting you play that? I didn’t think they let people like you onto the field,” he laughs. One of his buddies, some trainer from California pats his shoulder and laughs with him.

  Ignore him, I keep telling myself. He wants you to rile you up as much as possible.

  “What’s the matter, man? You’ve really lost your edge, huh,” he says, after I sit down and grab some weights. I try my best to ignore his words, but he won’t stop and I need to train before the game next week.

  “I haven’t lost shit,” I say. “I’m just getting better and better.”

  “Better?” he laughs. “Is that what your mom said to you in Arizona? Shit, man. You’re getting too old. You’ve traded in your old self to settle down, haven’t you?”

  “Fuck off, Landon,” I mutter under my breath. I do a rep of 24 squats and feel the burn rise in my hamstrings.

  “W
hat was that?” he asks me, dropping his weights on the ground. His trainer steps aside as Landon comes up to me. We’re standing face to face now and I feel my blood begin to fucking boil.

  “Don’t test me,” I warn him. But, like I knew he would, he pushes on my chest. I don’t move. I stand straight and tall. I’m not going to take his shit anymore. If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.

  “Pussy,” he practically spits the words at me. It’s strong, unlike him. Tough guys like me don’t need words to back them up. My actions speak much louder. “You’ve become a shell of your old self. Funny thing is, it’s all for some PR bitch. Some whore from Arizona. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.”

  That gets to me. You can talk shit to me all you want, but bring my girl into this and all hell is going to break loose. “Fiona is a fucking queen. As for you… you’re nothing,” I hiss at him. “You hear me? Nothing. You’re an offensive guard. They’ll cycle you through the rotation in about 3 years, tops. Then, you’ll be forced to settle down. I know it’s your biggest fear, so soak up the sun while you can. You’re living through your golden days, boy.”

  I add the “boy” at the end for good measure. I’m not going to be the one to back down this time. No, this time, I’m standing my ground. I can just picture the look on Fiona’s face right now. If she were here, it would be pure horror, mixed with a massive migraine.

  Yeah, this isn’t the way to go. But as I said earlier, fuck it. I’m over being set aside. I carried this team to victory, over and over again. It’s about time I at least get left alone. It’s time to prove, once and for all, that Landon isn’t worth jack shit.

  He stands closer to me, chest touching mine now. There’s only two options right now. Either he kisses me, or he takes the first shot. Though the first option makes me laugh a little inside, I’m willing to bet on the latter.

  “Say it again,” he whispers. “I dare you.”

  “Your breath is disgusting,” I laugh. “But, sure. I’ll tell you again. You’re small. You’re worthless. And it’s just a fucking game. Honestly, you need to settle down.” I turn around and smile at the people watching us. They give a laugh, which seems to set him off.

  Landon doesn’t waste a beat. As soon as I turn my head back around, I see his knuckles come straight at my face. Crack, his fist comes barreling at me, pounding against my jaw. I feel it nearly dislocate. The pain shoots throughout my head, but I instantly shake it off.

  Meanwhile, there’s an alarm going off in my head. This is terrible. Abort, abort, abort now! But of course, I can’t back out of a fight once I’m in it. It’s not in my nature. My nature is to destroy the very thing threatening my girl and me.

  His fist reconnects with my nose the second time, and I go falling like a ton of bricks. I never start out fighting that strong. Better to weaken the guy a little first, right? I fall across a bed of weights and feel the blow at my core. It hurts, but I manage to pick myself back up.

  At this point, everyone and their mom has their phones out. They’re recording the whole thing, but I’m not going to stop now. They’ve already got the footage of him, swinging at me, of me falling across those damn weights, so they better at least have some footage of me defending myself.

  I run at Landon and tackle him. His back smashes into the mirror across from the weights. The glass cracks and falls to the floor with both of us. I can feel the shards pressing against my skin, but I can’t bother with that right now. I manage to hold him down. I don’t take any chances. I start swinging.

  For the life of me, I can’t keep him down. One punch at his face sends his head back against the floor. Another, and it seems to knock him out. Only, he’s back within a few seconds. Finally, he knocks me in the gut and I’m forced to roll off him.

  He jumps on top of me and swings at least three times against my temple. My whole vision gets blurry. I can’t really see too well and I feel like I’m on the verge of blacking out. Shit, who knows? Maybe he’s really done me in.

  I manage to get one clean shot at his nose again and I hear a loud snapping noise. When he falls off of me onto the floor, I know I’ve broken it. Blood falls from his face, like a mudslide. He screams and punches at the floor, a futile attempt at redirecting the pain elsewhere.

  I pick my aching body up and manage to get a short smile onto my face. “You’ve met your match, son,” I say to him, wiping his blood from my fist. My face aches like hell and my body is sore all over. “Alright, time to go home. There’s nothing to see here anymore,” I tell everyone.

  I walk out the building into the bright sunlight. I guess my workout has ended early. Hell, who knows if they’ll play me in the Bowl now. I always imagined myself holding that trophy, or running and pouring ice cold water on my coach’s back. It’s those traditions you dream about continuing. But now there’s all this pressure, and rules, and players who want to fuck up my career out of jealousy.

  Now, I’ve got a girl a few blocks from here, most likely on the Internet. She’s probably watching the fight go down. Maybe it was even shared live. It’s a fucked up world we live in these days. All I know is that I’m done for. Every way I try and spin it, it’s bad fucking news. Either way, the love of my life is going to hate my guts.

  I leave my car at the gym and instead, I walk taking the long way home.

  Fiona

  Don’t talk to me ever again. I write the words out on my phone and hit send. Within seconds, my phone starts to vibrate erratically. It’s Jackson and he wants to talk on the phone.

  I hit the red deny button, but he calls back even faster this time. Another quick deny just shows his tenacity. “Fine,” I answer the phone. “What do you want, Jackson? I don’t want to talk to you. Seriously, just leave me alone.”

  “It wasn’t all my fault,” he begins to beg. “He took the first swing, Fiona. Look, the video shows that. Doesn’t it?”

  “I’ve heard this same excuse a million different ways. I know how this goes. You apologize profusely, until everyone feels sorry for you. Then, you act good for a few weeks, but eventually you go back to the same old crap,” I say, feeling exhausted. I have a deadline for another player due in a week and I just want the time to stare at my computer screen, and do the work that I need to do. “I’m not getting played anymore. Let this one go, Jackson.”

  “Baby, I—” I cut him off before he can say whatever it is he’s about to say.

  “Baby? Come on, those days are over,” I say, taking another deep breath. I need to calm down before I have a breakdown.

  I know how this looks. I’m just the shrill woman who can’t deal with an arrogant, cocky man. That, I’m sure, is how Landon saw me in the first place. It’s not fair, but I can’t worry about how I look to some sports players. It’s my job to worry about how they look. And yeah, I’m pretty pissed that Jackson couldn’t go one week without slamming his fist across his best friend’s nose.

  “Are you serious?” he asks into the receiver. It’s quiet where he is and I can tell he wants me to say that this was all a joke, that maybe I’ll let this one slide. Only, I can’t. I think it’s about time. We had our fun and now it’s gotten too complicated. I’m not about to get fired over this crap.

  “I’m serious, Jackson. And I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I even came out to Portland. It wasn’t exactly my choice,” I mutter, holding my breath. Truth is, I want this to work out more than anything. But I’ve given him plenty of chances. He could have put in more of an effort, but he didn’t think it was a big enough deal. It makes me feel like I’m nothing to him.

  “Fiona,” he whispers. “Let me come over, at least. I’ll cook you dinner. I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise you,” he says. I promise you. My doorbell rings. It’s Jennifer. She’s come over to help me with a new client’s interview. She understands all the crap I’ve been through.

  “You’ve said those words plenty of times before, Jackson. Look, I’m sorry. I have to go.” I hang up the phone and walk up to the
door. Tears push past my eyelids and fall down my cheeks. I wish I were stronger sometimes. I wish I didn’t feel these emotions all of the time. I wish I could just find a normal man who would do anything for me. Instead, I fall for all the bad guys in the world.

  “No more Jackson?” Jennifer asks me as she walks inside my place.

  “No more boyfriend,” I say solemnly. “Ugh. What even is my life right now?”

  “Well, I’ve come bearing gifts,” she says, holding a bag of Mexican food, from the same restaurant I went to the other day. This makes me bawl. I grab the bag and just fall to my couch, tears streaming down.

  “Oh my God,” she says, jumping back a little. Startled, she whispers “Are you okay, honey? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” I cry. “You’re amazing. You’re the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

  “Okay…” She’s keeping her distance by grabbing some plates. She pours us a soda and I try and keep myself as composed as I can. “Here you go.” She hands me a plate of food.

  “Did I make the right choice?” I ask her. Images flash in my head. Only, this time they’re different. Instead of sex, I keep thinking about all of the really big moments. I think about the nice restaurant he took me too, the curb we sat on together, and the night we admitted to each other that there was something more between us.

  Now, there’s none of that. “Let’s weigh your options,” Jennifer says. “No more sex, no more expensive romantic dinners… although, you didn’t do that too many times, did you? Never mind, don’t answer that. No more, uh, rough sex, spontaneity, and no more hot, God he was so hot, Jackson. Damn, why are you asking me this? You know my stance on Jackson. Use him for his cock, over and over again, until you get bored. Then, throw him out.”

  “Oh, God.” I start crying again. I stuff a pillow over my face.

  “Well, are you bored yet?” she asks me.