Their First Fall: Trucker and Keeka's story (Firsts #3)

by Mj Fields

  We left the restaurant and went back to her house, where we sat in her office and looked at books. I told her what I was seeing, that the letters moved for the first five to ten seconds after I turned a page, and then I could get them to stop.

  I worked with Jade and the reading specialist, Miss B., at Jade’s home after school every day. They used a method called the Davis Dyslexia Correction method. Clay formed into letters made them look three-dimensional and real to me. Cs and Es were easier to distinguish between. Then it was onto words. I would mold the word, and then the object that represented the meaning of the word. Words and letters became symbols, and oddly, that worked for me.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and pull out my earbud.

  I look over as Logan sits down. “Don’t wanna fight. Just wanna remind you how fucking hard you worked to become one of the best, and how hard it was to get in here, man. You busted your ass.”

  “We both have mommy issues, bro.” I shrug. “But she’s not our moms. It’s for the season.”

  “Truth or tale?”

  I look him dead in the eyes. “Truth.”

  “And if you fall in—”

  “Fuck that.” I laugh.

  He nods, continuing to look at me.

  “Logan, she’s cool, she’s funny, and I don’t get an I-wanna-be-your-baby’s-momma vibe, okay?”

  He nods, knowing there’s more.

  “Truth is, she wouldn’t stop me from going after my dream, and I wouldn’t let her if she did. You and I both know that. But Logan, ten years down the road, I come back here all banged up from playing NFL and settle back in ‘Cuse, I’m gonna walk back into Lou’s place, and if she’s there and single, even if she’s gotten fat and grown a unibrow, I’m still gonna wanna be around her. She’s like fucking genuine and nice.”

  “So, nothing I say or do is gonna matter?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, I got your back.”

  Lying in bed, I hit her name on my phone and look through the messages she has sent, all in emojis.

  This morning, I sent a text saying, good morning, and she sent me the sun.

  I sent three more texts. The first an S, the next a U, and as I was about to send her the N, I got a football emoji and the word CUSE.

  I sent her the N.

  Her reply was a question mark.

  I sent a typewriter emoji and the letters S-U-N.

  She sent back a smiling sun.

  This afternoon, I sent her a sleepy face with Zs and the word TIRED.

  She sent back praying hands.

  Tonight, I send her goodnight and Ray, and she sends me the moon.

  Walking out of my sports law lecture, for the first time in my life, I think about how much I would like to skip practice.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I laugh to myself.

  “Trucker Cohen. You’re Trucker Cohen.”

  I turn my head toward breathy and familiar voice. “I’m busy,” I tell her, walking faster.

  “I’m sure I can squeeze you in,” she says, catching up to me.

  “Football season, no time.”

  She grabs my hand. “I’ve see you squeezing other things in, Trucker. Trips to the mall, the park … I’m just asking for the Boom.”

  “Gonna be late for practice.”

  She moves in front of me quickly and stops.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “So, you’re off the market?”

  “I’m in love with a game and I’m not cheating on it. You understand?”

  “You ate my pussy last season.”

  “You were sucking my cock, and threw your leg over me, and were about to sit on my face. I stopped your asshole from descending on my nose.”

  She laughs like I’m joking. “You licked my pussy so good, Trucker. I want it again.”

  “That was a fluke, babe. I was wasted.”

  “Get wasted again with me.” She steps in closer, pushes her tits against me, and goes in for a kiss.

  I step back. “Not interested.”

  “How about your boy Logan? I chose you over him.”

  Walking faster, I laugh. “I remember.”

  “You told me I gave the best blowjob you ever had.”

  Told you and all the others, I want to say, but I won’t.

  “So, it won’t bother you if I get on my knees for Links?”

  “Nope. Have a good time.”

  “I bet he eats pussy better than you.”

  I laugh. “I can guarantee he doesn’t eat pussy at all.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she yells from behind me as I jog to my truck.

  Desperation is the mother of all turn offs.

  When I walk into the locker room, I nod to Logan. “Heads-up, Sarah’s coming for you.”

  “She any good?” he asks, pulling up his practice pants.

  “Yeah, sure, I guess. But she seriously has a hard time with the word no.”

  “Fuck that then.” He laughs then stops immediately and asks, “When the fuck did I start getting your toss-offs?”

  “You want anything I had before, go for it. I’m set for the season.”

  “Oh, can I please have your seconds?” he jokes.

  I smirk. “I can even let you know which ones are good and which ones to avoid.”

  “Thanks, brother, but I believe I got this.”

  I wake to a text.

  Ray

  Good morning, Trucker Cohen.

  “Fuck yes.” I smile. “That’s my girl.”

  I send her back the word clapping and the emoji of clapping hands.

  She sends back … sunshine.

  It’s finally fucking Thursday.

  I have waited all week for this day. Hell, I may be as excited to see her as I am to play Pitt in two days. All damn week I have prepared for it. All week I have done two gym sessions on top of practice. Add to that, my focus on classes has been stronger than they were over the past three years.

  If I expect her to read and get her GED, then I’m going to lead by example and try my hardest to make the Dean’s list for the first time since starting college.

  Chapter Fourteen

  New Friends

  Keeka

  Looking down at the pile of books, I realize I never owned my own book. Now I have an entire box, and workbooks to go along with them.

  On Tuesday night, when I was sitting up on the rooftop ledge, drawing, I looked down and laughed.

  “It’s not Thursday yet.”

  “I’m not Trucker, Keeka. But I’d like to have a conversation with you.”

  I’m a little nervous that Logan Links is here, but I trust Trucker, and they’re best friends.

  I stand up on the ledge, and he gasps out, “What the fuck?”

  I hop down, smiling at the fact that these two men, who actually enjoy getting beat up on the field, seem terrified of heights.

  When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I open the door just a little and slide out before closing it behind me.

  He bends down and picks up a box. “This is for you.”

  I shake my head, remembering all the gifts Mom received from all the men who wanted to spend time with her.

  “I know you can’t read, Keeka. They’re just books.”

  I feel my heart almost fall apart. I trusted him with something, something I didn’t even want to share with Trucker, let alone a stranger.

  I look up and begin to tell him to leave, but I stop when I notice he’s watching a car drive by slowly.

  He rolls his eyes. “You mind if we go inside?”

  Swallowing down the hurt, I answer, “Actually, I do.”

  He turns and looks at me, his eyes narrowing with a nonverbal question. “Look, Keeka, the car that just drove by is a girl who our boy Trucker told to fuck off today. I don’t know if she’s following me or looking for you, but I don’t wanna stand on the sidewalk.” He points to the little red sports car turning around.

  I stand firm. “I don’t want
to talk about this.”

  “Neither did he when we found out he was dyslexic. But look, he’s hell-bent on making sure that, when he leaves here, he leaves you with something. So, being his best friend, I’m gonna make sure I help him do that.”

  “He sent you?”

  He looks at the car coming back down the street. “Fuck no, and he’ll be pissed if he finds out. I’m guessing she’ll tell him soon enough.”

  I step back and open the door. “I’m letting you in because I don’t want what you’re doing to hurt him.”

  When I step in, he closes the door behind him and looks up. “After you.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “He’s my best friend, Keeka. If he trusts me, you can. Truth.”

  “Truth?”

  “Yeah, it’s something—”

  “Truth or tale?”

  “He playing that game with you, too?” Logan shakes his head. “That’s been ours since we were kids.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He smiles genuinely. “Don’t hurt him, and you—”

  “I want him to be happy.”

  He shakes his head. “But, what do you want, Keeka?”

  “The same, of course.”

  “He’s going to leave here, you know.”

  “He better.”

  He looks at me oddly. “How will it feel when he leaves?”

  I smile. “When he goes pro, when he’s done everything he’s dreamed of, I’ll feel happy.”

  “And what happens when you miss him? If you fall in love with him?”

  “Well …” I scratch my head and look up at him. “Then I will consider myself lucky that I met a man like Trucker Cohen.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’m living moments, Logan Links. You should try it.”

  He smiles then chuckles. “All right then, Keeks.”

  “Keeks?”

  “Suits you.” He points toward the stairs. “You want our boy to be happy, let’s get this shit going.”

  “Logan, I think I can handle it.”

  “Not one to sugarcoat things, Keeks, but you’re a grown woman who can’t read. Accept help when it’s offered.”

  “Trucker—”

  “Trucker’s dyslexic, and it takes him a hell of a long time to read what he has to for classes. Took tutors and friends to get him where he is. If he thinks he’s not helping, it’ll bruise his ego. I need him high as fuck on the game, not worried about a girl.” He wrinkles his nose when he says girl.

  I smile. “I’m sure Trucker can handle both. He’s had years of practice.”

  “Believe it or not, he’s steered clear of relationships.”

  Walking up the stairs, I look back at him. “Why?”

  “He talk much about home?”

  “Just said he doesn’t have a relationship with his mom.”

  “Which means he doesn’t trust women. The one woman he might have trusted is my mom, and she fucked up. So, this, Keeks, is new territory.”

  I walk through the doorway and brace myself to see how he reacts to my very humble dwellings.

  He looks around, and then back at me, expression unreadable. “Let’s do this.”

  Each book has a worksheet that I am supposed to answer questions on, based on the book. He told me to figure it out because writing and reading go hand in hand. It made me nervous as hell, and there were times when I wanted to stop.

  Then Logan showed me how to take a picture with my phone. I send him worksheets as I finish them, and he sends me constructive criticism … in text.

  I stayed up all night Tuesday working on the first one. Actually, doing the work was much easier.

  In kindergarten, I learned the basics, and although I thought I had forgotten over all these years, I hadn’t.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I look at myself for the tenth time in hopes that I look good for him.

  When the phone rings, I hear “Click Click Boom” and smile so big it almost hurts.

  “Trucker.”

  “Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice. This texting thing’s cool, but damn, Ray, you sound good.”

  “You, too.”

  “What do you wanna do tonight?”

  “I wanna read you a book about Dick and Jane.”

  “Wait. You seriously can read a whole book?” He sounds shocked.

  “I have a very focused brain when the incentive is seeing you.”

  “Seeing me or touching me, Ray?”

  My body heats up and things tighten. “Both.”

  “Don’t try to sidetrack me with sunshine. How the hell did you learn so quickly?”

  “I did go to kindergarten. I learned the basics. And oddly, without worrying about what everyone in the class is thinking about your … struggle, it seems easier.”

  “I get that.”

  “So?” I ask.

  “So.”

  “What do I get to do to you tonight?”

  “You read me that book, you’re the one who’s getting something. I win Saturday, I get something.”

  “Something better than a gold star?” I whisper.

  “Yeah, Ray, much better.”

  “I can’t wait to see you. Have fun at practice, Trucker.”

  “See you soon.”

  When I hang up the phone, I hold it to my chest and smile. I can’t think of the last time I was so excited about something. When it hits me, I wish it hadn’t. But it was a good memory. A moment when things were good, so good.

  It was when Mom had crashed for a long time. It was when I began to draw.

  “It’s going to be all better, baby girl.” She kisses my head as she kneels beside me. “I’m back now. Mommy’s back.”

  I try to pile together all the papers scattered around the floor, all my drawings, so I can put them away, so I can save them for the next time she crashes.

  “Who’s this?” she asks, pointing to my friend, the one I play with when she’s sleeping or in her room with an uncle.

  “No one, Mommy,” I tell her, placing another picture on top of it.

  “This is you.” She picks up the picture she thinks is of me. “I know because of the ribbon and the blue in the eyes.”

  I shrug.

  “You’re really good at this, baby girl. Who needs school, huh?” She stands up then leans down to kiss my head before tugging on the ribbon. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  We had been in New Jersey at the time, maybe a week, maybe three weeks after leaving Syracuse, and after she crashed. The round ball, the orange one, was my new friend Lou.

  A knock on the door makes me jump, and then I look in the mirror one more time.

  “God, I hope he likes the way I look,” I whisper.

  Before I can turn around, I hear, “He does, Ray, he does.”

  I freeze, and he laughs.

  “You gonna turn around so I can see the rest of you?”

  I look up and into the mirror, seeing him biting his lower lip, blue eyes slowly moving down my body.

  “You did something different with your hair.”

  “How can you tell when you’re staring at my butt?”

  “It’s a real nice butt, Ray.”

  “And I thought it was my smile you liked the most.” I turn around and look at him.

  His eyes smile. His lips do, too, but just a little. It’s the kind of smile that makes me feel so special.

  “Hi, Ray.”

  “Hi, Trucker Cohen.”

  Three steps is all it takes for him to reach me, lifting me up and pressing his lips against mine. My arms are around his shoulders, my hands in his hair, immediately.

  His lips surround mine at the same time I wrap my legs around his waist. He grips my butt rougher than ever as he pivots his hips and pushes against my core.

  Friction.

  My mouth opens as I let out a gasp of pleasure caused by our bodies’ connection.

  He pushes his tongue into my mouth and groans as he licks inside my mouth. I open wid
er to him, taking in the taste and smell of Trucker, as he takes in mine.

  When he sucks on my lower lip, the butterfly garden in my belly wakes up from its three-day slumber, and I grind against him.

  He bites into my lip and growls as my back hits the wall.

  Something inside me pulses, and I whimper as he grinds against me again and again and again.

  “Oh, God.” My head falls back and hits the wall … hard.

  “Shit.” He removes one of his hands from my ass and grips the back of my head. “You okay?”

  My head falls to his shoulder. “A little dizzy.”

  “Shit, Ray, I’m sorry.” He walks backward and sits on the bed before taking my face in his hands and tilting it back. “How bad is it?”

  “I can’t believe what you do to me.”

  He smiles. “Focus, Ray. Your head.”

  I close my eyes. “It’s fine.”

  The burn and throbbing between my legs is so hard to ignore that I don’t even care about the ache on the back of my head.

  “It’s swelling up, Ray. You have ice?”

  I look at him and shake my head.

  He grips my hips, sets me beside him on the bed, and then stands up, kissing me on the top of my head. “Be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To grab some ice.” He winks. “Trust me, Ray; I have plans for you.”

  “I trust you, Trucker.” Totally and completely.

  I hear him run down the stairs, and my heart feels like it may burst.

  Outside of work, I have two people right now. Two real people who are incredibly kind to me. Two people who visit me and seem to genuinely care about me, who aren’t connected to my mom or my life before I moved here. Two people who I have made friends with, and it makes me so happy, so very happy.

  I hear him come up the stairs and sit up, feeling a bit dizzy from the rush.

  He holds up two bags of ice. I recognize the bags. They are from the bar.