First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  That's because of Lincoln, though. He was amazing when I told him about tonight's event, cooking me breakfast in bed before we spent two hours together having sex that was so intense, I didn't even mind not showing up for work until noon. I played it off by using tonight's event as an excuse, and thankfully Dad bought it.

  I glance at the voice, seeing a man about my height. Well, actually he's taller than me, I'm wearing the four inch heels that Lincoln helped me pick out, saying they made my legs look so sexy he would be willing to crash the party if he wasn't sure we'd end up having sex somewhere in the dinosaur diorama. The thought made me laugh, but also thrilled me so much that I'm wearing my sexiest pair of panties... and no bra. My dress has a built in shelf cup, and besides, when I get home I'm making sure the first thing I do is climb into bed with Lincoln.

  The man gives me another smile, and I realize I've been daydreaming a little. “Sorry, gathering wool. I guess I'll have a glass.”

  “Great. Richard Qualls,” the man says, and I place the name right away. Like me, he's a legacy, although his game's politics and not football. After all, being the mayor's son has some advantages.

  I take the offered flute of champagne and have a sip. “Thank you, Richard. I'm-”

  “Samantha Porter... your father pointed you out to me,” Richard says, giving me a smile. “When he saw I couldn't tear my eyes off of you, he just had to help out.”

  “I'm flattered Richard, but there are plenty of pretty women here,” I note, glancing around. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement... tonight's event seems to have attracted more of the fuddy duddy crowd than my generation, except for the German business group that I'm sure is the real reason the Mayor wants to wine and dine people. Still, there's a few. “Take a look over there.”

  Richard glances in the direction I'm gesturing, a gorgeous raven-haired girl with a pinup's body and the dusky skin that tells me she's probably got a little Persian blood in her, chuckling to himself. “Yeah... she and I go way back. No thanks. She's got daddy issues.”

  The way he dismisses the girl makes alarm bells go off in my head right away. There's ways to talk about an ex of yours. On one hand, you can be cool about it, and speak decently about them. On another, if you're the one slighted, you can be bitter. Or, if you're the one doing the slighting... “I see.”

  “Honestly, I'd prefer not to be here tonight, but Dad says it'll be good for next year,” Richard continues. “I'm planning on making a run for the State House, and he thinks it's good for me to be making the right connections.”

  “Seems both our fathers have similar ideas in mind. In fact-” I say, trying to extract myself from the conversation. Maybe the voters will buy his line of bullshit, Richard's got that sort of pinkish earnest face that a certain percentage of the population eats up like candy if it's served with a good dose of jingoistic populism, but I see him for what he is, a slimeball. In every word he utters, he's disrespectful to the people here, the voters... hell, even his own father.

  “Where are you going so quickly?” Richard asks, grabbing my upper arm in a strong grip. “We were just getting to know each other.”

  “Let go of me,” I growl, trying to pull away without making a scene. I don't like being manhandled, but at the same time Richard's got clout. I don't want to bring unwanted attention unless I have to. “I don't know what you think you saw in me, but-”

  He cuts me off again. “But what you need is to get the hell out of here with me, come back to my place, and get fucked by someone who knows how to treat you like the slut you are,” he growls. “Don't think I didn't notice the lack of pantyline in that dress. Tell me, t-back or nothing at all? I bet you're even smooth as a baby's ass down there.”

  He might be right, but enough's enough. I jerk my arm free, the flute of champagne dropping to the marble floor to shatter like a bomb. The entire room goes silent, hundreds of faces turning to see what's going on. Richard's face clouds for a moment before he puts on a practiced smile, lifting his hands. “Miss Porter, it seems that we've had a misunderstanding. I simply meant-”

  “What you simply meant,” I say, raising my voice over his to ring out through the room, “is that you want to sexually harass me, grab me like I'm your property, and then when I say no you want to back off. So here's my answer... Dick. What type of underwear I'm wearing is none of your business, I'm not going anywhere with you, and if you call me a slut again you're going to feel my knee in your nuts.”

  The crowd's in silent shock for a moment before the buzz starts, people whispering to each other. Richard looks around nervously, his smile again faltering for a moment before he steps towards me, reaching. “Miss Porter, I'm sure-”

  His words are cut off like a switch when my hand cracks against his cheek, and he holds his face, his eyes wide in shock as I stare at him. “Don't touch me, don't even speak to me.”

  The Mayor comes in before the situation can escalate, taking his son by the shoulders. “Richard, come on, let's get out of here.”

  “Bitch!” Richard spits, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. I must have tagged him pretty hard, I guess those weight sessions with the team have had some other benefits.

  “Sam! What the hell is going on here?” Dad asks, making his way through the crowd. “Did I just see you slap the Mayor's son?”

  “What you saw,” someone says before I can reply, “is your daughter stand up to sexual harassment. I saw it all. Judy Doyle, Channel 7 News... Miss Porter, do you have a statement on what just happened?”

  I turn, and realize that everything was probably just caught on tape. The reporter's looking at me with both hunger for a good story and admiration in her eyes... guess I've just joined the #MeToo group, while at the same time showing there's a way to deal with it. “No statement, Miss Doyle. How about we focus on the new exhibitions?”

  Before she can ask anything I turn and make my way towards the exit, Dad hot on my heels. He says nothing until we're outside, and his driver's left to go get the car. “That could have gone better.”

  “He asked what kind of panties I'm wearing, Dad,” I growl. “Maybe that shit flew when you were twenty six... but not for me.”

  Dad, who very famously has a picture of him drinking Jack and Coke from between the perky breasts of Miss June '84 at the same party he met my mother and totally grew up in a different era, growls. He feels caught, on one hand I'm his daughter, on the other hand I just 'embarrassed' him in front of the old boys club. “You could have handled it with more... tact.”

  “Sorry Dad,” I say, stepping away from him. “I learned from you, I don't handle things with tact very well. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll grab a cab home instead. I'll see you at the stadium tomorrow.”

  I walk away, ignoring Dad's calling my name, and jump in the first cab that I see. I give the cabbie my address and pull my phone out from my small purse, dialing the one number I want to talk to right now. “Lincoln?”

  “Hey babe... what's wrong?”

  “Oh, you'll probably see it on the eleven o'clock news,” I grumble. “I'm coming home now. Do you mind if we... well, I've got some frustration to work off.”

  There's a moment of silence on the other end before Lincoln replies, his voice dropping to a sexy growl. “Whatever my lady needs, she'll get it. That I promise.”

  “And if I need to be the one in charge?”

  Lincoln growls again, and my body, which just minutes ago was repulsed by Richard's hamfisted pass at me, is immediately turned on at the thought of Lincoln and I together. “Then I guess I'll be your willing love slave tonight. Should I be wearing clothes when you return?”

  “Just a few... for politeness sake. I'll see you soon.”

  I hang up, and the cabbie gives me a glance in the rearview mirror. “Boyfriend?”

  “Yeah,” I growl, not wanting to explain myself. “Good guy.”

  “Lucky man,” the cabbie replies. “Don't worry, I'll get you home soon.”

  Chapter
14

  Lincoln

  “So... saw your right hand on the Mayor's son,” Joe says. I've just come around the corner in the executive level, wanting to check in with Samantha before going to get changed for practice. The night she'd slapped the Mayor's son, she'd been angry, and I was glad I was there to let her vent her anger.

  Sure, I had to explain a few scratches on my back the next day in the weight room, but the guys were more jealous than anything else, and for the most part respectful. Nick Sedgwick even joked that anytime my 'Mistress' wanted to stop by the practice facilities, he'd be more than happy to give her an escorted tour. Now, after a weekend of watching other teams play, all of the Knights are ready to get down to work again and prepare for this Sunday's game.

  Still, I wanted to check in with Samantha one last time, figuring I could use the excuse of this Saturday's Halloween carnival if I had to, but Joe's in her office. No way do I need to deal with that guy. Still, I pause, listening in a little.

  “What do you want, Joe?” Samantha asks. “It happened nearly a week ago now... little late to offer support or condolences or whatever is on your mind.”

  “Oh, I don't have any worries about that,” Joe says in that cocky, smarmy way he's got. “Actually baby, I was touched. To think, you'd made me start to think you were trying to get over me.”

  That son of a bitch. Samantha gets sexually harassed, and now he's hitting on her? Seriously, does this asshole have no shame, or just no common fucking sense?

  “I am over you, Joe,” Samantha replies, her tone of voice changing a little. She's gone from professional to pissed off, and I am too. If only I could do something about it....

  “Doesn't seem that way to me,” Joe says. “Come on Samantha, you know you still think about me. I've seen you coming to practices, you never used to do that. Admit it, you miss me.”

  “I miss you like I miss the chicken pox,” Samantha replies. “Actually, I take that back. I'd rather have the chicken pox again.”

  “Still playing hard to get, I see,” Joe says, and I can hear him start to step forward, his shoes squeaking on the polished concrete that makes up most of the flooring in the stadium. “You know I love it when-”

  “Take one more step Joe, and you'll find that the Mayor's son isn't the only one I can slap or knee in the nuts,” Samantha growls, making me pause before entering her office to see if Joe could possibly be thrown all the way from her office window to the field below. “Now get the fuck out.”

  There's a pause, then Joe starts to back up by the sounds of it. “Okay, bitch... I see you're still in denial. Well, that's fine. When you're ready to crawl back, if I'm not too busy with some bitch hotter than you, I might throw you a pity fuck or two. See you later.”

  Joe leaves, nearly running into me as he walks out of the office. “Out of the way, Monster,” he growls, trying to bump me with his shoulder. He fails though, stumbling as I don't move an inch. Joe glares at me disbelievingly while I stare back, not backing down. “What the fuck's your problem, Watson?”

  “No problem at all,” I reply, keeping my voice level in a last ditch attempt to prevent obscene amounts of violence. “Came to ask Miss Porter about when she wants the defensive players at the carnival Saturday. What about you?”

  “Ah... just seeing if she's okay. You know, after last week and everything,” Joe says, lying quickly. “Whatever, I gotta go get rubbed down before practice.”

  “You do that,” I growl, watching him turn and go. I stick my head in Samantha's office, giving her a look. “Hey... everything okay?”

  Samantha nods, sighing. “Yeah. Uh, about what you told Joe... I'll get that to you through Coach Petersen. Steve said he'd be by before practice.”

  “Okay,” I reply, stepping closer and lowering my voice. “You sure you're okay?”

  She gives me a small smile, nodding. “Yeah... takes a lot more than Joe Crenshaw to rattle me.”

  I nod, my fists clenching. “Understood... still, he shouldn't disrespect you like that.”

  Samantha shrugs, shaking her head. “That's Joe. What can anyone do about it?”

  There's a lot I can do, and as practice begins I feel a red cloud of anger seeping into my brain as we get things going. With a full week off, Coach has scheduled a bit more contact for today's practice, wanting us to get our 'juices' flowing again.

  About halfway through defensive drills, my hands start twitching when Coach sends in Joe to throw some with the scout team. The scout team quarterback strained his calf scrambling earlier, and while he's game, Red wants to have a stronger arm in there.

  “Okay guys,” Nick Sedgwick says in the huddle, giving me a little nod. “X-ray slant power alpha. Cover two wing. Your play, Monster.”

  We break and I line up, my jaw clamped around my mouthpiece. Joe gets into shotgun and barks out a cadence, his lips twisted in the same smirk that I've seen too many times. The red light inside me flares again and I feel my Monster growling to be let out. Fine... just a little.

  The ball snaps and I surge off the line, throwing the scout team tackle out of my way before charging for Joe. He's wearing the bright orange jersey that all the 'non-contact' players wear.. Unlike the rest of us, quarterbacks are too important to beat up their bodies during practice. It's something all quarterbacks take for granted, and every other player, whether they are willing to admit it or not, despises.

  The bright orange makes him nothing but a Day-Glo target for me though, and I streak at him. Joe doesn't move, assured by his jersey and the fact he's just doing some scout team work that nobody's going to touch him. Not this time, and as I get close enough, instead of hitting him as hard as I can I pull back my Monster a little and just smack him in the non-throwing shoulder hard enough to buckle a knee.

  Coach blows the whistle, but nobody hears it as Joe turns and rifles the ball into my back, smacking into my shoulder pads. “What the fuck are you doing, you fucking idiot? Orange means no fucking contact!”

  I turn, unsnapping my helmet and pulling it off, getting in his face and grinning like a rabid rottweiler. “If you're too pussy to take a little love tap Joe, maybe you should take up something more appropriate. I hear the local ballet company's got some openings.”

  “You bitch,” Joe yells, snatching his own helmet off. “You couldn't do half of what I do!”

  I take a step closer, but before anything can happen there's a half dozen guys in between us, making sure jawjacking doesn't escalate into something more. I let them pull me back, pointing at Joe. “You need to learn some fucking respect, Crenshaw. Just because you've got the highest contract doesn't mean you're the most important person on this team.”

  “And you can be replaced any day of the fucking week, Practice Warrior!” Joe yells back. He storms off, and I start to head back to the defensive huddle when I hear another whistle.

  “Lincoln! Get over here!” Coach Red yells, and I jog over, pulling my helmet off again. I can see Red's pissed, but he's also professional. “Walk with me.”

  We turn, heading to the far side of the field where there's some drink tables set up. As we do I glance over and see Samantha watching practice. I can read her expression clearly, and as we get closer I give her an imperceptible nod, which she returns. She understands what I did, and why.

  Reaching the drink table, I grab a cup of Gatorade and down it while letting Red formulate what he's got to say. “Lincoln,” he finally says, shaking his head, “what was that?”

  “It's a defensive drill, coach,” I reply, vowing not to get upset about this any more. My anger's with Joe Crenshaw, nobody else. “We often tap the quarterback to end plays if there's a sack.”

  “Tap... you damn near broke his shoulder!” Red shoots back, forcing his voice to remain low. He takes a deep breath, then continues in a calmer voice. “Listen Lincoln, I appreciate all you've been doing for the team. You've earned kudos, there's no reason for me to kiss your ass over them.”

  “I don't need my ass kissed, but nei
ther does anyone else on the team,” I reply, thinking that for the near record breaking season I'm having, Coach spends a lot of time kissing Joe's ass. I get three sacks... good game. Joe throws two touchdowns against a middling defense, and Coach is damn near ready to marry him.

  Coach doesn't see my point however. “Lincoln, nobody gets special treatment on the Knights. The rules about no-contact aren't exactly unique, every college and pro team I know of does it. Hell, most high schools do, so don't tell me you just forgot that you're not supposed to hit quarterbacks in practice! And that wasn't a tap, you damn near knocked Joe to the ground with that little demonstration.”

  I shake my head, knowing I'm not going to get anywhere with Coach, and at the same time I know I can't explain to him all the reasons I'm pissed at Joe Crenshaw. “Okay, you're right, Coach. Listen, I'm just feeling a little extra competitive, that's all. We win this Sunday, and we've got the inside track on the division title. I'm sorry that I disrupted practice.”

  Red nods, pacified. I didn't apologize for smacking Joe, and I wouldn't even if threatened with a fine. But it's enough. “Okay. Take a few minutes, have some more Gatorade, and get back into drills. You're right, Sunday's a tough game. Carolina's got a good offense and a quarterback who can beat us with his legs or his arm. Any other year, I'd have tried to just bend but not break, turn it into an offensive shootout... not this year.”

  Red turns and heads back towards the main knot of players, letting me sip my Gatorade in peace. After he leaves I see Samantha approach, stopping about twenty feet away. We make eye contact, and she gives me silent applause before mouthing call me tonight. I nod, and she gives me a smile before turning and heading back towards the stadium offices giving me a great view of her in her skirt, and a tingle inside my compression shorts.

  Call her? Damn right I am.

  “So... smacking around Joe for me now?” Samantha asks. I'm at home, wishing she were here, but we both agreed that with practice starting up again, we have to be careful about being seen together. Besides, after the past four nights, both of us could use some more sleep.