by Shandi Boyes
“No, I haven’t. That might have more to do with the fact my knees are insured for so much more than anything else.”
She rolls her eyes. “All right, hotshot, back to the task at hand before your big head floats you away.” Her throat works hard to swallow before she pushes out, “At the end of each carnival, the organizers have a mockup match—”
“A friendly?”
“Yes, yes, whatever you want to call it.” She bumps me with her hip, her mood playful despite the many times I’ve interrupted her. Multiple orgasms seem to have that effect on her. “I want you to captain one of the teams, and to pick Riley to play on your team before anyone else. Then, he not only gets to play on the same field as his idol, but he’ll also have a chance to showcase his skills.”
A sigh rumbles in her chest when I ask, “Is he not picked even for the friendlies?”
“No. Even with him strapping on his cleats every week, he’s not yet played on that field.”
My jaw tightens as I breathe out an Italian curse word. I would have faced the same issues as Riley if I didn’t have a tyrant for a father. He not only ensured I played every week, but he also had me playing in multiple matches. I was so exhausted every weekend, I looked forward to school on Mondays just so I could catch my breath.
Skylar eyes me with confusion when I yank my cell phone out of my pocket. After hitting the second most frequently called number on my list, I squash my phone to my ear. Jonah answers not even two rings later.
After greeting him, I say, “I need one hundred match official jerseys and balls couriered to…” gravel kicks up at my feet when I move to take in the club name on the side of the clubhouse, “… Paxton Panthers within the hour.”
“An hour? Fuck, Enzo. Could you at least give me time to shave my balls before lighting a firecracker up my ass? I hate the smell of burning pubes.”
He stops rambling when I say, “Also, call in some favors. I need a handful of A-league players here for a midmorning friendly.”
“Oh, okay, so match organizing is part of my job criteria now, is it?”
“It is if you want that Range Rover you’ve been eyeing.”
Dead silence sounds down the line.
Jonah is so quiet, I lower my phone from my ear to check we haven’t lost our connection.
We haven’t, he’s just stunned into silence—much like Skylar and her father.
“Jonah?”
“Done. Consider it done.”
Smirking, I give my thanks before lowering my phone from my ear. Part the way down, I hear Jonah call my name. “Yeah?” I ask after once again bracing my phone against my ear.
“I want black on black, not that low-end gray every fucker in Milan is getting around in.” While he blabbers off the finish he wants, I take in Riley’s photograph with more diligence. I’ll never forgive myself if I pick the wrong kid by accident.
Confident I have my ducks lined up, I tell Jonah to order his fucking car, disconnect our call, then rejoin Skylar and her father at the side of his truck. “Ready?”
Skylar steps back, shocked. “For?”
“To play some ball.” I shift my eyes to her dad standing awkwardly at the side. “Both of you.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Skylar
After slotting behind my father to hide my dig, I pull my wedgie out of my backside. I’ve worn dental floss as underwear before, but this is ridiculous. My jockstrap isn’t just riding up at my back end, it’s hugging parts in the front I didn’t realize I had.
It probably doesn’t help I’m wearing it with the soccer shorts Riley’s club loaned me. Soccer shorts don’t have a built-in section to protect your crotch like football shorts do.
I’m reasonably sure Lorenzo isn’t wearing trunks much less groin protection. I should probably do something about that. We only have two months left on our contract, so I don’t want him out with swollen testies for even an hour.
The elastic in my jockstrap gets lost in a sometimes thunderous void when Lorenzo busts my back-entrance dig. He arches his brow, confused by my attempt to act innocent. It’s not an easy look for me to pull off. When his eyes drift down my body, and he reaches the bulge any man in a pair of jeans would be proud to sport, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in quick concession. He looks a little ill, similar to how I looked when I peered at the freak staring at me in the mirror of the locker room twenty minutes ago.
The jersey I’m used to, but shorts and knee-high socks will take a bit longer for me to grow accustomed to.
“I don’t think that’s wise, sweetie,” my dad warns when I yank at the Velcro holding my groin protection in place before pulling my jockstrap out the front of my shorts like a magician yanking a rabbit out of his hat. “My balls are still aching from colliding with the ground last night. I don’t want you hurting yourself if you take a tumble.”
It takes thirty painstaking seconds to wipe the image of my dad’s swollen nuts from my mind. Once it’s traveled as far from my thoughts as my jockstrap tried to explore my anus, I dump the offending article onto the muddy ground.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when its caught second-bounce by a pimple-faced teen who looks as eager as Danny did when he found an unstained jockstrap in the 69ers’ locker room almost three months ago. He hotfoots it across the field, catcalling as if his team won the championship trophy.
I could tell him my jockstrap will most likely smell like Lorenzo since we’re lax on protection, but since today is about unifying people, not irreparably scarring them, I’ll let him think he’s won this round.
“For one, Dad, I don’t have testicles. And two, if you ever mention your balls to me again, I’m going to tell Uncle Ted the post office didn’t lose your invitation to become a lifetime member at his beloved club. You burned it.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, but it’s barely heard over the rumble of the hundreds of spectators lining the edge of the field we’re standing in the middle of. Proceedings are about to begin, and for some unknown reason, I’m not the only one stupidly excited. Half the town has arrived to watch Lorenzo and a handful of local sports stars play a mock match.
My heart whacks my ribs when Lorenzo takes his time studying the crowd. He’s either a really good actor, or he’s forgotten Riley is the shy boy to his left, hanging awkwardly back because he’s so star-struck, he can’t get his feet to move.
I inhale my first breath in almost thirty seconds when Lorenzo’s deep timbre booms over the chatter of the excited crowd. “Riley, is that you?”
Riley pushes his broken glasses up his nose before glancing over his shoulder, certain Lorenzo isn’t speaking to him.
“It’s you, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you in ages. Come here, man. I can’t wait to play with you again. Just go easy on me this time. I’m getting slow in my old age.”
Tears burn my eyes when Riley touches his chest, wordlessly seeking confirmation Lorenzo is talking to him. When Lorenzo nods, Riley’s dad encourages him to step forward.
I almost cry like a baby when he leaps into the air to greet Lorenzo with a high-five.
A normal-sized person wouldn’t have needed to jump.
While Riley hugs my leg, shocked he’s been selected. Lorenzo and a rival player go turn for turn choosing their teams. I’m pleased to say, even with their rivalry well-known, their picks follow a similar path to Riley. They chose the smaller, less played players. It swells my heart with pride and truly does have me believing it’s not the game you play that makes you a sportsman, but the love you put into the game.
With teams picked, and my dad bowing out with a supposed middle leg injury, the match commences. It’s mainly just the ball being kicked back and forth between players, but once hunger for a win gobbles up Riley’s nerves, the real show begins.
He wows both the professional and amateur players with his skills and has me in stitches when he uses his short height to walk between one of the A-league player’s legs.
“What the hell
, Riley? Have you been practicing?” Lorenzo praises him when he scores a goal, bringing our match to 2-1. “Now, let’s switch things up a bit. You take the forward, and I’ll hang back with the slacker over here.”
My mouth gaps in mocked annoyance when Lorenzo nudges his head to me. Then it lifts to a smile when he hits me with a frisky wink. I love seeing him like this—carefree and happy. I just wish we were also alone. Half the male players aren’t wearing jerseys, yet I’m incapable of taking my eyes off the six-pack I’ve ogled nonstop the past two months.
I wipe at the drool pooling in the corner of my mouth when, “Hey, slacker, eyes on the ball,” roars across the field.
A squeal pops out of my mouth when the match ball comes to rest at my feet. I almost pick it up to throw it back to Lorenzo, but he screams for me not to touch it with my hands, which freezes both my hands and my heart.
“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Kick it,” Lorenzo instructs as laughter bellows from the crowd. “With your foot. Get it, football.”
Determined to show the naysayers I have what it takes to play this stupid game, I boot the living shit out of the all-white ball. My heart rate soars as high as the ball sails through the air. It darts down the field, only stopping when it lands smack bang into the face of the opposition.
With the ball no longer white, I’m ushered off the field by a shuddering Lorenzo.
“Why am I being penalized? He should have moved if he didn’t want to be bitch-slapped by the ball. This isn’t my fault.”
Lorenzo’s accent already makes him hard to understand, much less the laughter that arrives with his words. “This match has a no-blood code. If you draw it, you’re benched.”
“That’s not fair. How is that fair?” I turn my eyes to my dad. He’s as confused by their stupid rules as me. “Do I at least get fed on this bench?” I question while slumping onto the so-called bench. “It’s the least I should get after being so wrongly prosecuted.”
My pulse quickens when Lorenzo bends down until we meet eye to eye. “After that effort, I’ll feed you something later to show my thanks. I’ve wanted to smack Lee in the face for years.”
A nun wouldn’t miss the sexual ambiguity in his tone. She knows as well as the thirty or more soccer moms hovering close to relish the scent of Lorenzo’s sweat-slicked skin that he doesn’t want to feed me food.
Although I love his playfulness, I downplay my interest. “How is giving you a blowjob payment for a job well done?”
My breathing slackens when he presses his lip to my ear. “I didn’t say the fun would end with my cum down your throat. That will merely be the start of our proceedings.”
I shudder when he licks the shell of my ear, but he misses the hue on my cheeks because he’s sprinting back to the game still going gangbusters despite losing its most valuable player—aka me.
Just before Lorenzo’s foot crosses the white-powdered line, I shout his name. When he cranks his neck my way, I tap my lips. “Are you forgetting something? From my understanding, it’s un-American to leave without giving up the lips you’ve been teasing me with all day.”
Kill me now. He brought out his shy smirk. “But I’m not American, amore mio.”
Shit. He has me there.
I’ve barely worked out my game plan in my head when my dad proves why he’s the best dad in the world. “You’ll be buried under American dirt if you upset my girl, so I’m confident that makes you American enough to get your ass back here and kiss her like she’s demanding.”
I swear an oath that my dad can mention his aching nuts without fear of prosecution any time he likes when Lorenzo’s lips lock with mine.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Skylar
“Who’s this? Skylar, I’d-rather-swim-in-vomit-than-wear-a-soccer-jersey is wearing a soccer jersey. Say it isn’t so.” The closer I get to the seats Lorenzo reserves for me each match, the lower Danny’s jaw hangs. “Why are you prancing like that? And where can I get some of that magic?”
When I maintain my silent stance, he wiggles his fingers at the drink attendant like the energy thrumming my veins the past two and a half months can be bottled up and sold. If it could be, I would have lodged that patent weeks ago. Lorenzo is a dominant, alpha male in the bedroom, but my God, can he swoon outside of it. My steps are so lightweight because I genuinely feel like I’ve been swept off my feet.
“Not that drink attendant.” Willow’s cheeks whiten when she realizes which drink attendant Danny is directing our way. “He ices his nut-sack in the cooler after each match.”
I laugh when Danny wiggles his fingers even more furiously. If his flapping gets much more leverage, he’ll take off.
Ignoring Willow’s advice, he orders two beers, a hotdog, and a bag of pretzels before tipping the vendor way too generously.
When he slumps back into his seat, I give him a leering look. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s been over a year. I’ll take frozen nuts if that’s all I can get.”
“I’m not judging.” I was, but I’ll never let him know that. “I’m just shocked you’re still searching. I thought things were all but confirmed for Cade and you.”
Cade and Danny met at the dance club two months ago. They instantly hit it off. Although if Danny’s face is anything to go by, their connection should have been left on the dance floor.
“I thought so, too, but our game was over long before my team entered the field. I didn’t even have my helmet on, but he had already reached the end zone… in his pants.”
“Eww,” Willow and I groan in sync.
“I haven’t had a man cum in his pants since…” The anger working from my gut to my throat holds back the remainder of my reply.
Danny bumps me with his shoulder, aware of my dislike of my scumbag ex even with us only being friends for a few months. “You showed him. If I heard correctly, the pastor stopped the ceremony part way through so he could get a picture with Lorenzo.”
I throw back my head and laugh. “He did. With the friendly going longer than predicted, we arrived at the ceremony late. The pastor was so convinced Lorenzo entered the wrong church, he didn’t want to miss the opportunity of getting a photograph with him before he realized. Even Lincoln got in on the action.”
Willow jumps into the conversation. “I’m assuming you didn’t point out who Lincoln was until after the ceremony?”
I rake my teeth over my lower lip to hide my smile. “Why would you assume such a thing?”
“Ah… ‘cause I’m reasonably sure Lorenzo would have put him on his ass if he knew how he’d hurt you. Rumors around these parts are that he does that often.”
I rib her with my elbow. “He does not. Joshua deserved his beat down, and my dad was a misunderstanding. I don’t see it happening again.”
Danny rolls his eyes. “I do.”
I could continue arguing, but it would be as lackluster as Danny’s date. If Lorenzo had known who Lincoln was when he asked him to sign the tasteless short sleeve shirt he wore under his twenty-nine dollar suit jacket, I’m reasonably sure Willow’s assumption would have been accurate.
Lincoln would have said “I do” with a black eye.
Lorenzo’s naturally engrained protectiveness grew tenfold when my father’s drunk ass continually commended him for standing up for his wife during Natalie and Lincoln’s reception. I wasn’t just easing Lorenzo’s guilt when I told him my dad wasn’t mad about his attack. He was pleased being strangers only hours before didn’t stop Lorenzo from stepping in when he thought something was wrong. A lot of people stand back and watch. Lorenzo isn’t one of those people.
After giving my emotions a stern warning to settle down, I shift my eyes to the field. For once, I’ve made it to a match before the game has started. “Is it true Matvi is out?”
Danny rips open his bag of pretzels before nodding. “Yeah. Torn cartilage behind his knee. He’s done for the season.”
“Any hints on his replacement?”
>
His blond brow cocks as Willow’s eyes shoot to mine. “Why are you asking me for insider tips? You’re sleeping with a star striker. You’d know more than I do.”
“Not if it means I have to fake an interest in the game I have no interest in.”
Willow’s laugh vibrates through our touching shoulders, but Danny isn’t as willing to let my lie slide as she is. “If you hate soccer, I’m guessing Lorenzo’s cock isn’t as stacked as his abs because they had me climbing over the I-love-soccer fence many many moons ago.”
I shoot him a wry look before attempting to direct our conversation away from me and my inability to pretend I still loathe the one thing Lorenzo loves more than anything. He loves soccer, and I love how much he loves it.
“Did you hide in Willow’s cubicle again? If you get caught, you’ll be sidelined for at least a season. Is a random penis worth the risk?”
Danny throws his head back, all prissy like. “Me… hide in a cubicle mere inches from shower stalls with no doors… never.” He’s lying, and not even attempting to hide the fact. “I may have snuck a peek in the locker room after my meeting with E. That’s not perving. It was for research.”
I scoff. “For?”
“For my man-of-the-month calendar.” He grips my arm firm enough to leave a mark. “I think I have it down to four distinct sports.”
“Four categories of sports?” When he nods, I gag. “There’s only one true sport, Danny-boy.”
“Football,” Lorenzo and Elvis say in sync.
While Elvis climbs the railings to slot into the vacant seat next to Willow, I take in how Lorenzo’s granny socks and knee-length shorts don’t hinder his sexiness. His muscles are more pronounced than they were the first time I saw him in his uniform, and they have nothing to do with Coach Titan’s workout regime. Our workouts under the sheets even have me skipping my daily boxing class. All my exercise is compliments of S-E-X, and it’s damn brilliant.
