by Eva Luxe
Oh yeah.
Good ole Taylor.
“Chelsea Thompson,” I say, unable to hold back some light laughter. “Sophomore.”
“And I’m Taylor Hudson,” Taylor adds.
Wesley shakes her hand next, but I notice it’s with a less enthusiastic grip.
“We’ve actually come to invite you to a party,” I say.
Taylor elbows me again, but not as nicely, this time.
“A party already?” Christian jokes. “Aren’t you even going to pick the new cheerleaders first?”
“Oh, they’ll be chosen by then,” I say. “The party is this weekend, and it’s in part to welcome the latest cheerleaders. It’s at my dad’s lake house.”
“Nice,” Christian says. He raises his eyebrows at Wesley. “I’ve heard about the cheerleaders’ parties, and that they’re a lot of fun.”
I ignore the bitter tone in his voice, which reeks of offense at never having been invited to one himself.
“But they’re usually not at the coach’s lake house. And football players are usually banned,” Christian continues. “Due to, as I’ve already warned you, Coach Thompson’s strict rules against anyone on the team fraternizing too much with his daughter…”
So that’s why Wesley hadn’t come over to me on the field. Christian had already let him in on my dad’s rule. Although my dad may have already told Wesley himself. He tends to make quite the production out of announcing it.
“You’re not banned this year,” I quickly blurt out, wanting him to shut up already. He didn’t have to keep rubbing salt in the wound. “You’re both invited.”
I stare straight at Wesley, as if issuing him a dare. And he stares right back, as if accepting it.
“Just don’t let the whole team know about it,” Taylor says, looking at me as if she can’t believe I’d invited even two players. “It’s by invitation only. And obviously, don’t let Coach Thompson know about it…”
“Obviously,” agrees Christian, while rolling his eyes.
“Well, see you around,” I say, reluctantly tearing my eyes off of Wesley to join the food line.
“Looking forward to it,” he says.
And there’s that tingle running down my spine again.
As soon as we’re out of their earshot, Taylor protests.
“Chelsea! What were you thinking?”
“What?”
I bat my eyelashes and do my best to play innocent.
“I know you’re dead set on inviting your latest heartthrob but was that really the best way to do it? Inviting Christian too? What if they go and blab their mouths…”
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her, as I peer at the less than appealing lunch choices.
Apparently Taylor is more afraid of my dad’s wrath than I am. Or maybe, since this is the first time I’ve openly challenged his rule, I’m more curious about Wesley than afraid of my dad.
“Okay,” she says, with an exasperated sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
“I want to get to know him.”
I can’t help but notice the whininess in my voice.
“I know it’s a stupid thing to do, but I want to do it anyway.”
“It’s just that I think you should be careful,” she says, her eyes pleading with me. “I know you’re really into this new guy, but if your dad finds out…”
“You’re right,” I tell her. “I am into him.”
Don’t ask me to explain it, I silently will her, because I can’t.
And she doesn’t. She probably just knows.
I’ve never risked falling for a guy on the football team. I know my dad would be so mad, and it just hasn’t been worth it.
I’ve never even been attracted to many of the guys on the team, so it’s never really been hard to not disobey my dad. Most of the players have always seemed like empty headed jocks.
But there’s something about Wesley Reynolds I can’t ignore.
Sure, he has a cocky swagger and an overconfident manner that lets me know he’s probably used to playing the field in more ways than one. He isn’t even my normal type.
But I just want him. I don’t know why. Other than the fact that he makes my panties damp and my heartbeat quicken.
“I only want to look at him a bit more up close,” I tell Taylor, trying to be convincing. “I know he’s on my dad’s team, so he’s off limits, but I need a better look at him.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m just going to look,” I insist again. “I don’t have to touch…”
“Sure, Chelsea,” she says, as she reaches over me to grab a salad, because I’ve been too busy thinking about Wesley to decide what I want to eat. “Whatever you say.”
She knows me better than that. And I know myself better than that, too.
For better or worse, I just want to get up close and personal with Wesley Reynolds.
I don’t want to actually go all the way with him of course. I’m not ready for that level of closeness. I’m still embarrassingly inexperienced.
I just want to hang out with him for a little bit. Maybe make out just a little bit.
Just one party. Just one crazy, rebellious night of hooking up with him, and I’m sure I’ll get this obsession out of my system, and my dad will never have to know.
***
Later that night, it’s just me alone in my bedroom and I can’t control my thoughts of Wesley so I let them run wild. I’m still a virgin but I’m sick of it. I want him to change that little fact for me.
I reach under the covers and slide my hand down my panties as I imagine him doing that instead of me. I want him to bend me over and spank my ass for being such a bad girl. I want him to play with my clit like I’m doing right now, circling it with his fingers and rubbing it until I cum.
Then I want him to pick me up and wrap my legs around his athlete’s body while he carries me to a bed. He’ll lay me down on it and spread my legs. Then he’ll put his undoubtedly big cock into me and take me for my very first time.
Oh, my God. I moan his name into my pillow as I make myself cum, the way I want him to make me cum. I have a feeling it’s going to happen, and I can’t wait. I just want it to get here soon, so that I can lose my virginity to the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
Chapter 7 – Wesley
This is fucking bullshit.
It’s the first game of the season, and I’m sitting on the bench.
I’ve been working my ass off for Coach Thompson during training all week, and I know I’ve outperformed most of the other guys on the team. I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s just become more and more obvious that this team’s a joke compared to the one I just came from.
I have so much to offer the Calton Wildcats, yet Coach Thompson doesn’t want to use me.
Just before half time, the other team scores a touchdown. Although both of our teams are in the bottom league and we’ve been pretty evenly matched throughout the game, it’s clear that this other team is slightly better, especially without me on the field.
“Hey Coach,” I call out. “Put me in. I’ll catch us up and then some!”
“Sit down and know your place,” Coach Thompson hisses at me, stepping off the field to do so. “And your place isn’t with my daughter.”
“What?”
What the hell does his daughter have to do with anything? We’re going to get killed out here, and he’s using this opportunity to teach me a lesson about his daughter?
“Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at her all night, and ever since you started out on this team,” he spits out before jogging back to the sideline.
I roll my eyes, and Christian looks over at me as if to say “I told you so.”
This guy is really serious about his daughter, I think.
And I don’t even know what he’s so mad about. All I’ve done is look at her, and talk to her in the cafeteria, but he doesn’t even know about that. And Chelsea started that conversation, anyway.
I’m annoyed, b
ut I decide not to let it get to me. Coach Thompson obviously wanted me on the team for a reason and when he needs me here, so I’m sure he’ll let me play. And then he’ll be begging me to keep playing once he sees how much I can help the team.
Sure enough, just before the end of the first half, the first string quarterback gets an injury, and it’s my turn to shine.
“Alright, Reynolds, you’re up,” the coach says, begrudgingly. “Don’t make me sorry I’m doing this.”
As if he has any choice, I think, but I can barely contain my enthusiasm as I run onto the field.
Within just a few minutes, it’s half time and I’m hoping that the first string quarterback’s injuries aren’t so serious that he’s really hurt, but that they’re serious enough to keep him out for the rest of the game so that I can really have a chance to play.
During halftime, the cheerleaders do their thing on the field and of course I can’t resist looking, even though Coach Thompson is staring me down. All of them are at least decent looking— better-looking than most of the ones at my old school, I have to admit— and in the past I would be finding ways to hook up with most of them.
But now I can’t help but focus only on Chelsea. Not just because she’s forbidden fruit, but also because she’s that smoking hot. And she’s staring back at me too, almost the whole time she’s performing her routine.
She tilts her cute blonde head in my direction, as if issuing an invitation. And I smile back slyly, as if accepting.
I imagine her looking at me like that in bed, while I’m behind her and she’s on her hands and knees.
I like this game we have going. I want more of it. But I have to remind myself I have a real game to focus on.
Half time is almost over, and I’m pleased to find out that I’m still in the game.
The offense huddles, and Coach Thompson relays some tactics I don’t entirely agree with. I know my old coach would have run a different play, which I think would be better.
I consider running it even though Coach Thompson had ordered a different play. But I hesitate, knowing that changing it could put me at further odds with my new and apparently very cantankerous coach.
Finally, I decide that the potential reward outweighs the risk. This team needs to fucking switch things up if we’re ever going to have a fighting chance. And I just can’t seem to stop myself from taking risks. There’s some part of me that hopes to impress Chelsea, and maybe even Coach Thompson.
Once my teammates are back on the field, I call for another huddle despite the confused look on Coach Thompson’s face.
“Look, guys, I know I’m new, and you have no reason to trust me. But I’m a winning quarterback from a winning team. And I have an improvised version of Coach Thompson’s tactics that I want to run. I really think it’ll work, if we can pull it off right.”
Everyone looks skeptical and a few guys voice their discontent.
“Wesley, dude, are you sure?” Christian asks me, shaking his head. “I know you like to show off, but this could make or break…”
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “Just go with it. We have to do something to take the lead, you know? No offense, but what you guys have been doing the whole first half without me hasn’t been working.”
Some of the guys snicker in agreement, even adding comments like “What we’ve been doing for the last three years hasn’t been working either,” while others grunt their disapproval or shrug their indecision.
“I guess the worst that could happen is that we continue to lose,” Christian admits.
“Or Coach Thompson will make us run laps as a penalty for going against his call,” someone else says.
Most of us shrug, apparently agreeing that outcome wouldn’t be so bad, compared to losing the first game of the season.
“Do what you need to do, man,” Christian says.
I appreciate his encouragement, although I don’t really need it.
Once I’ve made my mind up to do something, there’s no fucking stopping me— for better or worse.
“Now let’s do this,” I say, as the second half officially starts.
Luckily my teammates listen to me, and we begin the play. As expected, the opposing players react to counter our initial tactic they were expecting us to run, but my unanticipated pass grants our team the opportunity to score a touchdown.
My teammates go wild with the thrill of victory, but Coach Thompson isn’t impressed. He stomps around on the sidelines, yelling at us— and me in particular— about not listening to his leadership.
Once the offense and defense switch, I approach him, not wanting to stay on bad terms.
“Sorry, Coach,” I begin. “I just had a feeling that this other play—”
“I’ll deal with you later, Reynolds,” he says, tersely.
Shivers run down my spine as I get a glimpse of what Chelsea had to grow up with.
“And I’ll deal with the entire offensive team later. Everyone will be punished,” Coach Thompson announces loudly. “But for now, let’s focus on winning this game.”
I detect a note of excitement in his voice that he can’t seem to hide even through his anger.
“He’s glad we scored, even though he hates my method of going about it,” I whisper to Christian.
“Shut up,” he hisses back at me. “Do you want to get everyone in even more trouble?”
His face is red and he’s glaring at me in obvious anger.
What’s up his ass? I wonder, but I just shrug.
Many other teammates come over to high five me and congratulate me on the call. I guess Christian’s just jealous. Even though he had told me to go for it, and it had worked.
Our team manages to hold the tie throughout the second half, and finally we end up scoring again and winning the game. My team members seem shocked, but ecstatic. Apparently they’re not used to this degree of success.
I turn to Christian as soon as the game ends, unable to resist gloating.
“Told you we’d win,” I brag. “And Coach Thompson is just upset at how I went about it.”
“Yeah but can you blame him?” Christian replies. “You couldn’t even wait to get on better footing with the coach before you just stormed in here and changed things up.”
He looks genuinely mad at me, and I feel a bit betrayed.
“So you really wanted me to just let us lose?” I ask him, incredulous.
He shrugs.
“You just have no concept of respect,” he blurts out. “You think you can just come in and take whatever you want.”
I just shake my head.
I’m over trying to figure him out. I just chalk it up to sour grapes.
I look over at Chelsea, who is finishing up leading a cheer along the sidelines.
Damn right, I think, as her curvy ass bounces underneath her short skirt.
Every time I’m in the shower, I’ve been jerking off, thinking about popping her hot little cherry. My cock gets huge and veiny as I slide my hand up and down it, wishing it could be in her pussy.
I’ve been making myself cum so hard and good while thinking about fucking her. I bet her pussy is so tight and wet.
I know I should leave those kinds of thoughts for the shower but I can’t help but let my mind wander back into that territory now that I’m seeing her in person again. I imagine her ass bouncing up and down on my cock as she gyrates in my lap, sliding on and off my dick, just like she’s doing now as she jumps around for her routine.
No one has ever accused me of not pursuing what I want. I wanted to win this fucking game for the Wildcats, and I did, no matter what it took.
And what I want right now is that head cheerleader— coach’s daughter or not. And I’m going to get her no matter what it takes.
Chapter 8 – Chelsea
“All right, Ladies, that’s a wrap,” I call out, as our cheerleading squad exits the field after finishing our final congratulatory cheer.
“I’m so excited about the way our squad is shaping
up this year,” Taylor tells me. “I think we have some really great girls.”
“I know!” I agree. “And it’s great to be able to cheer for a winning team for once.”
Taylor laughs, and I sneak a peek at the bench, where my dad is yelling at Wesley.
Wesley smiles at me with a sheepish grin on his face that says “What does he want from me?”
I shrug and roll my eyes, as if to tell him not to take my dad too seriously, and then I try to return the focus of my attention back on my best friend.
“I don’t know why my dad’s so mad at Wesley,” I tell her. “If it wasn’t for him, we’d still be losing like we always do.”
“It seems to me that Wesley’s the type to push limits,” Taylor says. “He totally ignored your dad’s call and substituted one of his own.”
“Well, isn’t that what a quarterback needs to do sometimes?” I ask, genuinely baffled.
“Probably not during his first game, on his first day playing at a new school, for a new coach…”
Taylor looks at me as if I have three heads, for not being able to figure these things out. But I decide to ignore her. It’s obvious that both my dad and Wesley have big personalities, and they clash because each of them is so headstrong.
As I approach them, however, I can’t seem to keep my opinions to myself. My dad is berating Wesley, who looks embarrassed in front of the whole team, although he’s trying to keep his cocky demeanor in check.
I wait until my dad finishes yelling at him, and the rest of the team, and then until he dismisses them to the locker room. After that I walk up to my dad.
“Dad, please calm down!” I plead with him. “Can’t you just be happy that the team won for once?”
Sometimes nothing ever seems to be good enough for my dad. I appreciate that he raised me to value hard work and success, but he isn’t very flexible in his thinking.
“Chelsea,” he says, using the same stern voice I’ve heard since I was a little girl. “This really isn’t any of your business.”
“Why not?” I ask him, as a surprised look crosses his face.
He’s not used to me challenging his authority, but I feel that he’s being ridiculous.
