Thousand Yard Bride

by Nora Flite

  I couldn't stand not seeing her in some fashion, though, so I told her to video chat me on Saturday night before the game.

  Her face glowed on the screen. Bits of hair framed her face, making me wish I could reach through and fix them for her. “You’re going to do amazing tomorrow,” Jo said. I could see that she was video chatting with me while she was in bed. It gave me some dirty ideas.

  “I wish you were here,” I told her.

  “I’ll be watching. I know you’re going to knock it out of the park.”

  “That’s baseball,” I teased.

  “Jackass.” She tapped her chin before saying, “Hmm. You’re going to score so hard. How about that?”

  Flaring my nostrils, I shifted on the bed, letting her see me from above. I was in nothing but tight black briefs. "Speaking of, you could help me score right now."

  I loved how she chewed her lower lip. "What do you want me to do?"

  Jackpot. "Aim the phone so I can see your pussy," I said.

  Her blush spread instantly. "Okay. Hold on." Fumbling, she set the phone lower, giving me a view men would kill for. She had on a long, silky night shirt, and beneath that, I saw the triangle of her tight black panties.

  My mouth went all cotton as she tugged them upwards. "Yeah," I groaned. "Pull them right into your slit. Let me see how you get yourself off, babe."

  I couldn't see her face; I heard her distant mewl. Jo did as I asked, pulling the fabric into her slit, showing me her pink and swollen vulva. A quick twist, and she exposed herself entirely, outlining her pussy with her fingers.

  Grabbing my cock, I pumped myself slowly. I was straining into my palm, my head slick from pre-come. "More," I breathed. "Show me more. I need to see you make yourself come for me."

  Her fingertips swirled over her clit, touching it softly—then firmer as she gasped. She dipped her fingers inside, her juices sticking and coming away in strands. I wanted to be there, tasting her, burying my face in her pussy.

  "You now," she said, her voice catching. "I want to see you."

  "You wanna see me jerking myself?" I growled, moving the phone. "This is what you do to me. You make me have to come, baby girl. I can't stop myself."

  "Hunter," she moaned. A spark went right through my cock because of how desperate she sounded.

  Jo fingered herself, moaning obscenely—erotically. My cock was solid in my fist, the friction immense as I stroked myself faster. I needed to come, I needed release or I was going to explode. Or maybe I needed it so I could explode.

  "Fuck—ah, fuck . . ." I whispered, the two of us no longer talking. We listened to the sounds we made, soaking up and reveling in our obsession with each other. She hadn't even finished yet when the heat started up in my belly.

  Flexing my stomach muscles, I bent my hips higher. Furiously I jerked myself, my fingers working my swollen dick until the edge of climax rose up to let me take a dive. And fuck, did I fall.

  With a low, throaty moan, I came. My cream went everywhere, hitting the phone screen, too. The buzzing in my cock went on forever, rolling deep into my bone marrow. Breathing heavily, I heard Jo whimper, then squeal.

  Looking at my phone, I watched her piston her fingers frantically inside of her pussy. Her thighs shook, toes curling off screen—I knew, because they always curled when she came.

  The view changed; she was looking at me, her lips red, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dancing with lingering lust. "How was it?" she asked, smiling. "Did you score?"

  Laughing, I stretched out and held the phone above me so she could see the mess. "Babe, I'm pretty sure no one has scored that well in the history of football."

  The morning of the game, I headed to the stadium. Kickoff was at one. I wondered how the Krakens’ pregame rituals would differ from the Hawks’.

  When I got to the stadium, some guys were showering, and some were in the training room getting their injuries taped up. It was pretty quiet until I heard music coming from a portable stereo.

  “Welcome to game day," the quarter back, Josh, said. "We like to get hyped before hitting the field!”

  Coach Bauer never allowed music in the Hawks’ locker room. He said it prevented us from keeping our minds clear. Looking around at all the guys getting pumped for the game reminded me that every team was different, and that every player had the right to own their adrenaline rush however they saw fit.

  When it was time to hit the field, I felt better about my life than I had in ages. I had Jo, I still had football. I hoped my dad would watch me play, because I wanted to show him what a mistake he’d made in kicking me off the team.

  I felt extra pressure, too, because I was the new guy, because I wanted to prove myself, and because I wanted to impress Jo. It was strange: I used to love winning just because it made me feel powerful. I liked the adoration that came with it.

  I realized something as Josh took the snap, ran back a few feet, and catapulted the ball into the air. I realized it again as I lined myself up to catch, watching the Bandits players running toward me, and as I ran as fast as I could toward the end zone.

  I realized it as I felt someone jump and tackle me as I just barely outran him, and as I scored the final touchdown of the game.

  I was no longer playing for the fans. Barely even for myself.

  I was playing for Jo and for our baby.

  They were the people I cared most about now.

  27

  Jo

  I still couldn't believe I lived in Hunter's penthouse—my penthouse, I guess, too. It was like waking up inside a four-star hotel every day. What made it even better was waking up next to Hunter. He was so warm, especially on the cold winter days.

  It was early in December when I woke up to find the bed empty. Then I heard Hunter cussing at something. He grumbled, “Dammit. That’s not supposed to go there. Fuck!”

  I pulled on a fuzzy robe and followed his voice into the guest bedroom, the room where I was supposed to live back when we were faking our relationship. I couldn't believe my eyes.

  The walls were now covered in light green and bright yellow wallpaper. There was a changing table next to a dresser on one wall and Hunter was working on putting the crib together in the center of the floor. He was crouched there, shirtless and perfect-looking as he bent over, assembling the bed that our baby would sleep in. I got down on the floor with him, my heart swelling in my chest.

  “Hunter, when did you have time to do all this?” I asked.

  He smiled as he explained, “Lanie helped. She showed me all the baby stuff we'd need and I went ahead and ordered all of it. I’d been keeping the boxes in my gym. Aldous helped me move everything in this morning.”

  I jumped when I heard Aldous calling from down the hall. He asked, “Did you say Philips or flat head screwdriver?”

  “Philips!” Hunter yelled back. He turned back to me with the smuggest of grins. “So, what do you think?”

  He knew what I was going to say. I almost didn't give him the satisfaction, but I was weak to his smile. “I love it. But what about New York and the Krakens?”

  “Well, the season is over in about a month, so once the baby comes I’ll be free to stay here with you. We can figure New York out later. For now, all I care about is you and this little guy in here,” Hunter said, putting his hand gently on my stomach.

  “Guy?” I giggled. “It could be a girl, you know. You’re still sure you don't want to know the baby’s gender?”

  “Guy can be used on girls," he said, winking. "And no, I want it to be a surprise. This whole thing has been such a surprise. Why stop now?”

  “Here’s your screwdriver, Hunter,” Aldous said, interrupting. As he walked through the doorway, he must have figured out that we were having a moment because he quickly said, “Oh, I’ll be leaving now. I’ll just put this right here.” I caught a glimpse of a smile as he turned to leave.

  Laughing into my hand, I shook my head. "I remember a time where "screwdriver" meant you'd ordered a drink." I wondere
d how it was possible for a bad boy player like Hunter to have changed so much.

  I only knew I was beyond grateful for it.

  28

  Hunter

  The next Krakens’ game was a few days before Christmas. I planned to drive back to New Haven tonight, grateful that Jo and I could spend the holidays together. I was finishing up after my shower at my crash pad when my doorbell rang. I ignored it, thinking it was just a delivery guy who was leaving a package, but the doorbell chime gave way to knocking. Then I heard my father’s voice, “Hunter, are you in there? Open the door.”

  I'd ignored a few calls from my parents since we'd parted ways. I didn't need my dad in my life; as hard as it was, it was much better now. Plus, my team had won their game against the Mustangs. Everything was going my way.

  Again, he knocked. He isn't leaving, I realized. I could have ignored him, but I'd run into him if I wanted to leave and get home to Jo—which I did.

  Dusting off my hands, I ripped the door open. There he was, dressed like someone from a damn Dickens' novel. "What do you want?" I asked.

  “May I come in, son?” My father said.

  He tried to look around me; I leaned on the frame, blocking him. "No. You can tell me why you're here, or you can leave."

  Filling his chest so that his heavy coat strained, he sighed. “We left things on a bad note, Hunter.”

  “You mean when you kicked me off the team and tried to make me abandon my wife?” I asked, my voice oddly calm.

  My father shivered on the doorstep. "I really would prefer we do this inside."

  "Nope. This is all you get, take advantage of it."

  His eyebrows lowered as his tone did. “I was doing what I thought was in your best interest.”

  “And?” I asked, not knowing where he was heading with the conversation.

  He said, “And I don’t like the way things have turned out.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m on a winning team. Jo and I are happy. I’m taking care of my business. Things have turned out pretty great for me."

  My father laughed. “Are you delusional? Look where you live, in this shithole.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with this place, Dad,” I said, again shifting to block his view.

  “You’re better than this, Hunter. You’re better than the damn New York Krakens. What are you trying to prove? That you’re the best player on a team of losers?”

  Fuming, I dug my fingers into the door hinges. “The Krakens are a solid team. Are you so crazy that you can’t believe the news? We’re winning, we haven't stopped winning, and were going to beat The Hawks next week.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” my dad said.

  It was like spiders were creeping through my insides. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have a proposal for you, Hunter,” he said, puffing into his gloved hands. “If the Krakens lose next Sunday, I can get you back on the Hawks next year with a salary twenty percent higher than what you used to make playing for New Haven.”

  I snorted in derision. “You’re suggesting I throw the game.”

  “No, of course not. I’m just saying that maybe you miss a catch. Maybe you drop the ball. Maybe you don't run as fast, son. That’s all I’m saying."

  “You thought I was a fuckup before, now you think I'm a cheater?” I was glad I had the door to lean on, this situation was escalating into insanity so fast my muscles were shaking.

  “I’m asking you to be smart. Do what’s best for you. For your team. Your real team.”

  My voice was hard. “The Krakens are my real team now.”

  “Bullshit, Junior, you’ve always been a Hawk. You’ve been a Hawk since the day you were born and you know it. Don’t—”

  “Don't what? Be my own damn person for once instead of your little clone, your shadow?"

  “You're my son,” he said. “And I know my son would do what’s best for the team.”

  “You don’t know me at all. I’d never cheat. I’ve never been a cheater and I never could be a cheater,” I said. “I’m better than that. I’m better than you.”

  He shoved forward; I braced myself in case he tried to push me inside. “Oh, get off your high horse, Hunter. You belong back on the Hawks. You know you can’t live like this anymore. Sooner or later you’ll miss all the money and everything that comes with it. I know you.”

  Tilting my head up, I looked down my nose at him. “I want you to leave.”

  My father didn't move.

  “Go. Now,” I said, seething. I was reminded of the time Jo had chased me away. Back then, things had been different. Hell, the old version of myself probably would have punched my father in his infuriating mouth, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I wanted him to see that I was the bigger man.

  Slow and steady, he moved off my front step. The air stirred with the white clouds of his acid-filled breath. “You’re making a big mistake. I thought you were smarter than this, but it turns out you’re still a fuckup, Hunter.”

  I closed the door behind him and locked it. I’d wanted to slam it with all of my strength, but I held back. I’d gotten better at controlling my temper. I knew I needed to save it for the field. If there was one time I needed to be a winner, it was next week.

  I had to beat the Hawks. I had to beat my father.

  That was the best way to show him he was wrong about me.

  29

  Hunter

  I was on the road when I got the news from Jo that she'd landed the ClimbTime deal.

  "Can you believe it?" she gushed.

  "Of course I can," I said, pulling into the parking lot of the training area. "You're my wife. That makes you incredibly amazing by default."

  "You'll make me cry," she laughed, blowing a raspberry into the phone.

  I was excited to tell the guys about Jo’s deal and to see if they were up for visiting ClimbTime. Rock climbing had kicked my ass, it was a great workout. "I'll talk to you later," I said to Jo, heading into the gym.

  I'd barely crossed the threshold when a protein-shaker came flying at me. I ducked sideways, catching it with a quick snap of my arm. The guys whistled loudly, clapping.

  “Wow," Josh laughed, coming to meet me. "Nice skills."

  Tossing the cup back to him, I shrugged. "Practice and all that."

  He elbowed me while wiggling his eyebrows. "Lot of women throwing glasses at you?"

  "Not anymore," I said, rubbing my neck sheepishly. "Actually, speaking of Jo, she just landed a deal with this awesome rock gym."

  "She's still making deals? Shouldn’t she be sitting on the couch eating ice cream with her feet up?”

  “That’s what I keep telling her, but she’s a force that can't be stopped,” I said. “I learned that a long time ago.”

  “But isn't your baby due really soon?” Josh asked.

  “A week from Sunday,” I said, the date solid in my brain.

  Hank leaned into our conversation with a towel around his neck. “How are you keeping your head straight, man?”

  Tugging my jacket off and hanging it up, I stretched out in my tank-top. His question was a heavy one; it took me a minute. “I don’t even know. I’m just trying to focus on winning, then getting home to Jo. It’s pretty good motivation."

  “I had my kid in the middle of last season." Josh's hand came down solidly on my shoulder, his eyes gentle. "I struggled with having to work so hard and not being able to spend as much time at home."

  “It does make me weigh where I spend my time more,” I said quietly.

  “Don't get in your head," Hank laughed, tossing his towel at me. "We need you here to beat the Hawks."

  Hearing that name made me drop the towel. Everyone watched me closely as I bent down, throwing it back a little too hard.

  Josh cleared his throat, eyeing me nervously. "Is going up against your old team psyching you out?”

  “It’s the job," I said flatly, looking them each in the eye one at a time. I wanted to drill it home
that I was fine—I was focused on winning. "I don't have to like it. I just have to do it."

  Hank frowned, rolling his wrists and making the joints crackle. “You still buddies with any of the guys?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The QB and I are tight." Reese had connected with me briefly after the Benny fallout. He was really torn up over Poppy sneaking the messages off his phone. I'd told him straight out it wasn't his fault, not one bit.

  Thinking of Benny made me grit my jaw. I said, "There's one asshole in particular on that team that I can't wait to sink my teeth into.”

  Josh nodded sagely. “Benny, right? He’s the one who leaked your texts?”

  “Yep. That’s him."

  “Don’t let him get to you."

  “Trying not to. Trust me." I put on a grin that didn't feel quite real. I'd been so light after talking with Jo. Discussing Reese and Benny and how I'd have to face off against them had changed everything.

  I'm really going to take on my old team.

  My guts were shredding into pieces.

  It was the Friday night before the showdown with the Hawks.

  With so much weighing on my mind—especially about the oncoming game—I dialed Reese to see if he wanted to meet up.

  "Of course, brother," he said loudly, music blasting through the speaker. "I'm at the Clubhouse, come on by!"

  I missed my old hangout, and I missed hanging with Reese. I even missed the tiny-ass parking lot that never had enough room for all the cars. Driving the sedan made it even harder, but I managed to squeeze in and not scratch up the red paint.

  Pushing through the doors, the familiar scent of leather and gin assaulted me. Seconds later, a hand smacked me on the back of the head. “My old friend and my new rival!" Reese chuckled, hugging me hard. "How are you?”

  “I’m good, man. I’m really good." He followed me to a seat at the bar, the two of us settling in. He handed me a glass of something—it smelled like trouble. "Nah, I'm clean tonight."