Their First Fall_Trucker and Keeka's story

by Mj Fields

  “You’re not your mother, child. Your mind doesn’t work the way hers did. But still, take her mistakes, count them as your lessons, and enjoy those moments you went in search of.”

  “But I—”

  “Enjoy them.”

  “I will.”

  “You better.” She laughs again, and so do I. “And don’t make me wait two months to talk to you again.”

  I look down at the phone. “I’ll text you.”

  “A heart now and again isn’t enough.”

  “How about words?”

  “What!”

  “He’s helping me learn to read again.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear! You have no idea how wonderful. When you’re ready, your mother’s journals are in that storage unit you insist on paying for.”

  “I may not ever be ready.”

  When we get off the phone, I look over and see the Trucker phone is now charged. When he fell asleep, I put his on the charger, knowing he would want it for his trip.

  I power it on and “Click Click Boom” plays.

  I hit the text alert and smile when I see the sun.

  The next message takes me a couple of seconds to sound out, but when I do, I smile so big my face hurts.

  Trucker

  I love the taste of your tits.

  Then another.

  Trucker

  You’re gonna love the taste of my …

  I cover my mouth and laugh when I see an eggplant emoji.

  I scroll to the next.

  A football.

  The next.

  A kissy face.

  The last.

  Trucker

  WTF, Ray?

  I hit the keyboard and send him what I should have this morning. I hit the sun and start to hit send when my phone rings.

  “Hi.”

  His voice is muffled, and in the background, I hear the sound of what I assume is a bus full of football players.

  “Don’t pull that shit on me, Ray. I’m not a mind reader. Fuck, I’m probably emotionally dyslexic, too. But there was—”

  “The Trucker phone was dead. I put yours on the charger last night, so it’d be charged for your trip.”

  He’s quiet, saying nothing.

  I pull the phone away from my ear, hit messenger, and send him the sun. Then I place the phone back to my ear and wait.

  I hear him sigh. “That’s better.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love getting smiling suns from you in the morning.”

  I laugh.

  “What?”

  “I just don’t want any of whatever it is going on to be uncomfortable, Trucker Cohen. I used a very complicated word in the heat of the moment that I couldn’t take back.” I sigh. “I made it awkward.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your damn feelings either, so …” He leaves it hanging.

  “And I thought maybe it scared you, and well—”

  “Truth, Ray, just give me the truth.”

  I exhale. “I really loved the way you made me feel.”

  “Yeah?” he whispers.

  “And that word, that L word, can be misconstrued, misunderstood, misinterpreted, and is too easily misspoken. I don’t want you to think I’m in—”

  Damn it, I think and huff.

  He laughs.

  “See? It’s like a curse.” I laugh, too.

  “Not when you and I both know what it means.”

  “The moments,” we both say at the same time.

  He chuckles. “And Ray, if you loved the way I made you feel last night, half as much as I loved touching you, tomorrow night is gonna blow your fucking mind.”

  “My reward, my gold star, was given because I earned it. I don’t ever want anything I don’t earn. And you, Trucker Cohen, number 21, you better earn your reward, because it’s not just your mind I want to blow.”

  “Christ, Ray, I’m on a bus full of big, nasty, hairy-assed men, and you’re making me hard.”

  “Good.”

  “Good? It’s not good, Ray. Not good at all.”

  “I promise it will be.”

  “Ray?”

  “Trucker?”

  “I’m gonna love filling that sexy mouth of yours with T2’s.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  “Trucker, generation 2.”

  “Oh, my God, that’s—”

  “You’re gonna love it.”

  It’s a nail biter.

  I have heard that phrase for over three hours.

  That and: “Pitt got the fucking blueprints!”

  But they don’t have number 21.

  “He’s a football player!”

  Well, no kidding.

  “He’s carrying the team on his back!”

  This was yelled every time Trucker was sacked. After the third time, I tried not to watch.

  “Gonna be a tough win in this hostile environment.”

  Is this the first football game you’ve ever watched? Geez.

  “These two teams just don’t like each other.”

  What teams do?

  At half-time, Robby Rotinski, the kid from the mall, was interviewed. I couldn’t hear half of what he said because the crowd was yelling at him like he was a grown man, and like he could actually hear them.

  In the last forty-two seconds, Pitt scores, putting them up by three. The noise from the crowd in the bar grows to an all-time high, and then the camera zooms in on little Robby who is now standing on the sidelines with Pitt and doing a dance of some sort that ends in him forming a V and landing outside his pelvic area. And I’m not a lip reader, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying, “Suck it.” Pitt’s players and coach are laughing it up.

  When the camera flashes to Trucker, he looks amused.

  “Boy’s getting cocky.”

  “He should have never messed with that little demon child.”

  “I hope he kicks his ass.”

  Oh, my God, he’s a kid.

  The camera flashes to Robby again. He’s waving bye-bye from across the field.

  Then the camera flashes back to Trucker. Logan’s next to him now, glaring at the Pitt players. Trucker points to the clock and holds up four fingers, and then two. Then he points to Logan’s jersey number—forty-two—shrugs, and then smiles and points to himself before holding up one finger and mouthing “number one.”

  Soon, both teams are on the field and the ball is kicked.

  One of the guys I remember from the bar, Downs, catches the ball, takes it to the fifty-yard-line, and then the time is stopped. Players run off and on the field. SU goes to huddle.

  “Come on, ‘Cuse! We need a miracle!”

  “Play like it’s your field!”

  “Don’t fuck this up, Orange!”

  All eyes are glued to the TV, including mine.

  Trucker passes the ball to Mitch, who runs it to the forty-yard-line before getting tackled.

  “Come on! Don’t fuck this up, boys!”

  Men, I think as I watch Trucker yell at his team, spit flying out of his mouth, and then he looks at Logan.

  There is a look exchanged between them that wouldn’t easily be noticed by someone who wasn’t keenly aware of how much they mean to one another. It’s a look of knowing, of understanding, of brotherhood.

  This is one of those moments, even though it’s not mine, that I feel privileged to witness.

  When nods are exchanged, I know I’m about to witness something else, something great.

  The ball is snapped, and Logan is at Trucker’s side. Trucker turns toward him, and I see something pass between them. Then Trucker cradles his arms to his chest and runs left while Logan runs right.

  “They know this play, you fool, Cohen. They got the blueprints!”

  Fool? The blueprints?

  God, sport spectators can be such assholes.

  “You’re watching the wrong guy.” I laugh, watching the right side of the field.

  I look left, seeing Trucker running with the entire Pitt defensive line
coming at him toward the sideline.

  My body tenses. “Run, dammit!”

  When he’s tackled, he goes down hard, and I hold my hands over my chest. Then I see that little asshole Robby dancing while the entire Pitt defensive line celebrates as they jump up off Trucker.

  Trucker pops up like nothing happened and opens his arms. He holds up that one finger again then points down the field at Logan who is on the one-yard-line, holding his arms in the air, the ball in his left hand as he falls backward.

  “Touchdown!” I say, raising both hands in the air. “Touchdown!”

  The crowd in the bar lets out cheers and whistles as the camera follows Trucker, who is now running down the field toward Logan. After they hug and smack each other’s asses, the entire team surrounds them.

  Out of the center of the SU football players, I see a hand holding up the number 4, and then one finger pointing.

  For you.

  I smile and hold my hand over my chest, thinking, No, Trucker, that was for you, for your team, for your dream. That was for you, and I am so glad to share that moment with you.

  It’s two thirty in the morning when I step out of the shower and hear the Trucker phone ringing.

  I grab a towel, wrapping it around me as I run to get it.

  “Hi!”

  “Hi, Ray.” His voice is deep and husky, sexy.

  “Congratulations.”

  He lets out a single, “Hm,” followed by a, “Thanks.”

  “You okay?”

  “A little sore, a little buzzed. Stepping into a Jacuzzi tub at the Crown. Room 421.”

  I try to hide my disappointment when I ask, “You’re still in Pennsylvania?”

  “No, Ray, I’m a couple of blocks from you.” I hear a splash and a hiss. “Round hotel. The Crown.”

  “Oh, so—”

  “So, I’m going to send a car to get you as soon as you’re ready.”

  “To come to the hotel?” I ask, looking around the room, at the candles, at poster board sized drawings I made to greet him with.

  “I’d really like that.”

  “I just got out of the shower, so I can be there whenever.”

  “When you get to the hotel, just go to the elevator and hit the fourth floor. Follow the signs. Can you do that?”

  “I’m good with numbers.”

  “I’ll leave the door open.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah?”

  “No bra.”

  My nipples immediately harden, and then he hangs up the phone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Best game day ever

  Trucker

  I watch the Uber app and see that the car is here. I set the phone beside the tub then lift my body out of it.

  Bending down, I feel every hit I took today as I lift the lever to let the water drain out. Then I grab a towel and dry off my hair as I look in the mirror.

  Aside from the few bruises, I look damn good. Never really gave too much of a fuck before. Well, I did, but not like I do now.

  I like the way she looks at me. It’s admiration at first, and quickly turns to lust, which is where it normally starts and ends.

  I towel off my hair as I contemplate whether to shave or not, look down at the razor, and decide not to. Then I look back and see the tub has emptied, so I walk back to fill it again, hoping she likes hot water, because I need it this way. That’s when I hear her whisper my name, and so does Boom.

  I wrap the towel I used to dry my hair around my waist and walk out of the bathroom.

  Her back is to me, and she’s looking around the room. Her long, wavy hair is loose, and I can’t wait to fist it in my hand while she gives me my fucking gold star.

  I lean against the door and watch as she takes in the shape of the room as I take in the shape of her ass. Then she turns slightly, and I see a smile form before she says, “I was beginning to wonder if I was in a room with a stranger or the best quarterback in college football.”

  She turns fully toward me and smiles. “What you did today was …” Her eyes drift south then quickly back to my eyes. “Amazing.”

  “You talking about the game or what your greedy and very beautiful eyes just took in?”

  She shrugs and crinkles up her nose. “Both?”

  “Well, what’re you waiting for, Ray? Come over here and show me how good I was.”

  She hesitates before dropping her little black bag on the floor.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “How fast we’re moving. Is it wrong?”

  I shake my head in answer. “But, if it feels wrong—”

  “It doesn’t,” she interrupts my train of thought as she shrugs her sweater off her shoulders and I see her nipples standing at attention. “But we’re three weeks into this, and I don’t want you to think I’m a slut or something.”

  “I think you’re beautiful. And I can assure you that I don’t think you’re a slut. And Ray, I have never waited three weeks for a handjob before.”

  “Handjob,” she whispers then nods and clears her throat. “So, how would you like it? You wanna sit, stand, perhaps lie on the bed?”

  I can’t help laughing. “Get your ass over here.”

  She nods as she walks toward me. Then she is standing toe to toe with me. Looking up, she places her hand on my abs. “Watching you today was amazing.”

  “Did it make you hot?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes sparkle. Sand surrounding water. “No? Maybe.” She nods like she’s figured it out. “It just made me realize how damn strong you are and how much you love that game.” She moves her tiny little hand up my chest and ends over my heart. “You played with your heart today, and I got to watch it happen. It was beautiful. I watched you stand up and keep going, no matter how hard they went after you. You persevered. I’m in awe of you, Trucker Cohen.”

  What she just said to me makes my fucking heart skip a beat, maybe two.

  “I got to watch you and our best friend work toward a dream you’ve worked hard at accomplishing for years. One that I know you’ll continue accomplishing until you’ve gone pro. I’m inspired by you, Trucker Cohen.”

  Fuck cheerleaders. Fuck my parents and the fact that they never come to my games. Fuck that little shit Robby Rot—whatever the fuck his name is. I got sunshine and smoke being blown up my ass by Ray.

  “I’ve never smelled smoke as sweet.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head.

  She pushes against my chest.

  “I love all those things you said to me. But it’s really hard to take a compliment.”

  As she looks up at me, I lean in to kiss her really lightly, because that’s when I get the burst of sweetness.

  When I feel her wrap her hand around me, that’s when I give it to her first.

  I take in a deep breath and my head falls back, hitting the wall. “Shit.”

  “Oh no, no, no, no,” she says, reaching up and rubbing the back of my head.

  “Ray, I took harder hits on the field today. We’re good. And besides, the head on my dick is getting all sorts of fucking jealous of the one on my shoulders right now.”

  “You’re sure?” she asks, still rubbing the back of my head.

  “Spitting mad.” I wink, and she looks down. “Not yet, Ray.” I grab her hand and kiss the palm. “You ever play dice?”

  “Actually, I have. I was pretty good at it, if I remember.”

  “I’m sure you will be.” I put her hand on my lower abs. “Same motion, just don’t toss it.” I wink.

  “Oh, my God.” She closes her eyes and bites her lower lip.

  “No biting either, Ray.” I joke.

  She grips my cock. “Bigger than dice?”

  What the fuck did she just say?

  When her thumb floats across my head, I decide it doesn’t matter, not one fucking bit.

  “So soft,” she whispers as she looks down. “It’s … big.”

  That’s different, too. I normally get: It’s
hard and huge.

  “Is this okay?” She looks up.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Yes. Uh-huh.”

  “Are you sure, because—”

  I reach out and grab the back of her head, pulling her fucking lips to mine.

  She moans loudly and grips my dick harder as I push my hand up her shirt and squeeze her tit. She strokes down the base of my cock, wraps her lips around my tongue, and fucking sucks on it like a kitten sucks on its mom’s tit.

  I grab her hip and begin guiding her slowly back to the bed. When the back of her legs hit, I pull my tongue away and dip my head down to kiss her neck as I pull her shirt up and push her back to have another go at my favorite new tit cup size.

  She pushes back and sidesteps me as she kisses my chest.

  “Ray, we’re doing some fucked-up kind of dance, and all I wanna do is get you on this bed and have another go at your perfect little tits.”

  She bites my chest then looks up. “I’m well-aware of what you’re doing, but tonight, I get to play with the this.” She squeezes my dick. “You earned a gold star, your highness.” She looks down and licks her lips. “You did really, really well. Like …” She swallows. “Really well.” She leans down, keeping eye contact with me. “Trucker?”

  “If you’re really gonna ask to suck my cock, the answer is yes, Ray.”

  “And if I suck at it?”

  “That’s kind of the point.” I grab it and stroke as she rolls her eyes and smiles softly. “I’m gonna love whatever you do to my cock.”

  I let go as she eyes it. Boom is throbbing, pulsing, and resting against my waist.

  She leans in and kisses the base so softly I wonder if it’s imagined. If I’m really here, if she is the girl who I ran into a little over three weeks ago.

  She kisses me again, and then I watch her looking up at me, realizing that today, at the game, was the first time I didn’t get pissed, not even once, that my dad wasn’t there. Because she was. Maybe not at the stadium, but I knew she would be watching and rooting for me.

  She licks up me, and then the world turns good when she wraps those lips, the ones I love to kiss, around Boom. Fucking love it.

  When she goes down on my shaft until my cock hits the back of her throat, then moves her head left and right, trying to take me in deeper, I feel the boys tighten immediately.