Their First Fall_Trucker and Keeka's story

by Mj Fields

  He looks up and cocks his head in question. I reach up and he lets me scratch behind his ear. In fact, he leans into it.

  I lean back and continue, “That kid, Robby Rotten—”

  He chuckles. “Robby Rotten is a little douche.”

  “The bar was too loud to hear the interview. What did he say?”

  “Just shit talk. They all do it,” he says as he fixates on my vagina. “But I told the little fucker what the next play was.”

  “Oh, my God, was that when you held up the four, and then the two and pointed at Logan?”

  He looks up. “You caught that, huh?”

  “Of course I did. I also saw the hand-off to Logan, but then I got as confused as the opposing team when you ran.”

  “They thought I was trying to gain yards and get out of bounds to stop the clock.”

  “And you planned that right on the field.” I laugh. “I saw the look you gave him.”

  “He knew I was about to pull some dumb shit. That’s how we always won games in high school.”

  “So, what happens if you don’t go pro together?”

  “We have to.” He nods.

  “Well, I’ll send positive thoughts into the universe.”

  He chuckles and glances up, “You do that, and I’ll keep praying.”

  “You believe in God?”

  “May not live like it, but yeah.” He grabs a washcloth and rubs it between my legs. “How else would I be where I am today?” He leans in and kisses my bare skin, making me jump.

  “Oh, my God.”

  He laughs. “You mean Universe?”

  “I mean you.”

  I called out to God when Trucker’s mouth fell upon my bare skin and made me fall apart again. He called out to me when I pushed him back with my foot, slid off the counter, and dropped to my knees. Then we ended up in what I now know is a sixty-nine on the bathroom floor, devouring, tasting, and giving each other pleasure.

  As we lie in the hotel bed, my head on his chest as we watch ESPN, I see the post-game interview with Trucker, the coach, and Logan.

  The camera follows Logan as he signs the game ball then tosses it to someone in the crowd. When I see it’s little Robby Rotten, I look at Trucker, who shrugs.

  Then I hear his voice.

  “Respect the player and the game, kid.” That said, he walks out of the press room with a little extra swag.

  “So, you do like kids.” I laugh.

  “Don’t hate ’em; just don’t want ’em.” He looks down at me. “You want kids?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’d be a good mother.”

  His eyes narrow a bit.

  “If I do ever decide to have them, it’ll be ten years down the road, and I will make sure he or she doesn’t act like that little turd.”

  He smiles and nods, then kisses my head. “It’s a huge responsibility, and I sure as fuck don’t feel qualified or the need. So many people just pop them out and leave them hanging. I have dreams, goals, a life to live. I’m not sure I’ll ever want them.”

  “And that’s your choice.” I nod, knowing exactly how he feels.

  After a few minutes, he yawns and looks down. “I didn’t bring any condoms with me on purpose, Ray. Had I, I would have fucked the hell out of you tonight.”

  “Well then, I’m glad you didn’t, because I really liked all the kissing.”

  He chuckles. “Kissing?”

  I nod. “And licking.”

  “And sucking. Fuck, Ray, you even sucked the boys.”

  “What?” I laugh and look up at him. “Now I get it.”

  “Get it? You had them bouncing off your chin and face-fucking you.”

  “Boom and the boys.” I smile.

  “You met the whole team, Ray.”

  “Can’t wait to play with them again.”

  He closes his eyes tightly. “I need some sleep, but when we wake up, I am down for a sixty-nine right here on the bed. That bathroom floor was fucking cold.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bad run

  Trucker

  I slam my locker and punch it repeatedly.

  “Relax, man. We played a good game.”

  “We’ve lost three in a row, Logan.”

  He looks at me like he’s holding back some shit.

  “Spill it.”

  “You getting enough sleep?”

  I grab my bag and throw the strap over my shoulder.

  “Well, Jesus, Trucker. Your heads, both of them, are up Keeks’ ass, and maybe your love life needs to be put on fucking hold until shit starts going good again.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t even fucked her, Links.”

  “Well, maybe that’s the fucking problem.” He laughs and slaps my back. “Those fuckers must be blazing blue.”

  I scowl. “Haven’t fucked her, but they’re getting plenty of attention.”

  He laughs again. “She won’t put out?”

  “Not that you’d get it—hell, I didn’t until her—but there’s a fuck of a lot to be said about all the shit we don’t do with our hook-ups that are just as damn good.”

  “We get ’em off. They get us off. Then we get our heads in the game. It’s fucking perfect. No attachments. End of.”

  “Maybe I fucked up, but I don’t wanna go back to a different girl each night when I got one who knows what I like and is eager to do it. Maybe I fucked up, but I don’t think so. We were always worried after your scare in high school with that crazy bitch saying she was knocked up and wasn’t. You should have seen the signs, man. She had you on a leash.

  “Ray doesn’t give a fuck about tomorrow, or the next day. She wants to make each moment count. She doesn’t look at me and see a meal ticket or ownership. Hell, she watches the games and pays attention to shit between you and I and makes a bigger deal about our connection on the field than the win or lose. My Ray thinks you’re the shit, Links, and you’re telling me to back away from a girl who thinks my best friend is the shit and constantly says he’s my person?”

  “You don’t know her, Trucker.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know her.”

  “If I question anything, she gives me the truth without a second delay. She just wants to be fucking happy.”

  “And you want that for her.”

  “Fuck yes, I do. I do that for her.”

  “So, when it’s time to leave, when you get the call, what are you gonna do? Bring her along?”

  I shake my head. “She’s looking for her thing, her football.”

  “And you’re becoming her person, Trucker, and fucking up your game in the process.”

  “You’re jealous.” I poke him in the chest.

  “No, man, I’m your fucking person. I know what you want and how to push your buttons so you go after it. I’ve known you forever. I know what it will do to you if you don’t accomplish your dream. Does she?”

  I look away because I haven’t a clue. Haven’t thought about it. I’m lovin’ my moments, too.

  I look back up at him.

  He shrugs. “You said maybe five years down the road, bro. It ain’t been five minutes and you’re lost. You don’t even know where your fucking GPS is.”

  “Fuck you, man.” I push past him and walk out of the gym.

  When I’m at my truck, I hear him calling from behind me, “Fucker, we don’t do that shit. We don’t act like a bunch of butt hurt, bitch babies.”

  “My fucking head is spinning, man. I just need …”

  “Her?”

  I toss my bag in the truck. “Maybe I fucking do.”

  “Because she strokes your fucking ego, and I push you toward your goal. The Trucker I know wouldn’t bitch out.”

  Every fucking thing he said is true, every word of it, but it pisses me off.

  “Ease my mind and call your Little Ray. Tell her you can’t make it tonight. Tell her you and I are in need of bonding before the game, because four in a row isn’t gonna fucking happen, man, and …”
He looks down.

  “And what?”

  He shakes his head. “Overheard Coach Brown today, talking about Timmons.”

  “He wouldn’t do that shit to me.” I shake my head. “I’m a fucking senior.”

  He locks eyes with me. Truth.

  “Fuck.”

  “I fucking love you, man.”

  “Then, why not lead with that and leave Ray the fuck out of it?”

  “Like I said, I fucking know you. Sometimes better than you know yourself. You can’t be pissed at Coach—it’s his job.” He shrugs. “Make the call.”

  I grab the phone out of my pocket, hit her name, and pop it on speaker.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey,” I sigh.

  “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

  “How pissed would you be if I told you I couldn’t make it tonight?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?” She giggles, and I look at Logan.

  “Yeah, Ray.” I lean back against my truck.

  “Hmm … let me think. I’d be a ten if you thought the girl who couldn’t read was so stupid she herself hasn’t told you that you need more rest. A nine if it was to go find Robby Rotten and kick his butt because he’s talking smack about you on social media.”

  I look at Logan and shrug. He smirks.

  “An eight if it wasn’t to spend time with Logan, because I know you miss him. A seven if you decided to do that thing you do with your mouth on him—”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” Logan snaps.

  “Shut the fuck up, man.” I hit speaker to shut the damn thing off then hold the phone to my ear.

  “A six if you don’t put me back on speaker.”

  “Ray, I’m—”

  “Speaker please,” she demands.

  “Fuck.” I hold the phone down and hit speaker again.

  “A five if you, Logan Links, think that I didn’t know when you started sending me a thumbs-up emoji, instead of typed responses to whatever worksheet I sent you, wasn’t because you were upset about the losses and were kind of blaming me for them.”

  “That’s not fucking true, Keeks,” Logan flat-ass lies.

  “It sure is. Three losses, three weeks of thumbs-up.” She laughs.

  I look at him, loving that he is seeing her sense of humor, the one I saw the first time I met her, and feeling a sense of pride that the girl I chose to play around with is exactly what I knew she was.

  He shakes his head as she continues.

  “A four if you end up having a party and some other girl does to you what I do with my mouth.”

  “How the fuck is that a four?”

  “I don’t own you, Trucker Cohen—”

  “For the fucking season, you do. And if you think I wouldn’t kill some motherfucker if you let him do shit to you, you’re lying to yourself.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re whipped,” Logan whispers.

  I snarl at him, and then tell Ray, “That should be a ten. A fucking ten!”

  “A three if you don’t have a really good time.”

  “Still tripping on four,” I snarl.

  She laughs. “A two if you don’t stop tripping.”

  I sigh.

  “And a one if you think that I am not totally and completely honest when I say I know you’re going pro, number 21, and I would walk away if I thought I would in any way cause that not to happen.”

  Logan nods. “You’re the best, Keeks. A smartass, but the best.”

  “Fucking told you,” I snap at him.

  “Trucker, one more thing,” she says. “I don’t want to see you until you win.”

  I can’t help smiling, and then realization kicks me in the balls.

  “So, if I lose, like, two in a row, you’d deny me?”

  She laughs. “It won’t happen.”

  I start to get worried. “If it does?”

  “Logan better learn how to—”

  “You suck, Keeks!” Logan yells into the phone, and she laughs.

  “Kick ass, Orangemen.”

  “Ray …”

  “I’ll see you Saturday night.” She hangs up.

  Sitting at a corner table with my team, I watch her work. I’m so fucking ready for this night to be over, and it’s only midnight.

  I watch the assholes go up and toss lines at her, and I watch how she responds to them, shooting them down. I feel sorry for the poor fuckers because, for a week, I have been without her.

  Timmons comes back and drops a ten in the middle of the table. “She not only shot me down, but she told me my ID looked like a kindergartener made it.”

  I glance up at her. She smirks then looks away.

  “When the fuck did she start wearing bras? It’s fucking disappointing as hell,” Larson drops a ten in the center, too.

  “She must be a fucking lesbian,” White grumbles, dropping a ten in the center.

  “Jesus, there must be two hundred bucks sitting on your table.”

  I look over at one of the frat boys at the next table as fucking Downs tells him about the bet.

  “We want in,” one of the guys says as he laughs.

  I shake my head. “Fuck no.”

  “Dude, you afraid to get beat?”

  “Not a chance in hell I’d lose.” I shrug as I watch her pat one of the bar customer’s hands. Rubs me the wrong fucking way.

  I hear someone say, “We’ll go twenty in if she shoots us down.”

  “Hell yes!” Timmons shouts.

  I look at Logan. A blonde is kissing down his neck. He doesn’t allow that shit in public, so I know he’s fucking shit-faced.

  He shrugs. “No worries, bro.”

  I look at my team. My roommates have been warned, and now it’s just shit-talk to see who can get her to smile. I don’t like it, but Logan, when he was sober, reminded me that it keeps her from being chased harder by the fucks who want what I have … or had. Which is fine, I suppose. But when I watch as the first of the dick frat boys walks up to the bar, I can’t fucking sit this far away from assholes talking shit to her.

  I walk up and sit next to the guy whose hand she patted.

  He turns and looks at me. Brown eyes, the beginnings of a receding hairline, big nose … He could be considered average, or slightly below.

  He nods. “Played a hell of a game today.”

  “Thanks.” I turn back to see Ray roll her eyes.

  “Are you the moon? Because I’d like you and your cheesy line about two hundred and thirty-eight thousand miles away from me.”

  “Burn!” One of the guys laughs.

  Ray shrugs then glances down at me.

  When I nod, she looks down, her hair falling in her face, and smiles.

  Douche number two leans over the bar. “Hey, baby, how would you like the washing machine experience?”

  “I don’t want your dirty load.” She sets the other guy’s drink on the bar. “Seven dollars, please.”

  He hands her a ten and waits for his change. Shitbag.

  “Do you like whales?” douche number two yells to her.

  “No interest in humpback at your place; just your drink order.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, come on, guy; you just rambled off two corny pick-up lines that I’ve heard a million times in twenty seconds, and you can’t seem to form the word beer?”

  “You’re a fucking bitch,” he snaps.

  I start to stand, but the dude next to me puts his hand on my arm.

  “Wait for it.”

  “Hey, Lou!” Ray calls. “This little trust fund, sucking draft beer drinker just called me a bitch.”

  Lou walks over.

  The douche holds his hands up. “No disrespect, man.”

  “Certainly was.” Lou scowls at him. “Can be fixed with a generous tip and an apology or you’re barred.”

  “Fine,” he mumbles and reaches into his pocket.

  I glance over at the guy beside me.

  “Lou takes care of the ones he loves. Our Keeka happens to be his favorite.”

>   Our Keeka?

  “I love your smile,” douche three interrupts me from thoughts about ripping off this dick’s head and shitting down his throat.

  I glance at her. She’s not smiling.

  Still not smiling, she replies, “Thanks.”

  “What else can you do with that mouth?”

  “Bitch and complain.”

  She gives him his order, and then I wave her down.

  She stands in front of me. “Good game.”

  “That’s all I get is a good game?”

  Her eyes dart around, and I lean in.

  “So, Keeka, has this guy ever told you how hot you are?” I thumb toward the dick next to me.

  It takes her a minute for the comeback. “Does he have two black eyes?”

  The dick laughs. “Where have you been all my life?”

  She shrugs and says with little to no conviction, “Hiding?”

  I lean in and whisper in her ear, “How wet are you right now?”

  Her voice quivers when she replies, “Stop.”

  “Kiss me, and I will,” I whisper back.

  “Time and place, Trucker.”

  “Here and now, Ray.”

  “I meant this isn’t the time or place.”

  “I see.” I step back. “Jack on the rocks.”

  She pours my drink and pushes it forward.

  “I’d like to buy our quarterback that drink,” dick to my right says.

  “That’s so sweet of you, Gary.” Keeka winks at me, then smiles.

  “I can handle it,” I say, pulling cash out of my pocket.

  “Trucker,” Ray scolds.

  “Keeka, I got the fucking drink.” I throw a twenty on the bar.

  “Everything okay down here?”

  I look over to see Lou walking toward us.

  “This dick—”

  “Trucker Cohen!” she yells at me.

  “What?” I throw my hands in the air.

  “By dick, am I correct in assuming you’re talking about my nephew Gary?” Lou asks.

  “If the condom fits.” I throw back my drink. “I’m out.”

  Chapter Twenty

  First fight

  Keeka

  While cleaning up, I look at the Trucker phone several times to see if he’s messaged. He hasn’t.