Beauty and the Running Back

by Colleen Masters

“Because he’s the one who decides whether I get to stay in this house or not,” I remind her, “And he could also make Dean’s life a living hell on that team if he wanted to. It doesn’t matter how good of a running back Dean is, if my dad gets to holding a grudge against him, he’ll be benched faster than you can say, ‘Keep your hands off my daughter’.”

  “Hmm,” Blaire muses, “Well. Are you happy with the way things are going with Dean?”

  “Yeah. We’re having a really good time together. He’s not the big, dumb jock I would have thought. He’s really funny, and perceptive, and gorgeous, obviously. It’s just…” I sigh, “Why couldn’t he have been on the Golf team or something? Why does he have to be one of my dad’s players?”

  “Guess the universe just hates you guys,” Blaire says brightly, giving me a little pat on the knee.

  “Gee. Thanks,” I mutter, opening up my Intro to Psychology textbook.

  “What are friends for?” she replies, “If not doling out tough love and suffering through football games with you, I mean.”

  I look up, smiling eagerly. “You mean you’ll come to the game?!”

  “Just this once,” she says sternly, “Until you make some friends here who can actually stomach rampant displays of toxic masculinity.”

  “You’re a gem,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she replies, diving back into her copy of The Great Gatsby.

  I can barely keep my mind on my reading as I think ahead to tonight. It’s not necessarily the game I’m excited about, though obviously I’m stoked to see Dean play. I’m much more exciting for what might go down after the game, when we can sneak away and be alone together. I’ve come to look forward to our stolen moments more than anything else. They’ve been getting me through the rocky transition to this new school, to living with my parents again, to feeling uprooted and disoriented. Dean has been providing me with stability, and companionship, and all manner of sexy make out sessions. My crush on him is really starting to develop into something… substantial. And I can’t quite tell if that’s more exciting or scary.

  I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

  “How goes the studying?” I hear my dad ask from the hallway.

  I glance up at him, his huge form taking up the better part of the doorway. My father is a former football player himself. He played linebacker all the way through college in Texas. But a late-season injury scuttled his hopes of getting recruited to a professional team after graduation. He’s had a great career coaching first high school, then college football. But even though he swears up and down that he’s accepted the misfortune that kept him from continuing to play, I’ve never really bought it. Underneath my dad’s “good Christian man” act is a lot of anger. My patient mother bears the brunt of it, but I’ve gotten plenty of it heaped on me through the years as well—especially as I started to reject his super conservative principles. As much as I hate to admit it, part of me is scared of my father. I worry about what he might be capable of when he’s truly angry.

  “It’s going fine,” I tell him, turning my attention back to my textbook.

  “Good. That’s good,” he says, “Listen, I wanted to run something by you.”

  “What is it?” I ask. Dad’s never had an idea that I’ve liked particularly well.

  “One of my football players came to me saying he could use a little extra help with one of his classes,” Dad goes on, “I was hoping you’d agree to tutor him.”

  I swallow down a groan at this suggestion. “Dad, I don’t really have time to—”

  “Just think about it, Jessa,” he cuts me off, “Dean Carter is an excellent running back. I can’t afford to lose him just ‘cause he can’t sit down and finish Moby Dick.”

  My jaw practically falls into my lap as I hear Dean’s name come out of my dad’s mouth. That sly devil! I know that running backs have to be strategic thinkers, but damn. Getting my own dad to not only condone but flat out arrange us spending time together? That’s one of the best plays I’ve ever heard of.

  “It wouldn’t even be that much extra work,” Dad goes on, “He just needs help with a class you’re already taking anyway.”

  Blaire turns her big blue eyes my way. She’s been watching this exchange with rapt attention. I feel like I should hand her a tub of popcorn, seeing how entertained she is.

  “OK,” I sigh, “I guess I could help him out.”

  “Hey! That’s my girl,” Dad says, clapping his hands together, “I knew you’d help your old man out.”

  “Anything for you and the team,” I reply, giving him my best saintly smile.

  Dad turns on his heel and heads downstairs, leaving me and Blaire alone once more.

  “Oh wow,” she says, “You were right about Crash not being a dumb jock. This is downright brilliant.”

  “Does that mean I have your blessing to keep seeing him?” I ask her jokingly, “Even if he is a football player.”

  “Ugh. I guess so,” she replies, “For now, at least.”

  “I’ll take it,” I tell her happily, flopping giddily onto my bed.

  Dean’s tutoring scheme has given us the perfect cover to spend as much time together as we want without my dad or anyone else getting suspicious. It’s the perfect plan. Maybe he should be the one tutoring me, huh? A ripple of excitement spreads through my body as I imagine all the things that Dean will be able to teach me down the line.

  Let’s just say that I am one eager student.

  Dean

  Thirty thousand fans are on their feet, stomping and shouting as the fourth quarter runs down. We’ve been in a dead lock with the visiting team for nearly the entire game. Each side scored two touchdowns in quick succession early in the game, and we’ve been trying like hell to break the tie ever since. I can feel my teammates’ frustration roiling away as we huddle up before our next play. Royce has been doing his best to keep an even keel, but his confidence is starting to waver. This should have been an easy game for us to win, but with all the new plays and adjustments to our strategy, we’ve been thrown off a little. Cahill knows it, too. He’s standing on the sidelines, his face turning a darker shade of red every time I glance his way.

  “Come on, boys. We’ve got plenty of time to break through this,” I yell above the roar of the crowd, looking around at the exhausted, frustrated faces of my teammates.

  “Crash is right,” Royce says, “We can still pull ahead. Don’t get lazy on me now.”

  He runs us through the next play, and I can feel my blood pick up the pace in my veins. Royce is gonna switch it up and hand the ball off to me this time around. Finally. Coach has been leaning on Royce this entire game instead of letting me do my thing. Now’s my time to remind him—and everyone else—just how much of an asset I am to this team. I may not be Cahill’s golden boy, but I’m the best damn college running back on the east coast. And it’s time the world remembered that.

  Another rolling wave of sound crashes down from the stands as we break out of our huddle and line up to face the other team’s defensive line. My focus narrows, blocking out the crowd, and the lights, and the expectations. Right now, the only thing that matters is this next play. We’ve made a few good pushes forward toward the end zone. It’s up to me now to bring it on home.

  My senses go into high gear as the ball is snapped back to Royce. My heart is beating so hard in my ears that I can barely hear the sounds of bodies slamming into each other all around me. I cut across the field behind Royce and scoop the ball into my hands just before he’s tackled to the ground. Now it’s just me, the ball, and the twenty yards stretching out before me. I take off like a shot, feinting left to throw off the guy dispatched to tackle me. By now, the other team has our number. I can feel a half dozen bodies pivot my way, ready to stop me by any means necessary. But they’re too late.

  My legs pump beneath me as I fly down the field, the defensive line hot on my tracks. I can see one of their guys coming at me from the right, and I spin out of his grasp just as he
goes to take me down. He gets a hand on me, but I can’t be stopped now. In front of the adoring crowd, I sail into the end zone and secure another touchdown to the Rayburn Red Birds in the final minutes of the fourth quarter.

  The second those points are up on the board, the rest of the world snaps back into focus. I punch the air victoriously as my teammates charge over to celebrate my touch down. The players and coaches on the sidelines are losing their shit. Even Coach Cahill allows himself a heartfelt smile. But even though there at thirty thousand people showering me with adoration, there’s only one person in that number who’s affection I really care about. And she’s sitting right up front, in the seats reserved for friends and family of the team.

  Jessa Cahill stands at the railing, her hands cupped to her mouth as she lets out a cheer. Our eyes lock across the chaotic scene, and I feel my thumping heart swell in my chest. Knowing that she’s there, looking on as I do what I do best, makes me unbelievably proud. Not just of my skills on the field, but of knowing that someone like her supports me. I’ll take her cheering me on over a stadium full of fans any day.

  A few minutes later, the clock runs out on our first game of the season. We’ve delivered a win to the school, the town, and all of our fans across the country—and the world. Not only that, but I got to kick some serious ass and cement my place as the cornerstone of this team once again. But even with all that, I know the best part of the night is still to come.

  That is, the part I get to spend with Jessa.

  Jessa

  Damn. I thought the Greek Row party that went down before classes started was wild, but that was a tea party compared to our campus tonight. I’m pretty sure every single Rayburn student—not to mention their friends from other schools, some locals, and god knows who else—is out to have a good time tonight. The campus is entirely overrun in the wake of our first win—or should I say Crash’s first win? If anyone is responsible for bringing us to victory tonight, it’s him. And the entire school knows it.

  As Blaire and I make our way across campus with a few of our other friends in tow, I’m amazed to hear Dean’s name on so many people’s lips, to see them wearing his number. One passing sorority girl has both his name and number painted across her cleavage for god’s sake. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous. I’m just astounded that this person who everyone knows and loves wants to spend so much time with me. But you know what? I’m not gonna look that particular gift horse in the mouth for another second. I’m too busy keeping my eyes peeled for the man of the hour anyway.

  “Where do you think we can score some MDMA around here?” asks Blake. He’s one of Blaire’s friends—a lithe, beautiful guy enrolled in the dance program here.

  “I think you’re much more likely to find some bud light and a spliff,” laughs Kelsey, an African-American visual artist who also runs in Blaire’s circle.

  All three of my new artsy friends are sophomores. Even though I’m technically still a freshman, I prefer hanging out with people my own age. A year might not seem like a lot, but the difference between eighteen and nineteen is still pretty distinct. I’d rather spend time with people who are interested in more than the latest gossip going around the dorms. Being a writer myself, I’ve always been drawn to people who make art, whatever the medium. Even the boys I’ve been into in the past have had something of an artistic flair. Andoni was a musician, his speciality being classical guitar. Dean is definitely the outlier on this front. Though honestly, the way he navigated that field, launching his body across the space and pivoting on a dime to avoid being tackled…I have to admit, there’s an art to it.

  Christ, listen to me. Comparing football to art? Hormones really do scramble the brain.

  My breath catches in my throat as I finally catch sight of Dean, holding forth on the front steps of a stately old dorm building. He’s surrounded by teammates and admirers, including plenty of cheerleaders and their gorgeous associates. But the second Dean spots me approaching, his face lights up in an entirely different way. It knocks the wind out of me, having someone like him look at me with that much… I don’t know what. Admiration? Interest? Good old fashioned lust? Whatever it is, I am happy to be on the receiving end, that’s for sure.

  “I’m going to go say hi to a friend,” I tell the trio I arrivekd with, “Catch you guys later!”

  “Be safe,” Blaire mutters in my ear. I glance down just in time to see her slipping a condom into my back pocket.

  “What a pal,” I laugh, shaking my head.

  “Hey, a girl’s gotta protect herself,” she says, “Now go get some of the running back D you’ve been jonesing so hard for.”

  I make my way around the dorm building, watching as Dean extricates himself from the pack of well-wishers. Turning the corner, I wait for him in the shadows of the dorm, my breath coming hard and fast as I feel him approach. In this dark little corner, we’ll be hidden in plain sight. Good thing, too. Because the second Dean appears beside me, backlit and staggeringly built, a million very private fantasies rush through my mind.

  I leap into Dean’s arms, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders. He catches me easily, laughing as he spins me around in the shadowy space where we’ve agreed to meet. I look down into his rich brown eyes, soaking in the closeness of him. I’ve come to truly crave his company, and damn is it sweet to finally satisfy that craving after a long week apart. He’s been so busy with practice that I’ve barely had the chance to see him. Guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time tonight.

  “Congratulations Crash,” I grin, running my hands down his firm chest as he lowers me back down to my feet.

  “Thanks Cahill,” he murmurs, letting his own hands travel down my back, lingering on my hips as he pulls me closer to his body.

  “How do you want to celebrate your victory?” I ask, my voice breathy with desire. His full lips are so close to my own. I swear, I can already taste him.

  “Oh, I have a few ideas,” he says, letting his hands slide over the rise of my ass, “But first, we need to put some more distance between us and the masses.”

  “Agreed,” I say, as Dean laces his fingers through mine.

  We take off through the campus, hand-in-hand. Dodging clusters of adoring admirers, sticking to the shadows and blindspots, pausing here and there to steal a kiss, I feel like the ingenue in some classic love story. Juliet stealing off from the masquerade with Romeo… though god willing not to the same fate as those two. Dean and I may be a fairly star-crossed pair, but I highly doubt that we’re on the road to high tragedy, here.

  The sounds of the wild party going down on campus fade to a low rumble as Dean and I make it to the furthest reach of the campus. In the distance, I spot the auxiliary football field where the team held its pre-season practices. I’ve missed stealing glances at Dean out of the corner of my eye since practices moved to the actual football stadium across campus. Now when I tend the garden with Blaire, there’s no chance of crossing paths with my favorite running back. That’s probably a blessing in disguise, though. I’m not sure how we’d hide our sparking chemistry in that close proximity these days. The energy that crackles between me and Dean is so intense, it feels like a perpetual signal flare, always threatening to give us away.

  “What’re we doing here?” I ask Dean, as we stop beside the entrance to the football field. The campus garden is just a stone’s throw away.

  “Don’t you know what today is?” he asks, turning to face me in the moonlight.

  “Game day?” I ask, as he sets his hands on my waist.

  “Well yeah,” he laughs, “But it’s also been exactly a month since Bryan threw that terrible pass and sent me barreling over to meet you, right over there.”

  My mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh my god. You’re right! I can’t believe you remembered that.”

  “Of course I remembered,” Dean murmurs, spinning me around. His muscled arms wrap around my waist as my back presses against the hard panes of his chest. “How could I ever
forget seeing you for the first time?”

  “I guess I should be thanking Bryan Wallace for his lousy throw,” I laugh, letting my ass grind ever-so-slightly against Dean. I reach my arms back over my head, hooking my fingers behind his neck as he lets his hands run down the length of my torso. I can feel him growing rigid against me, the strength of his desire making itself known as it hardens into need.

  “You feel what you do to me, Cahill?” Dean growls, pressing his hips forward to let me feel the hard length of his cock against my ass.

  “I sure do,” I breathe, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. “But it hardly seems fair that you don’t get to feel what you do to me…”

  “You know I want to,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against my blonde hair as his hands slide down over my hips. I’m wearing a short a-line skirt, bright yellow and slightly flared. And beneath, admittedly for Dean’s benefit, a pair of black lacy boy shorts that make my ass look incredible. I’m soaking through those panties with every passing minute, the closer Dean’s hands come to that spot between my legs.

  “You want me to touch you?” Dean asks, his voice rasping in my ear.

  My breath catches in my throat. In the little time we’ve been able to spend together, we’ve barely made it past chaste making out. But all this time, I’ve been craving to feel those expert hands of his all over my body. And in one place in particular.

  “I do,” I whisper back to him in the darkness.

  “Here?” he asks, guiding his hands over the yellow fabric of my skirt. They pause, caressing my inner thighs.

  “Keep going,” I breathe, my back arching as sweet pressure blossoms between my legs.

  Dean’s hands slip under my skirt as I lean back against him, letting him accept my trembling body into his powerful arms. He trails two fingers along the crotch of my panties, stroking the length of my aching slit. A groan escapes his lips as he feels just how wet I am for him. Even through the fabric of my underwear, his stroking fingers brush deliciously against my clit, sending a twang of sensation twisting through my core.