Sexy Six

by Ahren Sanders

The instant my eyes find the number six, a rush of excitement runs through my body. Nick’s head is down. He focuses on the ground as his coaches surround him, pointing at clipboards.

  Claire waves down a vendor, getting us all a beer, when the whistle blows and the game restarts. With each down and catch, the fans around us become increasingly rowdier. Nick throws a pass that Eddie Jarvis easily catches in the end zone.

  The stadium goes wild, the four of us included. We scream and join in the high-fives, dancing in circles like idiots. The only people not celebrating are the five people sitting directly behind us in New England gear.

  Whatever was said in the locker room works because, by the start of the fourth quarter, Miami is leading by three touchdowns. Melanie’s friends still haven’t returned, so we stay put, rallying with the other fans. The excitement is electrifying, my voice is hoarse, and I’m having the greatest time.

  Then it happens. Nick’s linemen leave a hole open just enough for a defender to get through, and he plows Nick to the ground so hard, I swear it rocks my bones. Bizzy and I scream at the top of our lungs but not loud enough to drown out the group behind us.

  In unison, they shout, “TIMBER!”

  I whip my head around and catch one of the women giving me a smug glare.

  Nick gets up with the help of a few players and shakes his head a few times. Bizzy explains that’s his way of clearing his head. He gets back in the formation, only to throw the ball out of bounds on the next play. And the next one, too.

  Miami’s forced to punt, which only fuels the assholes to start jeering.

  New England has no luck, and the second Nick’s back on the field, the heckling starts again. I’ll give it to them; they’re ballsy, sitting in a sea of orange and teal. The three men of the group quiet down, but the women keep going.

  “Sexy Six my ass! More like sloppy six!”

  “How about pick six!”

  I lose my cool and turn to find the woman standing behind me with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  “What the hell is your problem?” I yell at her.

  “What? Can’t take a little ribbing. Your quarterback is overrated and sloppy.”

  The area around us goes silent. Bizzy growls loudly, taking the woman’s eyes from me to her.

  “Do you two girls got a crush on the Bennett boy?” She glances at her friend who’s openly smirking.

  “I’d watch it, lady. Sit back in your seat and keep your mouth shut. You don’t want to mess with this,” Claire advises her, moving her hand between us all.

  She ignores the warning and drops her eyes to my shirt, looking between mine and Bizzy’s chests. “Isn’t that cute? You’re both wearing number six.” At this point, two of the men in their group step in and try to get the women to sit down. They refuse.

  The game goes on behind us, but my focus is now on these two women. Alcohol fuels my courage, and I square my shoulders and stand tall, full of attitude. “It just so happens that I do have a crush on the Bennett boy. He’s my boyfriend. And this woman is actually a Bennett.”

  She glares at us and then at her friend before fake-sneezing, calling ‘bullshit’, and tossing her full cup all over me. The stench of rum and coke fills my nose, and I scream.

  Claire shoves me aside, shaking her beer and spraying it all over the two women.

  There’s a round of screeching, and both women lunge down. A slap stings my face before I feel the excruciating pain in my scalp. Someone yanks my head forward, and I thrash out, meeting flesh. I can’t breathe as bodies crush me from each side and yelling commences. Bizzy gets me free but knocks one of the men, that’s trying to pull his friend free, in the mouth.

  “You bitch!” I hear while flinging my fists out.

  “Don’t call my friend a bitch!” My adrenaline skyrockets.

  An all-out brawl is going on, and I keep hitting until I am ripped away, my feet no longer on the ground.

  “Ma’am, stopping fighting me.” I twist into a body and notice he’s a police officer, and all the girls are in the same stronghold.

  The crowd has gathered around, trying to help clear the area, but I sink into him. “She started it,” I say weakly, sounding like a dumbass.

  I’ve never been in a fight before, ever. Logan and I may have wrestled a few times, but that’s it. Mortification sets in, and I hang my head as the officer places me on the ground and leads me away.

  We are ushered down ramps and through what seems like a mile-long hallway before the officer sits me on a cold concrete bench. I finally look up and see Melanie, Bizzy, and Claire with me, each with their own police escort.

  None of the men say anything before walking away and shutting the door.

  We hear the women and men we fought arguing on the other side of the door.

  I’m quiet, trying to process what the hell happened, and praying this is a bad dream. The silence is broken when Claire starts laughing. Bizzy and Melanie join her, and soon, I’m doing the same. Tears roll down our faces until I can’t breathe.

  “That was phenomenal!” Claire fist punches the air.

  “I can’t believe that happened.” Melanie holds her waist, wiping her eyes. “Now what do we do? Are they sending us to jail? Do we get to ride in a paddy wagon? I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one.”

  This sets off another round of laughter until I fall over, clutching my side.

  “Unlikely, I think this is a sober cell. Nicky told me about them,” Bizzy explains.

  “So what happens next? Should we call Shaw or Mathis?”

  Claire and Bizzy look at me like I am stupid. “Hell no!” they say at the same time.

  “We call in reinforcements.” Bizzy slides her phone out of her pocket. “Maria. She’ll save us.”

  “I’ll call one of my friends, too.” Melanie does the same.

  Any apprehension I had about Bizzy calling Maria vanishes when I hear Maria’s laughter through the phone.

  “She’s going to sneak out and come get us in a few minutes. No worries.” Bizzy hangs up.

  Melanie’s friends tell her the same, so we all settle in and wait. There’s a dim roar from far away, and guilt sets in. Nick expects me to be watching him, not sitting in the dungeon of the stadium in sober lock-up.

  “I’m sorry I lost my cool, guys. It was highly unlike me,” I apologize.

  “Wipe that damn frown from your face right now. Those bitches started it, and besides, they deserved it. Who acts like that? Trailer Trash, that’s who. This was some of the most fun I’ve had in a while,” Claire says.

  The three of them agree with a nod. As we wait for Maria, Claire insists on reenacting the entire scene from start to finish, sending us back into a fit of giggles.

  Which is exactly how we are when the door flies open. But instead of Maria standing there, we are faced with four very unhappy men.

  Logan’s eyes are trained on Melanie.

  Shaw’s on Bizzy.

  Mathis’s on Claire.

  And Nick, still in his uniform, sweaty and filthy, is staring at me with fire in his eyes.

  No worries, my ass. Where the hell is Maria?

  Chapter 17

  Grace

  Nick’s silence is killing me. I think I’d rather be back in the sober cell than have to endure this torture. The few times I’ve tried to talk to him, he’s looked at me blankly but not responded.

  It’s been almost two hours since he stormed into the cell, picked me off the floor, and dragged me behind him to the player tunnel.

  He talked over my head and told Shaw, “keep her there, and for fuck’s sake, keep her out of trouble,” then he disappeared into the locker room. Bizzy tried to scoot close to me, but Shaw had her pressed possessively to him. Irritation radiated off his body, but she kept assuring him she was okay until he calmed down. Then he told us why Maria didn’t come to our rescue.

  Apparently, Logan showed up with Melanie’s friends to surprise her. They were told we had been hauled away by the cops, wh
o informed him we couldn’t be released until after the game. Shaw had already been called by the Director of Security, who knew Bizzy, and was on his way to the dungeon. That’s where they all ran into each other.

  Since they couldn’t get us out, they waited for Nick to finish the game. According to Shaw, Nick was getting violent on the field. He didn’t share more, saying Nick would fill me in.

  Bizzy didn’t seem disturbed, but I was freaking out inside. I’d never seen Nick pissed. He did the after-game interview, answering a few questions, but then cut it short and came straight to me.

  He turns into his underground parking garage, and I decide to try again. “Don’t you want to take me home?”

  He parks and gets out without a word. I stay seated, wondering what to do now. I’m startled when he swings open the truck door and reaches in, picking me up easily, and stalks to the elevator.

  The whole ride is continued silence, and I start to feel sick. He holds me up by my thighs, keeping his face stoic. His cologne fills the area, and I drop my head to his shoulder, inhaling deeply.

  “I’m sorry, Nick, if I embarrassed you. I understand if you want to cancel—”

  “STOP!” he roars, setting my nerves more on edge.

  Nothing else is said until he lets us into his apartment, going straight to his bathroom and sitting me on the vanity. I’m scared to look at myself, knowing I resemble a train wreck.

  He finally locks eyes with me, and my breath catches. One of his hands slides across my right temple, where he presses lightly, and I hiss at the sting.

  He steps back, moving both his hands to my collar. I jump as he rips the jersey in half, sliding it off my shoulders and throwing it aside. His eyes never leave mine as he reaches behind me and turns on the faucet.

  Tears finally prickle my eyelids when he wets a cloth with warm water and starts to rub lightly over my face, neck, and shoulders, stopping when he reaches my wrist. He repeats the action on the other side and leans in to kiss my temple.

  Then he finally starts talking.

  “Third and eight, the play is set up. Jarvis and Gade are ready for me. The score is ours. We’ve practiced it a thousand times. I’m getting ready, and then I feel it. Not the energy, not the chanting—no, I feel you. For some reason, I glance up and see a scuffle in the stands. I think to myself, Grace is fine, Six. Stop being a pussy. Then I see a man butting heads with a woman. Your head bounced back, your hair flying, and I knew. My heart stopped beating. I saw red. Furious, murderous rage filled me. I went through the motions, calling the play, throwing the ball, but I never saw Jarvis make the touchdown because, when I turned back, the cop had you in his arms.”

  “Nick—“

  “Grace, I’m a laid back guy, but I’ve never wanted to fucking pummel someone so hard in my life. I found a guard, told him to use his mic, walkie-talkie, or fucking telepathy, but whatever it was, find SHAW!”

  “Nick—” I try again.

  “I finished the game and went straight to Shaw, Mathis, and Logan on the sidelines. They talked me down from going into the sober cell next to yours and strangling anyone. The thought of you hurt was my undoing.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, swallowing hard. “Let me explain.”

  “You were defending me. There are dozens of witnesses who found the cops to tell their side of the story. The super fans, those who follow me regularly, recognized you and Bizzy and told them you were innocent.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, baby, dozens.”

  “They were being awful. I couldn’t stand for it. Then one of the women started—”

  “Sweet Grace, why do you think we make Bizzy sit in the box? Claire? My mom? It’s because of the tempers flaring. I learned a long time ago to take the heat.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “The thought of you standing up for me is admirable, but don’t ever fucking go head to head with anyone. I’ll lose my shit.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but his lips crash to mine. This is a kiss unlike we’ve ever shared before, and I melt into him, letting him have control. All my arguments die as he scoots me to the edge of the vanity, rubbing his erection against my center.

  He moves his lips to my cheek, neck, and collarbone, leaving me panting before stopping and stepping back. His face fills with disgust. “I love rum and coke, but the stench on you makes me sick. I need to bathe you.”

  He sheds his clothes on the way to his massive tub. I force myself to remain seated even though I want to leap down and strip him myself.

  Finally, he comes back and places me on my feet, undressing me.

  “I’ll apologize now, but you may have trouble walking tomorrow.”

  My text from earlier comes to mind. “So I don’t need to do all the work?”

  His eyes flare. “Never.”

  “You going to carry me?”

  “Yes, I’ll carry you everywhere, if only to keep you out of trouble.”

  He steps into the tub, sits carefully, and situates me directly on top of him. He pours shower gel into his hands and gently starts washing me. Slowly, his hands roam over my body, leaving a trail of warmth.

  His eyes slice to mine when I swivel my hips, purposely grinding on his erection.

  “Take it easy, Grace. The images are still fresh. I’m trying to control the urge to find those assholes and pound someone’s face in.”

  I lean forward, kissing along the column of his throat, growing more boldness than I ever have before. Grinding back and forth, I align us perfectly and slide down until he’s fully inside. “Baby, I’m fine. Safe and sound, with you. If you want to pound something, I’m right here.”

  His expression changes, growing more heated, right before his lips form a sexy, wicked grin.

  “Definitely not walking tomorrow.”

  “I’m counting on—” I don’t get to finish my thought because he shuts me up with his mouth and starts to move.

  Water sloshes everywhere, but I’m too far gone to care.

  I twist in my seat, trying unsuccessfully to cross my legs. Even in the plush seats in first class, I can’t get comfortable. Nick chuckles beside me and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips and eyeing me hungrily.

  I shake my head and mouth ‘stop’.

  He leans in, whispering, “Want to join the mile high club?”

  “Are you insane? There’s no way we’ll both fit in that small bathroom.”

  “We can try.” He wiggles his eyebrows, causing me to giggle.

  My abdominal muscles burn in protest. Nick may have wanted me to have trouble walking, but I’m having trouble functioning. Almost every part of my body is sore.

  Deliciously sore…

  “Mind if we switch seats for a few?” Logan speaks over my shoulder, talking to Nick.

  Nick agrees, kissing me on the cheek before trading seats with Logan.

  “Are you furious with me?” I ask, afraid of his reply. This is the first time we’ve spoken since last night. He was already in his seat when we boarded the plane.

  “Hard to be too mad when your boyfriend gets us into first class.”

  “He’s kinda big to sit in regular seats.”

  “Lucky for us.”

  “So are you mad?”

  “Not really, I was understandably upset and worried. It’s not every day your sister gets in a brawl at a football game with opposing fans.”

  “I know this is going to sound juvenile, but it wasn’t my fault.”

  “I know, Melanie explained everything. So no, I’m not furious.”

  “How is Melanie?”

  “Well, besides the fact that I got the cold shoulder for almost the full night, I’d say she’s the one who’s pissed.”

  “Why?”

  “Some fucking girly bullshit I’ll never understand. Apparently, it hurt her feelings to know Nick was coming to Thomasville. She said something about us dating longer than you and Nick and feeling like a fool.”

  Poor Melanie. “Oh,�
�� is all I say.

  “Oh? That’s it?”

  “I can see where she’s coming from.”

  “Where’s that?”

  I try to turn in my seat to face him fully. My body objects to the movement, and I have to settle for turning my head. “Do you like her, Logan? Really like her?”

  “Yes, she’s a cool girl. I enjoy spending time with her.”

  “I think it goes deeper for her. I can’t say for sure, because I’ve only been around her a few times, but her face lights up when she talks about you, and she gets this expression. It’s hard to explain. It’s a woman thing, but I can see how she would be hurt when she learned Nick was invited and she wasn’t.”

  “Bringing her home with me is a huge step.”

  “That’s exactly the way I feel about bringing Nick. It makes a statement.”

  “Yeah, but you two are crazy about each other. There’s no questioning his commitment to you.”

  It always feels good to hear those words, even though Nick has left no room for doubt. Suddenly, I feel sorry for Melanie, because Logan’s obviously not in the same place.

  “Maybe you should tell her, Logan. Don’t string her along. A few months of dating isn’t that long, but she’s looking at the future.”

  “Shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face. “That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  I pat his arm, giving him a sympathetic grin. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks, but dissecting my relationship with my baby sister isn’t exactly something I’m comfortable with.”

  “Just let me know. “

  “Actually, there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you. Something private.” His voice goes low with a seriousness I haven’t heard in a long time.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “What?”

  “I know last night wasn’t your fault, but it can’t happen again. You need to think of your reputation and your future. If word got out that you were in a smack down at a public sporting event, there’s no chance of getting accepted to the Art Program.”

  My heart sinks at the mention of the program. I’ve been internalizing it quietly for the past few weeks, and the thought of getting in still sends a thrill of excitement through me. But leaving Nick makes my stomach turn. This is not something I’m ready to share with Logan.