Joe Football

by Autumn Sand

  “So do you.” I bend my head, trying desperately to hide my blush. “I meant, you look handsome.” I look back up to see his brown eyes pulling me in deeper.

  “Thanks.” His voice a low rumble and my heart is officially silly putty in his hands.

  “Umm, shouldn’t the two of you get going?”

  My breath hitches. I forgot Jana was in the room with us. I grab my clutch from the desk and turn to look at Brice, and instantly I want to jump on him like a pogo stick. I nibble on my bottom lip, debating if I should try.

  “Shall we?”

  My eyes widen. Did I accidentally say my thoughts out loud? But then disappointment hits me when I realize he is talking about leaving to go to dinner. “Umm, yeah.” I push my hair behind my ear. “Of course.” I turn towards Jana, who is giggling at me. No doubt this will be a topic of conversation later. “Be back in a bit.”

  “Have fun. And by the way, I won’t be back till tomorrow morning, so the room is all yours.” She winks at me and I give her the fake angry glare as I walk towards the door, and accidentally bump into Brice.

  “Looks like we’re always running into each other.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “No worries, I like running into you.” His voice is like silk, and now my panties need to come off, along with my clothes.

  I look heavenward and pray to God that I can keep a sense of decorum when I’m sitting near him in the car.

  Outside, the cool air wars with my internal heat that is burning up for Brice. We stroll down the pathway to his car, side by side. I have to hold myself back from reaching out and taking his hand. Perhaps he’s just as nervous as I am and he is waiting for a signal from me. We’re at his car before I reach a decision, and he holds the door open for me, helping me inside. With his hands in his pocket, he walks over to the driver side and gets in. The scent of his Acqua di Gio cologne fills the small car, hypnotizing me. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, briefly transporting myself through time. So many futures pass through my brain, futures with him, so vivid and clear that it scares me. I open my eyes with a start, my breath caught in my throat. I turn slowly around to see him staring at me. My cheeks warm and I feel dizzy.

  “You okay?”

  Not wanting to break the spell, I say, “Mmmhmm.”

  “I’ve waited so long for this night with you.” He holds his steering wheel and looks ahead for a moment before turning back to look at me with his warm brown eyes. “I guess I just want to say, thank you for giving me a chance.”

  “Brice, you don’t have to-“

  “But I do, or at least I want to. I want to show you that I am a good guy, and that I want to be with you. I promise to not rush anything.”

  I’ve always felt incomplete, never good enough, not worthy. But somehow his words have molded the different layers of me back together again. If I wasn’t already, I feel complete now. If I wasn’t good enough before, I know I am now. If I wasn’t worthy, I’m worthy now. It’s not because of him, but because of his belief in me.

  I turn my head towards the window, not wanting him to see the tears of happiness in my eyes. “Thank you for that.” I wipe at the corner of my eye. “We really should get going.” My voice is raw with emotion.

  He clears his throat. “You picked a movie?”

  A giggle escapes my lips. “Actually no, I didn’t.” I was so anxious about tonight, I forgot.

  He laughs. “Okay, so dinner and…?” His eyes search my own.

  I gulp loudly. “Umm, no clue.”

  “Okay. We can wing it.” He starts the car and pulls off, breaking the spell, but not the hold he has on me.

  We arrive at a quaint Italian restaurant. How did he know I love Italian?

  As if reading my mind, he says, “Jana mentioned Italian is your favorite.”

  My eyes widen. “She did? When?”

  “A few days ago. It is, isn’t it?” His brows knit together as he waits for my response.

  “No.” I close my eyes. “I mean, yes, it is my favorite.”

  He gives me a satisfied grin. “I knew we were meant for each other. Italian is my favorite too.” He hops out of the car and comes around the other side to open my door.

  Once we’re inside and seated, some patrons come up to him and ask for his autograph, which he signs with a smile and thanks.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of it?” I ask, as memories of going places with my dad and him being rushed by fans for autographs invade my mind. Somehow, I always got pushed to the sidelines and forgotten.

  “Never. I doubt I ever will. Football has always been my dream.” A look comes over his face that I’ve seen dozens of times before, on my father’s face, whenever he spoke about the game.

  Could there really be room for me in Brice's life? Football…it always comes to football. “Really? Why?” I straighten in my seat. Placing my hands on my lap, I twist the cloth napkin under the table.

  He puts his hands on the table top, clasping them together. Looking down, he begins, “Well, I love and have a true respect for the game. That is part of the reason why I model myself after my idol, Kyne Hollister.”

  My face slackens at the mention of my father's name. Does he know? But how? He looks up briefly, and the frown that was on my face is instantly replaced with a smile. He nods and finishes.

  “He’s a living legend in the sport. I met him once when he came to Philadelphia. Mom waited with me for hours in that line, just so I could meet him and have my football signed. I still have that ball to this day.” For a moment, as he retells his story, he looks to be as youthful as he must’ve been that day my father gave him his autograph.

  It never ceases to amaze me the hearts of the many kids my father has touched. Each one of them has better stories to tell of him than I do. I tug at my clothing. “You grew up in Philly?” Unable to mask the emotions in my voice, my voice is clipped. Brice looks up startled, and I give him a reassuring smile.

  “Yeah. Me and Egon. We lived around the corner from each other. I spent more nights than I can count at Egon’s house when my mom was pulling a double shift.”

  My head tilts to the side. “What about your dad?”

  He shrugs. “Never met him. It used to bother me, not having a dad when I was growing up. That’s when I started to pretend that Kyne Hollister was my dad. It helped to cope with life without one, or better yet, not knowing him.”

  He is so honest and no regrets. I feel a bit petty about always complaining about life at home. Hell, at least I had both parents around, even though they were just about absent from my life.

  “So, what about you?”

  Oh great, we’ve moved on to me. Should I tell him that his childhood idol is my father? If I do, would I stand a chance of keeping him to myself? Or would my dad and football always be between us? “Well, I grew up in a nuclear home. You know, a mom, a dad, and a brother.”

  “Older brother or younger?”

  “Older.” The dull ache in my heart that always holds me back from absolute happiness begins to throb heavily. My throat becomes scratchy, so I reach a trembling hand to grab the glass of water.

  “Are the two of you close?”

  I take a few swallows of the liquid, and it turns my stomach. I place the glass on the table and clear my throat. “Yes, we were. He died three years ago.”

  “My condolences.” His tone is soothing.

  “It’s okay. Some days are harder than others.”

  He reaches out his hand to touch mine on the table. A gesture so innocent, yet so intimate, and he says, “If you ever need a shoulder to cry on…”

  I give him a weak smile as my vision becomes blurry from the tears that are building up. “Thanks.”

  The waiter hands us our menus. I gladly accept mine, lifting it in a guise of reading it. I let the tears fall freely, wetting the white table cloth. Each droplet widens the damp spot on the cloth, as well as the hole in my heart. I feel so overwhelmed that I have to fight the urge to run. But w
here would I run to?

  “Favor?”

  I can’t answer; I’m choking on my emotions.

  I hear the scraping of a chair and feel his closeness. His hand gently tugs on the top of the menu. I don’t have the strength to hold it any further, and it releases into his hand. He places it down on the table and cups my chin.

  I avert my eyes. “Don’t. Don’t look at me.” I can take almost anything else, but his pity…I just can’t handle that right now.

  “But-”

  I stand abruptly. “Please, just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” My voice is a throaty whisper. I rush to the bathroom, thankful to have the room to myself. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes are red and puffy, and my skin is blotchy. The person I’m looking at has become a familiar face in the past three years, and I’m tired of looking at her.

  “No more.” My voice is weak, but I feel a sense of relief. “No. More.” My voice is a little stronger. “NO. MORE.” I command myself at will. I won’t let the pain of the loss of my brother stop me from happiness. I need to try, I want to try, to heal. An invisible needle and thread is mending the hole in my heart, slowly. The last of my tears fall into the sink, and I turn the faucet on to drown them. I place my hands under the stream of water, and my fingertips become numb from the cold. I reach for the knob and turn it off. Lifting my hands to my face, I smear the cold droplets against my skin, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of it.

  I take one last look at my old self in the mirror, a self that I won’t mourn or miss. I open the bathroom door and step back into the dining area. Brice is facing me, his brows drawn together. I stop in front of him and brush my lips against his.

  “I’m fine.” He stands and helps me with my seat, his hand brushing ever so lightly on my shoulder, sending a shiver up my spine.

  “Are you sure you are okay? I can take you back to your dorm.” His voice is hesitant when he asks.

  Do I want to go to the dorm? Should I? I stare into Brice’s eyes and I know in my heart I’m that I’m not ready for this night to end. “No. I’m where I want to be. It’s just hard sometimes, that’s all.”

  He closes his eyes momentarily before opening them. “Okay, I understand. Just know that I’m here whenever you need me.”

  I reach out and hold his hand, the tiniest of a spark firing up between us. “I know, and thank you.”

  “Fresh start?”

  I nod. “Fresh start.”

  As if to confirm our deal, the flame from the candle on the table dances, and then settles into stillness.

  The mood lightens, and we place our order with the waiter before having some of the most enjoyable conversation I’ve ever had. The talk flows so easily, it scares me. When there is silence, it is comfortable and not because we ran out of things to talk about. Brice tells me more about his plans of being recruited by the NFL. He says that he gets up early most mornings to get some extra training in. He tells me all about his mom and what it was like growing up in Philly. He promises one day to bring me to the best place to get a Cheesesteak hoagie. We talk about how he and Egon are more like brothers than friends, and how Egon forced him to learn to play bass because he wanted to start a band. Unfortunately, Brice was horrible, and Egon had to drop him from a group that wasn’t even created, at fourteen years old. We talk long after we finish dinner and dessert.

  I share stories about my family without bringing up football. I’m not ready to talk about that yet. One day, but not today. I just want tonight to be about us and not who my father is.

  He pays for dinner, and we walk with dragging footsteps, back to his car.

  “Anywhere else?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I guess you can take me back to my dorm.”

  He has a hesitant smile, but he doesn’t protest. He starts the car and drives me back to campus.

  Brice walks me to my dorm, his hand at the small of my back. When we reach my room, I unlock the door, and a pang of fear hits me that this evening is coming to an end, and I’m not ready to let him go. It’s now or never. “Would you like to come in?” I ask the question but plead with my eyes.

  He has a dazed look and nods his head. I open the door further and am thankful to see that Jana is out. I flip on the light and flop on my bed, patting the seat next to me. Sitting down, he says, “Your room sure is neater than mine and Egon’s.”

  I laugh at his comment, releasing the tension that I was suddenly feeling. You ever wound up a coil as tight as it could go until the pressure of it builds up? That is how I feel right now. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Thanks for coming,” he replies, flashing his brown eyes at me. We both turn to face each other, and I feel a pull I can’t resist. Before I have a chance to wonder if it feels the same for him, his mouth consumes mine, hungry and fierce.

  Why was I fighting this for so long with him? He was right; there is something between us, and there has been for quite some time. Right now, being drawn deeper into his orbit, I feel that all the other times of fighting it was a waste. The time we could have been together, had I not been running scared. He groans into my mouth, and I pull him closer. He rips himself away from our kiss, leaving me wanting and missing him. “If we don’t stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to later.”

  “I don’t want you to stop,” I murmur, dragging him back to my anxious lips.

  Pulling away from me briefly, he rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this…but I don’t want to rush this. I’ve waited so long for you and I don’t want you to think that’s what I’m after. I’m willing to wait for as long as needed.”

  His words carefully sink in, syllable by syllable. I think long and hard about it. Am I rushing things? I know I feel something for him. Ever since that day he defended Cal, I’ve been in that careful little nook between like and love. It’s something, it’s more than I ever had with Jameson. I didn’t even have a lust for him, yet I gave him the most intimate part of myself. I thought I knew what I wanted, but right now, I’m questioning myself. Perhaps I’m not thinking things through the way I should.

  He kisses me on my forehead and rises. “I should go. Thank you for the most incredible evening of my life. I really hope that you give me a chance at a second date.” He turns and walks towards the door, and that’s when I know.

  “Stop.” My voice is calm and sure because I know in my heart this is right.

  He turns around. “Are you sure?” His eyes searches mine.

  Deciding the best way to reassure him is to show him, I stand and slowly lower each strap of my dress. I turn my back to him and playfully tap on the zipper’s metal tab with my fingernail. I hear him move across the carpet, and instantly feel his warmth behind me. So close, yet so far. Too far. His fingers fumble with the zipper, and finally, he pulls the metal piece down, releasing me. I take a deep breath at the instant relief of being freed from the burden of the tight dress, and let my inhibitions fall to the floor in a heap, along with my clothes.

  I turn to face him, standing in my bra and thong, without an ounce of regret. “I’m sure.” I make sure he sees me, all of me, the real me. I once read that a person can pick up on the energy you give. I concentrate on this energy, and I will him with every fiber of my being to receive it. As if he reads my mind, he offers me his hand that I take, willingly and without hesitation. This is meant to be, and I can feel it. My heart beats steady in anticipation of him, of us. Because that’s exactly what this is; the beginning of us. A word that I used to be so afraid of suddenly becomes a word I can’t live without.

  Brice is the sun, and I am the moon that orbits around him. That’s how great the pull I feel is, as I take a step closer to him. I wonder for a moment if a simple touch by him will burn, forever marking me as his. I want to absorb this moment with him in every way imaginable.

  Reaching behind me, he unclasps my bra with one hand, releasing my breasts and I yearn for the warmth of his touch. I look over at the door in a panic t
hat Jana might walk in, but just as quickly, I remember that she said I had the room to myself this evening. Perhaps Jana knew how this evening would end. I know that I wanted this, but did I foresee it? Did he? Oh God, does it matter? I focus on the here and now and forget the rest.

  My breath hitches as his hands travel down my back so gently it's like a whisper of a touch. I lean into him, feeling his firm body against my softness. It was like I was molded just for him, and notice how strong his hands are as they settle on my hips and playfully tug at my thong.

  I throw my head back in laughter. “You going to play with it or take it off?”

  “Hmm. I’m thinking both,” he says with a devilish gleam in his eyes. He pushes the lace gently with his thumb, the anticipation building to the point of bursting inside me. I reach down to shove the obstructing material out of the way, but his hands cup my own, preventing my hurried movements. “Oh no, I want to take my time with you.”

  Did the world just suddenly stop moving, because I feel frozen in time. “Umm, what?” Why am I so breathless?

  He leans into me, his warm breath coating my neck as a thin sheen of sweat covers my body. “I said, I want to take my time with you. I’ve waited a year for you, and I don’t want to rush this. I want to make love to your body, your mind, and your soul.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. It's hard to form coherent words when your mind turns to silly putty. Soft tingles run all over my body, and my heart thrums against my chest. This is how it’s so supposed to feel. If I never experience this feeling again, I’ll be forever grateful to him for this.

  His mouth gently touches my already open one, his tongue searching for mine until the two meet. Our tongues dance, almost like a ballet, in complete synchronization. He tastes like cappuccino and tiramisu, triggering my sweet tooth for more. More of him. His arms are firm around my waist, and I’m thankful because my legs are wobbly from his kiss.

  He slowly moves my thong past my butt cheeks, and gravity does the rest. His voice is raspy when he says, “Leave the boots on,” and I almost come just from those words.