by Tracey Ward
“Am I sure I can take you slowly?” he asks, his voice vibrating in my blood. In my everything. “Yeah. I can do that. I can do that for as long as you want me to.”
“I think you’re misunderstanding me on purpose,” I reply breathlessly, my head swimming. My synapses sparking. Fizzling. His arms are going around my waist. His hips pressing against mine. I have a limited amount of brain power left before I get stupid. Before this complex confection is reduced to a cruller in his hands.
“I understand you just fine.” He lowers his head. “You want to go slow.”
I raise my arms, my hands skimming over the roll of his shoulders. “Yes.”
He touches the tip of his nose to mine. “You want something real.”
“Yes.”
His lower lip brushes feather light against my upper, his breath hot against my skin.
My body clenches tightly in riposte.
“You want me,” he whispers sensuously.
I can barely breathe as I sigh, “Yes.”
The hot feel of his mouth closing on mine is everything I’ve been hungry for, starving for, for the last year.
I’ve kissed other men. I’ve been in their arms as they thrust their tongue inside my mouth and taken what they wanted from me, but never before did it feel like I was being fed. Satiated. That’s what it is to kiss Colt. To be kissed by him, devoured by him. I’m made more. I’m magnified. I’m melting and pooling, expanding into something I forgot how to be in the hours spent giving everything I had to the store and Michael and my family, pretending we’re fine, pretending we’re solid when what we really are is a thin shadow of what we used to be. I’m a ghost, a whisper, but in Colt’s arms I’m alive. I’m a cry in the darkness so loud it makes your ears ring, and oh god, does it feel good.
My hands tangle together at the back of his head in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him harder. His hand is on my ass, pulling me forward and up until I’m on my toes, the weakness in my legs giving way to the strength in his arms.
His alarm buzzes in his pocket, warning him of the hour.
The smell of burning sugar fills the room, warning me the donuts are destroyed.
Life is calling, telling us it’s time to say goodbye. It’s time to put an end to this night. To this kiss.
But not yet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
COLT
November 13th
Charlie Windt Stadium
Los Angeles, CA
“You look like shit,” Tyus says sharply. “You sick?”
I shake my head, sweat pouring off my forehead into my eyes. I feel like I’m underwater. Everything sounds muffled, my vision is blurred. My reflexes are shot. I’m running through pudding out here. Hibbert almost outpaced me on that last play, and that fat fuck can’t outrun his own ass.
“I’m tired,” I croak. “That’s all.”
“You need a Snickers?” he asks sarcastically.
I chuckle, leaning with my hands on my thighs to spit into the turf. “Fuck no.”
“Why are you so tired?” He looks downfield to where the cheerleading squad is gathered under the goal post. “You didn’t see Nikki again, did you?”
“No, I’m not stupid.”
Tyus snickers, but he’s a good enough friend not to point out the other times I’ve said that exact same thing. “So if you didn’t stay up all night with her, why are you so tired?”
“I hung out with the girl from the party,” I tell him. “Lilly.”
“You ‘just hung out’ with her?” he asks skeptically.
“I kissed her, but that’s it.”
“Right, right,” he muses, running his hand over his mouth. Across his smile. “So you’ve been alone with this girl twice and you still didn’t seal the deal. And now here you are tired and sick looking. You’re getting old, baby. Losing your touch.”
“I could pull more ass right here, right now than you could even dream about, bitch.”
He smirks. “I believe it, because right here on a football field full of dudes, the ass is all you’re going to get. And you can have all of it far as I’m concerned.”
“You know what I mean,” I growl, feeling frustrated and foggy.
“You better hope I do. You gonna see her again?”
“Who?”
“Who?” he snorts. He slaps me on the side of the head roughly. “The girl you’re tripping over. Who are we talking about, man?”
“Lilly,” I remind him, swatting his hand away. “And yeah, I’m gonna see her again. She’s coming to the party tomorrow.”
“I’m not.”
“Where the fuck are you gonna be?”
“It’s a Saturday, man. I’m going on a date. You’re not the only one with game, bitch.”
“Bring it in!” Trey calls, calling for a huddle.
“You better get your shit together,” Tyus tells me as we jog with the rest of the offensive line toward Trey. “You come to another practice looking like this and you won’t be starting any games any time soon.”
“Yeah, I know. I know,” I mutter, pulling up to a stop on the thirty.
Trey looks at me funny where I’m lagging at the back of the crew. I’m usually front and center, first to arrive. “Colt, you okay, man?
Tyus grins at him. “He’s tired.”
“Seriously?”
“Long night?” Kurtis asks from my right.
I look him solidly in the eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how it is.”
“That’s rough.”
“Brutal.”
Olynyk shoves me roughly in the shoulder. “Tonight we’ll all come over and sing you a lullaby.”
“Can I get a warm milk?”
He chuckles, nodding to Hibbert. “Eric will breastfeed you.”
Hibbert smiles, lifting his jersey up over his massive, white belly, heading for his man boobs.
“No, no, no!” we all cry together.
“Is this a huddle or a strip club?!” Coach Allen barks from the sidelines. “Get your asses in gear!”
Hibbert lowers his shirt, blowing me a kiss. “We’ll talk later, baby.”
I reach for a pithy comeback.
A funny one liner.
Maybe a retort of any fucking kind?
I got nothin’. My brain is closed for business, all non-essential functions shut down. I’m lucky I’m still walking and breathing.
The guys line up for the play, facing off with our defensive line. I take my place to the right of and behind Trey. I’m not touching the ball in this play so I bounce on my feet lightly, trying to wake up. Killing time. We’re three hours into practice. Less than one more and I can go home. Forget the showers, I’m going to pass out in my bed with my stink on strong. Maria will have to forgive me when she changes the sheets. I wonder what she’s making for lunch. Am I even going to have the energy to eat any of it?
Nah, screw it. I can always eat. I might even stop on the way home. Swing by the Mad Batter and grab—
“Colt!” Trey shouts at me. “What the hell are you doing?!”
The line crashes together ahead of me, but Trey is holding onto the ball screaming at me. He shuffles back, his red jersey flapping in the wind like a flag.
I check the formation. It’s not the one I thought it was going to be. I was thinking of the wrong play.
“Fuck!”
I break into a sprint toward Trey but I’m too late. He’s had the ball for too long. Maybe four seconds, but anything beyond that is an eternity behind the line. No matter how good the O line is, any defensive lineman remotely worth his bloated paycheck is going to get through a crack.
I’m halfway to him when Trey gives up on me. The pocket is closed. Gone. He has to throw. He spots Anthony downfield and launches a spiral dead center into the guy’s chest. Tyus wraps his arms around it tightly as his coverage closes in.
They take him down easily, almost gently. No one is looking to injure anyone today. It’s why Trey is wearing the red jersey while t
he rest of us are in white. It screams at us to keep our hands off the merchandise. The quarterback is too valuable to lose to a mistake in practice.
A running back, on the other hand…
I feel the collision coming the way you know when someone is standing behind you. They’re in your space when they shouldn’t be and it gives you the creeps. Only this doesn’t freak me out, it knocks me on my ass. I sprawl out on the turf with the sun in my eyes and the air forced from my lungs.
“Wake up, bitch!”
I blink, coughing roughly. “I hate you, Conlin. I hate you so damn much.”
He laughs as he runs away to line up with the defense.
I roll over on my side, pausing to take a breather. To refill my collapsed lungs.
A pair of Kodiak cleats step in front of me. “You want a hand?”
I nod to Andreas, reaching for him. He grunts as he helps pull me up. He’s not a big guy. Kickers don’t have to be. I’m sure lifting my two hundred plus pound butt off the ground is a real treat for him.
“What’s Conlin’s problem?” he asks when I’m vertical.
“I puked in his shoes once. He’s into my ex. Oh, and he’s a piece of shit.”
Andreas grunts before heading back toward the sidelines. “You better get in formation,” he tells me. “Maybe the correct one this time.”
“Yeah, fuck you very much, man.”
He flips me off over his shoulder, his head down.
After the wakeup call from Conlin I keep my head on straight. The rest of practice passes in slow motion, but when it’s finally over I hit the locker room only long enough to tell the guys about the party I’m throwing and get my gear.
I even tell Matthews, but I know he won’t come. Andreas either. They’ll stay home and sit in the dark staring at their walls, eating mac and cheese. Maybe get a hooker. Macramé a dreamcatcher.
I honestly don’t know what other people do in their spare time. Weird shit, I assume.
I’m halfway home when my phone rings through the car speakers. I glance at the caller ID, grinning when I see her name.
“I was just thinking about you,” I answer.
“I don’t doubt you were thinking about a girl, Colton,” my mom acknowledges drolly, “but you most certainly were not thinking about me.”
“You know me too well.”
She hums in solid agreement. “How was practice?”
“Long. I’m worn. I’m heading home now to get some sleep.”
“How’s the knee?”
“It’s strong.”
“What does the doctor say?”
She doesn’t believe me. She never does. Not when it comes to this.
I suppress a sigh. “He says it’s strong.”
“Can I see it in writing?”
“You want a doctor’s note?”
“I wouldn’t turn it down.”
I chuckle, turning down my street. “I’ll have him fax you one.”
“It’s not nineteen ninety-two. Have him email it to me.”
“Yep.”
“Are you doing your exercises?”
“Every day.”
“And night?”
“That’s what I meant.”
“It’s not what you said.”
I slide into my parking spot in front of my building, knocking the car into park. “What’s with the third degree, Mom? What’s going on?”
“I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” she answers unapologetically. “You’re on the other side of the world—“
“Country.”
“—and it’s not easy watching your blood getting beat out of your baby every week.”
“Are you talking about the Seahawks game? They barely touched me.”
“Anderson Cooper was talking about PTSD symptoms in NFL players who have had brain injuries.”
Ah fuck. Here we go.
“I’ve never had a brain injury,” I remind her patiently.
“It got me thinking about that hit you took in college.”
I drop my head back hard against the seat. “It got you worrying, you mean.”
“Those boys broke your knee and knocked you out.”
“I was stunned. I was never knocked out. You know that.”
“I’m starting to wonder what we know and what we don’t.”
“You’ve gotta stop watching Cooper. He doesn’t know shit.”
“He knows how to dress.”
“The gays always do.”
“He’s not gay,” she protests hotly.
“He came out,” I tell her mercilessly. “He has a boyfriend. Deal with it.”
“Stop it or I’ll tell you that Megan Fox is gay.”
“Go for it. You’ll make a million fantasies come true for me.”
I hear her laughing over the line. It makes me smile.
It makes me homesick.
“Are you ready for the Panthers this week?” she asks.
“I’m ready for anything.”
“Even their blitz heavy defense?”
“Especially that.”
“Good. I’ll put money on you at church.”
I chuckle in disbelief. “You know that betting ring is illegal, right?”
“Pfft! It’s not illegal. It’s for charity,” she insists. “I only keep half the winnings.”
“What charity is it going to? I’ll send them a check.”
“You already do. Every month.”
“That’s generous of me.”
“I raised you right.” I hear the familiar creak of her old recliner as she sits down. I can picture the living room around her, modern and bright from the remodel I funded for Christmas last year, and that old, ugly brown chair is parked in the middle like a dump on the floor. She’s had it for ten years and she wouldn’t let me get rid of it. I hate it. So did the designer. We had it on the curb for an hour before she dragged it back inside and locked us out for the day. I slept in the garage the way I used to when I came home past curfew and found the house sealed tight.
“You did,” I agree, stifling a yawn. “I gotta get inside and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you on Sunday, okay?”
“Sure, sounds good. ‘Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Mom.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
COLT
I can’t sleep. I’ve been laying in this bed for over an hour with Kat curled up by my feet and the blackout curtains pulled tight, and still I can’t get there.
I look to my right at the dull green glow of my alarm clock.
It’s one in the afternoon. It feels like one in the morning.
I’m in that weird place where I’m tired but I’m not ready to sleep. I want to be, I’d kill to be, but my brain isn’t having it. It’s insomnia at its worst, a problem I’ve struggled with my entire life. That’s the downside to being ‘on’ all the time; you struggle to learn how to be ‘off’. To be still.
I reach for the clock, my fingers fumbling blindly for the buttons. I count them from the left. One, two, three, four, frogs. The sound machine kicks on, the echo of frogs in the rainforest filling the room. I feel Kat shift at the end of the bed. She listens for a few seconds before huffing petulantly and flopping back down against my leg.
Kat doesn’t care for frogs.
I try counting sheep on the backs of my eyelids. Then I try Lions. Jets. All of the opponents we still have to face this season. The ones standing between us and a Super Bowl ring. The biggest one for me is the Chiefs. We’re away at Kansas City in December. My mom is coming to the game with Charlie and Makenzie, driving six hours from Galena to be there. I’m putting them up at the Sheraton, the same hotel the team is staying in, even though Charlie isn’t thrilled about the idea. He’s a big football fan but not a fan of football players around his daughter. Bringing her to a hotel full of them is his worst nightmare. Knowing Makenzie, he definitely should be worried. But me? I couldn’t care less what or
who she does. I’ll sleep like a baby either way.
Just not today.
My phone pings on the nightstand, the room momentarily glowing faint blue before dropping back to black. I groan as I reach for it, my tired bones protesting, but inside I’m racing and revving. I’m thinking about Lilly, hoping it’s a message from her. I’m thinking about being with her. About how mellow she makes me and how much I could use that feeling right now. I could have fallen asleep a hundred times last night when we were together, but I fought against it, determined not to miss a minute with her. Now a minute doesn’t go by that I don’t miss her. I could call her now, hear that sexy rasp in her voice. Ask her to tell me a story. I don’t care if it’s about how ostriches like anal, I’d listen to it for hours. I’d fall asleep smiling.
And I’d have the strangest, most sexually confused dreams of my life.
“Damn,” I mutter when I see the message. It’s not from her. It’s The Hotness.
I uploaded the new events to your calendar. Monday at the children’s hospital is locked. Check the time, then check it again. Try not to be late.
Am I late or is everyone else early?
You’re impossible is what you are.
Are you gonna be there?
Trey and I both will be.
Why is Trey going?
Because he loves me and WHEN, not IF, you’re late he can buy some time by signing some shit.
Tell him not to steal my thunder.
Trust me, you have plenty to spare.
Talk to Tyus’ agent. See if you can get him to show up too. If all three of us are there we can ask DQ to send ice cream for the kids.
Please wear clothes.
Please call Tyus.
He’s your friend. Why don’t you ask him to show?
Because it’s not my job, Hotness. It’s yours.
Fuck you, fine. I’ll call him.
I love you.
I follow that up with a GIPH of a unicorn farting a rainbow.
I do not get a reply.
When my phone goes dark again, taking the room with it, I stare up at the nothing above me. The ceiling is there somewhere, tall and open with exposed ducting and beams. My mom hates it. When she was decorating the apartment downstairs she insisted we cover it up with drywall. I told her the place cost what it did because of the exposed areas.
