Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Lauren Landish

  "Ty . . . Tyler," she gasps, her breath catching as she's on the edge of coming. I lick faster, and bring a finger up to stroke at her while I lick, sliding inside her just as she reaches her peak. With a strangled cry, she comes, soaking my face in her juices and wailing breathlessly before sagging into the mattress, spent.

  I crawl up next to April, kissing her skin tenderly until I'm looking into her dark, nearly black eyes, and I stroke her hair. "Good morning, beautiful."

  "Is that what I can expect if I stay over?" April asks, a still shocked expression on her face.

  "You sleep naked like, and that might be exactly what happens," I tease lightly, then lean in. April kisses me, first with a bit of hesitation and then with open tenderness, and reaches down to my hip, trying to find my cock. "Uh-uh. Not before practice, and besides, I told you . . . that was all for you."

  "You're going to spoil me," April replies, kissing me again. "At least let me make breakfast, then? If not, I'm going to feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

  "Deal," I reply. "Past two days, I've been eating reheated takeout and breakfast cereal, and lunch has been . . . not exactly balanced athlete's food."

  "Well, I can at least make you some eggs to go with that cereal," April says, stroking my cheek. "Thank you. For our date, for last night, for this morning . . . for everything."

  "You make it sound like this is going to be a one time thing," I say, trying to be nonchalant. "You planning on dumping me after only two dates?"

  April shakes her head and smiles. "No. Just . . . never mind. Let me go make some breakfast. Did you actually buy any food, or am I just going to see condiments and takeout containers?"

  "Yeah, of course," I reply, kind of embarrassed. I have actually been to a grocery store, but I doubt what April finds in the fridge and kitchen is going to improve her outlook on my culinary skills. "At least . . . a little bit."

  "All right guys, tomorrow is our second preseason game," Coach Blanchard says, looking around the assembled conference room. There are thirty-four guys in the room, and at least a dozen of the guys around me know that they're going to be cut or put on the ten practice team slots within the next two weeks.

  "We're playing Ottawa, which is a good thing, since it gives us a first look at who we're playing in week three of the regular season. So keep your eyes open tomorrow. There's bound to be some new things they'll be trying out on defense, even if they keep it pretty basic like we will."

  The lights dim, and Coach walks us through the one hour of video. I've watched this same video at least a dozen times over the past week, either in meetings or in my apartment, and I can actually predict the next play that's being shown before Coach announces it.

  I tune out him as he shifts to special teams, which is a bigger part of Canadian football than the American game, and my mind drifts to April. She's on my mind constantly now, but instead of it being a distraction, I've found it a good thing the past few days. Seeing her around the stadium, or when she and I have "work meetings," I've started to find a sort of inner peace that I haven't felt in a long time.

  Being with her is kind of like being with a long lost friend. We've had lunch together every day since the first night, and while she hasn't stayed at my apartment since that first time, I can see it in her eyes, she wants to.

  I didn't get a lot of playing time our first preseason game last week, Coach wants to keep me under wraps and have me be fully comfortable before he unleashes me on the other teams. Still, in three series with the first string offense, I threw for a touchdown and had nearly a hundred yards of passing . . . not too bad a start. This time though, I'm expecting to play most of the first half and maybe even into the third quarter, and to be honest, I'm excited.

  The video session wraps up, and I leave the meeting room along with the rest of the offense. I see April in the hallway and wave, and she smiles, something that she's doing more and more often now. She's grown so much in only ten days, and I'm constantly taken off guard at how just how attracted to her I am.

  "Hey," I greet her, stopping while the other guys go by. DeAndre gives me a little smirk, he's seen me and April around the area, I'm sure a lot of the guys have, but he's cool with it. He's a pro, and he sees that its not interfering with me on the field so far. "How was your morning?"

  "I dropped off your laundry," April says with a little smile. I haven't found time to do my own laundry yet, so I asked April if she could recommend me a drop-off laundry service. Instead she just took my first big bag of clothes to the cleaner herself this morning. "The cleaner says he'll have them tonight, I can pick them up on the way home, bring it all to you in time for the game."

  I laugh and lean in, whispering in her ear. "You know, you could always bring them by my place tonight."

  April blushes and shakes her head. "I can't."

  "Why?" I ask, leaning in closer. "It's been days."

  "Yeah, but still . . . people are talking," she whispers back. "I don't want to get in trouble. Besides, someone told me that women weaken legs."

  I laugh. "Okay. But Sunday afternoon, let's have a date, I don't care who talks about what. I had an idea, something I saw the other day on the way to the stadium."

  "What?"

  "Say yes, and I'll tell you."

  April looks up into my eyes, and there's a light in there, an emotion that flares that I've seen a few other times before. "Yes. You know I can't say no to you."

  "Yes you can," I reply softly, making sure it's just the two of us who can hear it. "You always can say no."

  "Well . . . maybe I just don't want to say no," she says back, her eyes gleaming as she looks up at me. "With you I feel . . . better."

  “Well a deal’s a deal. Sunday I wanted to go kayaking."

  "Sounds like fun. What time?"

  "Eleven? I like sleeping in the night after a game. Or maybe . . . brunch at ten, then kayaking?"

  April smiles and nods. "Ten. I'll meet you at your place."

  We turn and go down the hallway, toward the entrance to the field where we'll eat our lunches together. April packs her own lunch, and I've started to do the same, even if it is just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  "You know, some day, I'd like to see your place," I say as we sit down in the stands. "It feels weird. I have no idea where you live."

  "It's nothing to brag about," April replies with a shrug. "I rent a cheap studio flat in a older building in Cabbagetown. It's near the University, but not too close. I used to have a flat mate, but she moved to Hamilton on a new job. Thankfully, the rent's not too bad, and my other costs are low. If you really want, we can go by sometime. There's a movie theater nearby, a few bars, and some other stuff."

  "I'd like that — when you're ready,” I say, chewing on the first of my two sandwiches. "Are you getting any flack that you and I are seeing each other?"

  April shakes her head and spears her salad with her fork. "No, but I think Francine Walker's a bit jealous. She's the head cheerleader."

  "I met her at a photo shoot the team had me do. Something for charity. She's cute, but not my type."

  "What is your type, Tyler?"

  I smirk and look at her. "I've always had a thing for brunettes."

  "So if I should show up for our date with my hair dyed platinum blond?" April asks, and I laugh.

  "Then platinum blonde’s my favorite."

  “And if I go hot pink?”

  “Don't push it.”

  Practice is easy, simple walkthroughs without any helmets or pads at all. Some of the guys have already been in training camp for a month now, and we're getting into the needs of professional athletes in-season, which means trying to prevent banging up our bodies as much as possible.

  The punt team is out on the field, running through their blocking assignments when Lance Pollard, our starting left guard and one of the second year Canadians on the team, comes up and slaps me on the shoulder. "Congrats, man."

  "Congrats on what?" I ask, confused. Lance is
big, about six foot four and two hundred and seventy pounds, smaller than an American lineman, but perfect for the faster, more spaced out Canadian game where speed is important and being over three hundred pounds can be a challenge for even the strongest of players. "The throws today?"

  "Nah, for breaking in Fumbles," Pollard says with a grin. "We always wondered who was gonna get to fuck her first."

  I don’t even respond, and before I know it, my left hand seems like it’s moving on its own. It smacks Lance across the nose, and I actually tackle him, he's so caught off guard. Getting on top, I'm pounding him in the face, stunning him before he can push me off, and we roll, him to his hands and knees, me to my feet.

  “Asshole!” I scream, kicking him in the ass when I get to my feet.

  Hands grab at me, pulling me back and away, and Coach is there, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. "Settle down, settle down!"

  I calm somewhat, and see that Lance is still down, holding his nose and shaking his head side to side, groaning.

  Coach shakes his head and points to the locker room. "Go chill out, Tyler. I'll see you in my office after practice. DeAndre, go with him. Vince, run the offense!"

  As I make my way through the stadium with DeAndre, he stops me just after we turn into the tunnel. "Tyler, some advice?"

  I nod, taking a deep breath. There's no hardness in his voice, just concern. "Yeah, I'm okay. Besides, I'm still a rook, right?"

  "Eh, you won't find the hazing bullshit on the Fighters that you'll find in the League, but yeah, you're still a rook," he chuckles, and we keep walking. "Pollard wasn't trying to piss you off."

  "Whether he was or not, it was uncalled for," I return, trying not to get heated again. "Maybe I shouldn't have reacted that way, but I didn’t even think. It just happened. I’m surprised he went down like that — the dude’s a monster.”

  "You caught him just right, I'll be honest I didn't even see the punch and I was right next to both of you. I overheard what he said, and no, it doesn't excuse it, but come on, you're a football player. That ain't shit on the field. Haven’t you heard it all before?”

  “Of course I have…”

  "Well, there you go. You can’t let that shit get under your skin.”

  I shake my head. “Look… never mind. Message received."

  He lets it drop, and we keep walking up to Coach's office. Instead of leaving, he walks me inside before getting me a coffee. "One more word. I'm not trying to piss you off, just saying."

  "Go ahead."

  "Every year some rook comes up from the States, he's lonely, a bit homesick, rattled by living in Canada, and he finds a local girl for a quick hookup. Then he turns around and goes back to the States when the season's done or he gets a call from the League, and ditches the girl up here. Most girls, they're fine with it, they know it's just for fun . . . but some ain't. And well, April doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl to have some “fun” and then be done."

  "What about you? You married a Canadian girl."

  "Yeah, I did, but it doesn't mean I didn't play the seasonal game for a year or two myself."

  DeAndre leaves, and I sit, considering what he said, until Coach Blanchard comes in in about a half hour. "Well, his nose is broke."

  "Sorry about that, didn't mean to break his nose."

  Coach takes a seat at his desk and crosses his arms. "Yeah well, you just made everyone's job a lot harder. In case you haven't noticed, Lance is the guy covering your ass, and I don't know how you did things at Western, but punching out your offensive linemen is not the usual way to foster that spirit that's going to have them protecting you."

  I nod, and lean forward. “You’re right, I lost my cool. But he did disrespect April. I know it doesn’t make it all right, but still…”

  “The guys filled me in on it. Which puts me in a bind. You see Tyler, on one hand I should suspend you, regardless of your contract. You may have been brought in to be our new franchise quarterback, but there are limits. On the other hand, you're right, Pollard shouldn't have said what he did, and here in Canada, we take that sort of thing seriously. Sexual harassment is not accepted on the Fighters, from anyone. So here's what I'm going to do. For violations of team rules, you're being fined five thousand dollars, to be taken out of your next game check. Now that may not sound like a lot, but that's a third of your game check for tomorrow."

  I nod, accepting. That's fair, and while I could use the money, it's not crippling. "Fine. And Pollard?"

  "He's getting a thousand dollar fine and he'll be out of tomorrow's game while that nose sets. Hopefully he'll be back to contact by the time we start the regular season. But Tyler, you pull another stunt like this, and you're going to see the bench for a while, if not just outright released. This is the pros, not college. Even if you might think we Canadians are bush league, we're still pros. Time to grow the fuck up — now get out of my office."

  I nod and leave, going down to the locker room and changing clothes. Most of the guys are gone already, and those that are still there don't look at me too much while I pull on my jeans and t-shirt. I'm dressed simply today, just a white t-shirt with a small Western logo on the right sleeve. Grabbing my backpack, I head out to the parking lot, where I find April leaning against the hood of my car, her arms crossed. I take one look at her face, and sigh, unlocking my car and putting my bag inside. "I take it you heard?"

  "Uh, yeah," April replies, a little sarcastically. "I actually saw it, in case you forget that I've been watching practices."

  "He deserved it," I say with a shrug, closing my door.

  April nods, then shakes her head. "You don't think I knew about that little bet among the players? Don't tell me that you didn't have similar stuff going on with your former teammates."

  It's my turn to blush, and I called out, "You're right. We called it Bingo."

  April comes closer. "I figured as much. You know, I keep telling myself to protect myself, but I can't help it, and now today. So I guess I need to be blunt. Am I a Canadian Cuddle bug for you? Some Nanookie of the North?"

  "No!" I hiss, trying not to slap the roof of my car. Canadian Cuddle bug? Christ, have I just been blind to this all this time? "I . . . shit."

  "Tell me the truth. I think I deserve that much," April says, her voice trembling with concern.

  I take a deep breath, then nod. “Yes, two weeks ago, before our date, yeah, I thought about it. But since our first day together, I can't get you out of my mind. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I promise you this . . . you're no one-night-stand. I don't know what it can be . . . but I want to find out. Together."

  April steps closer, and runs her fingers through my hair. She smiles softly, and stands up on her tiptoes, kissing me tenderly. "I want to find out too. You defended my honor, and you’re going to kick ass tomorrow. Now go get some sleep, and I'll still bring your laundry by tomorrow."

  "You don't have to do that," I chuckle, and April surprises me by shaking her head. "What?"

  "I do have to. First, you need something better for breakfast than cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Secondly, I never gave you the address for the laundry, and you can't get your stuff otherwise. Unless you want the team to see those pink underpants you've got."

  I laugh, thinking of the pair of stretch boxer briefs she's talking about, a joke gift from a coach who did a summer seminar with a university in Japan. "Hey, those look damn sexy on me! You behave, and I might let you see them."

  "Yes, sir. I can be a very well behaved girl," April purrs, then stops, surprised. "Did I just say that?"

  "You did, and it's great to see that side of you," I say, leaning down and kissing her again. "Remember, we've got a date on Sunday too."

  "See you tomorrow, Tyler."

  Chapter 10

  April

  My heart is racing in my chest as I get home, thinking about what Tyler told me just a half hour ago. I sensed so many things, but I couldn't be sure, never sure if what he was
saying was the truth or just a bunch of lies to get back in my pants.

  But in the parking lot, the look in his eyes, the honesty in his voice . . . besides, I knew what Lance Pollard told him. Thankfully, a couple of the guys were willing to share with me, and I found out the truth of what Lance said. Not that I'm surprised, Lance Pollard's always been a cocky asshole, and tried to hit on me soon after I joined the team. I didn't reject him too strongly then, but never said yes, so he dropped it when he found a girl who would say yes.

  So when Tyler says that he wants to see where this can go, I let my heart loose a little bit more, and drive to the laundry, grabbing his now clean clothes, which are folded and repacked carefully in a bag for him.

  I'm just getting off the elevator when my phone rings, and I see it's from Dad. "Hey Daddy!" I answer excitedly. It's been a few days, and he’s been struggling with being strong enough to answer the phone, the chemo's been hell on him. "How're you?"

  "Not good, honey," Dad says, his typical blunt self. Stoic, blunt . . . my Dad's the stereotypical First Nations man, but he's only a half himself. He's the one I get my hair and skin tone from, although Mom's French Canadian is part of it.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, opening my door and getting inside my place. I put my backpack on the counter that is both my dining room table and my kitchen preparation area, and sit down on the barstool chair. "You sound stronger."

  "They stopped the chemo today," Dad says as an explanation, and the double meanings hit me like a punch to the gut. The doctors have told me, there's only two reasons that they'd stop the chemo. Either my his cancer has once again gone into remission . . .

  "Daddy . . . no, no," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.

  "I'm sorry honey. The docs say there's no hope. The most they can do is keep me comfortable until . . . until it's my time."

  I sob, not wanting to but unable to stop it. He doesn't need to hear weakness right now, he needs to hear strength. He's always taught me that, and now he needs that more than ever. I try, and find myself failing, until Tyler's face comes to my mind's eye, and I pull myself together. "So what now?"