by M. J. Fields
She grabs the hem of his sweatshirt. “I have the ugliest hoodie in this place in my hands, and I’m about to tear it apart.”
He bites his lip, and smiles. “Red, I’m gonna have to say, I dare you.”
Christy starts pulling up his sweatshirt, but midway, she stops and looks up at him. “Be a damn gentleman and lift your arms. Can’t you see I’m struggling here?”
I look at Elle and Lisa, who are as amused as the rest of us.
When he lifts his arms, she continues to pull it up.
“You need a ladder? Want me to bend down? Wanna give up the fight and go out to dinner with me?”
“Excuse me?” she huffs, climbing over the bench.
She moves to yank the shirt up again when he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder, leans down and grabs his beer, laughing as he asks, “Mom, who the hell is this?”
Christy pops up and looks back. “Mom?”
Lucas laughs. “Sorry, Christy, but yeah, this is one of ours.”
“Well then, put me down.” She wiggles around.
“Not a chance.” He chuckles and starts walking.
“What are you doing?” Christy gasps.
“Going to get another beer, buy you a cheap-ass dinner, and pretend it’s a date. I like your spunk, Red.”
“Are you gonna let him do that?” Elle asks Tessa.
“She’ll be fine. But if you wanna fight that one, you do it on your own.” Laughing she steps over the bench and hugs the other guy.
“It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too, Mom.” He picks her up and swings her around before setting her down and kissing her cheek. “Now, let me take this damn thing off.”
When the Orangemen take the field, Christy and the guy who dragged her off walk back in, smiling and talking to one another.
“Give me a sec, Red.” He looks at Tessa. “Hey, Mom.”
She smiles and hugs him. “I’m so glad you’re home, CJ.”
“Glad to be home. Catch up after the game?”
He looks at Christy. “You’re hot.” He messes up her hair. “Red hot.”
“She’s also eighteen,” Lucas narcs her out as CJ starts to take a drink of his beer but stops.
He looks down at her hand, and only then do I notice she has a beer in it. He takes it from her, slams his back, and puts her cup inside his empty.
“You think you should have mentioned that?” he whispers.
“You think I had a chance to?” she whispers back.
“Fuck, Red.” CJ shakes his head as he laughs. “Fuck.” He steps over the bench to his seat and sits down.
Christy stands awkwardly for a moment before she looks back at us.
I slide over, and Elle pats the spot between us.
She starts to turn when CJ reaches back and grabs her hand. “Where you think you’re going, Red? I bought you a drink, least you could do is sit next to me.”
When she looks at us and shrugs, we wave for her to go, and she does.
I’m so happy she got some attention. She deserves it after Mitch.
I look up and see him staring up at us. His eyes land on mine. I hold up my big orange finger, and he winks before turning back around.
His ass, good Lord in heaven, his ass is thick, just like his thighs and his tongue …
I sigh.
The second half of the game is even more intense than the first half. I’d think they’d be tired after beating the hell out of their bodies for so long and slow down.
“I know, Flower, but it’s also not the time for you to bleed all over in the freezing cold or to doubt my endurance level.”
I really want to know why he calls me Flower, and I really want to know if endurance really means squat when he can completely unravel me in less than ten minutes.
A few minutes into the second half, Lucas is on his feet, pacing.
“Come on, offense; get your shit together.”
I know he’s worried about Logan. I’m worried about Mitch. It’s brutal out there. The defense has been on the field a lot more than the offense has.
When Pitt ties the score in the third quarter, Mitch storms off the field, yelling at some of his teammates. When Logan puts his hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off.
“Double coverage on him. Fucking double coverage,” Lucas huffs, I know he’s talking about Logan, but I’ve seen three on Mitch at times, too.
“Means they know he’s good,” Tessa’s other son, Matthew, says from over his shoulder.
“Also means they’re pounding the fuck out of him,” Lucas mutters.
“Have a seat, Links.” Tessa grabs his hand. “You need to relax.”
“Relax? I wanna play,” he huffs as he sits down, crosses his arms, and glares at the field. “He’s got to be fucking exhausted.”
“I’m sure he can keep up,” I try to calm him down.
“He’s a linebacker. My boy is six-foot-three and pushing two-twenty. He’s built to inflict pain, not run a fucking marathon.”
“He’s been running three mornings a week,” I tell him, trying to reassure him that his son is okay.
Lucas laughs. “He’s what?”
“He and Elle, five in the morning, three days a week. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Lucas looks over at Elle, and she nods in confirmation.
“He’s supposed to lift no more than three days a week. Cardio is to shed the bulk after the season ends.”
“Well, don’t tell his coach.” I laugh. “But I’d say it’s probably helping him out today.”
“I agree.” Tessa takes Lucas’s hand. “He’s good, Lucas.”
Two minutes left, Pitt has possession.
At the snap, Logan doesn’t move, and two men take off after him. Logan dodges their tackle and sprints toward the quarterback. He strips the ball from the QB’s hands and fumbles around, trying to keep possession. It almost looks like he’s juggling.
Mitch is a machine, knocking every attempt at Logan to the ground.
All of us are on our feet as he gains control.
Mitch sprints in front of him, blocking even more attempts to bring him down.
Lucas and I are screaming, “Go, go, go!” Him for Logan, and me for Mitch. Matthew and CJ are doing the same in front of us, so I jump on the bench to see over them.
When Logan gets to the end zone, he slows down, turns around, holds the ball up, and falls backward, scoring a touchdown.
“Fuck, yes! That’s my boy!”
And mine, too. I smile. Mine, too.
Mitch
As soon as Logan hits the ground, I dive on him. Then we both get crushed by the rest of the team.
Totally worth it, I laugh to myself.
When they all start to get up, I reach out, take his hand, and pull him up, still laughing.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Just closing the gap, man, just closing the gap. Couldn’t have done it without you, though.” Logan pats my back.
I look up at the sky and clutch my jersey above my chest. Then I look at the stands and see Jamie surrounded by her friends and Logan’s family.
“Bring it in, team!” Coach Brown booms.
I look at the clock. We have fifty-seven seconds left in the game, we’re up by one, and they have possession.
At the snap, I’m double covered, and so is Logan. I get nailed from my left by two I didn’t see, and I am down.
I hop up before they stop the game, and the whistle blows and look at the clock. Twenty-seconds left.
We all hurry to the line.
At the snap, I can’t hold back. 48 comes at me from the right, and 56 is straight ahead, doing the same. I shove him with everything I got as 56 comes in low, intending to take me out. I fake right, jump left, leaving them both behind. Pitts’ QB is in my sights.
Logan is ten steps ahead of me. We both pick up speed as the QB pulls his arm back to rifle the ball.
I see a guy coming at Logan and choose to take him so
Logan can get to the QB.
From the ground, I see him take the QB down. The ball is loose, and Logan could grab it, but he doesn’t.
“Get that fucker!” he screams.
I watch Jones grab the ball and run. Fucker’s fast, but green as fuck and cocky, too.
I jump up and turn, on Logan’s heels, pushing Pitts’ players down and allowing Logan, who’s definitely the faster of us two, to get ahead of Jones to do what we do best—defend.
The horn sounds when he’s at the ten, and we fucking win against our biggest rival, Pitt, by one fucking point.
I look up at Jamie and smile when I see her jumping up and down. I mouth, “My place, tonight.” She freezes, looking nervous as fuck. “Last chance, flower.”
After dinner with Logan’s family, we talk about the game. Lucas and his stepsons tell us all about the fan club’s shenanigans in the stands. Then we head back to south campus.
As soon as we roll up, we see the party has started without us. The game was a huge upset—we weren’t supposed to win, but we did.
“Wonder if Jamie’s here, man.” I laugh.
“You invited her?”
“Told her it was shit or get off the pot day.” I shrug and look at him. “Your not crush doesn’t know, man, so chill.”
“Wasn’t concerned,” he says as he puts the truck in park. “Let’s go.”
As soon as we walk in, we’re handed red Solo cups as we scan the room.
I shake my head. “She’s not here, man.”
“Your odds of getting laid just went up,” he jokes.
“Room’s full of your flavor,” I retort.
He rolls his eyes. “My type is everyone’s flavor,” he says. “Just look for the ones in short skirts, tight shirts, maybe a pair of heels, and not looking for a relationship.”
I nod. I know this shit, but he’s trying to look out for me. His type and my type aren’t the same. I prefer a sure thing, preregistered, if you will, for hot, dirty sex. In, out, done.
“You narrow it down yet?” I ask.
“Blue shirt, green shirt, and the two black shirts on the far right.”
“Did you see the red shirt? She’s hot.”
“Did you see her ring? She’s apt to be a stage-five clinger.”
“I’ll get more intel,” I walk away with no intention of doing so. I just want to see if Jamie is out back.
Twenty minutes of “great game,” high-fives, a few shots, some “hey, Munch” with batted eyelashes, and I’ve gathered all the intel I need, along with a buzz that takes the sting out of the no-show. Now, to grab a couple more beers and decide who’s going to be the lucky recipient of twenty licks, and multiples, because of the pent-up frustration I have built up from being dumbstruck by Flow—her.
When I finally get back to Logan, I hand him a full beer. “Which one will it be?”
He cocks an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. “I know, they need to come to you.”
“Then why do you keep asking the same damn question every time?” He laughs, gripping my shoulder.
I pat his back and remind him, “Bro, it’s been eight months.” I watch the realization that he was gone that long setting in, when my own realization hits. “Jesus, man, have you gotten fucked in the past eight months?”
He laughs. “I was in the city; what do you think?”
“Without a wingman?”
“A city full of women and power. Women who are too smart and too damn busy to want more than a release. Not hard to pick them out there.”
“When you say women, do you mean—”
“Definitely older.” He nods. “Fuck of a lot less needy in bed, too. Clear and precise objective: to get off. Worked out great.”
I laugh. “Take me to this city you speak of.”
“Next time, man, next time.” He takes a drink and looks around.
I nudge him. “Beer pong in the backyard?”
“Great place to start,” he agrees.
Two hours later, the music is up, the alcohol is flowing, and I’m no longer beating myself up about how deep I let the little freshie get under my skin.
“Who will it be?” I ask Logan.
“Fuck, I don’t know.” He scratches his head.
I laugh. He’s as fucked up as I am.
“Blue shirt keeps walking by, rubbed against me a few times.”
“But black shirt suggested strip beer pong,” I remind him.
“And had I agreed, she’d not only be shit-faced, but naked and shit-faced.”
“She is fucking loaded, but man, she seems like a hell of a lot of fun,” I chuckle.
“I’ll take blue. You seem vested in black.”
I hold my hand to my heart. “You sure, man?”
I don’t tell him that I’ve already nailed it down. She’s all about giving me treats and is just waiting for a wink as a confirmation. Her panties are already in my pocket.
“You need to get fucked just as badly as I do.”
“Don’t fucking remind me. I’d have licked that all night long.”
Arms around each other, we walk inside.
“Maybe your downfield game’s off, man,” he says, serious as shit.
“Oh, hell no. I can lick the hell out of a pussy. You don’t get to judge my game. You never fucking go down.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I will tonight?”
The crowd parts as we walk through, guys still looking for fist bumps and giving congratulations while the chicks cop a feel.
When I see blue shirt stand in front of Logan and me, I stop and look away, knowing his game—she speaks first—and knowing my game—I’ll talk way too much shit when I’m sauced.
She speaks first. “Heard you played a great game today.”
I look back as he nods. “Heard that a few times myself.”
She steps closer. “You as good in bed as you are on the field?”
He shrugs. “Heard talk I was better.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
He shakes his head. “No time for a relationship. It’s football season.”
She smiles.
“Done with school in a few months. Won’t be coming back.”
“No?” She shakes her head slowly from side to side.
“Joining the Peace Corps.” He deadpans, and I lose my shit.
She smiles a scandalous smile. “Is that so?”
“Probably not but sounded good.” I laugh harder.
Fucker is a dick to women, but he gets almost as much pussy as I do.
She looks at me and smiles. “You a package deal?”
He and I look at one another. Me? I think it’s a good idea.
“You think it would take two of us to satisfy you?”
“Bro.” I grab his elbow. “A minute, please.”
He shrugs me off, thinking I’m talking about sharing, but I’m not. She’s here … His not crush.
“Not even gonna entertain the idea,” he tells me without looking away from her.
“Never been into it myself.” She flattens her hand against his chest. “But I really want to fuck you, so I would have worked it out.”
“Bro,” I snarl.
“Not happening, man.” He steps back and looks her up and down, before they walk away.
Aw, fuck.
Jamie
Waiting in line to get into the party, I’m not even a little bit nervous. I like him. A lot. And when he looked up at the sky before each play, and even after, I knew he had a good heart to go along with his filthy mind.
The line is long, but the energy is fantastic. The music is popping, and so is my ass as I rub it against Elle, who took a little more convincing to come along than Lisa and Christy, who felt like a queen with how CJ treated her.
At the door, I see one of the football players, Tank, I believe. Hell, I memorized most of the first two strings today.
“Gotta leave them here, ladies. What happens at Casa Links stays at Casa Links.” He hands us a piece of tape. �
�Tag ’em.”
“How do I know no one’s gonna take it?” Elle asks, not budging to give over her phone.
He narrows his eyes. “Because I said so.”
“What happens when you’ve had too much to drink?” she asks, taking the piece of tape from him.
“Don’t stress it, shorty. I’m the sober guy tonight.” He winks.
She rolls her eyes at me and deposits her phone.
The place is bigger than I thought it would be. It’s supposed to be part of SU housing, but you could fit four of our quads in here.
“This place is huge,” Elle comments as she takes a beer from Downs, also defense, who is filling glasses from the keg.
“Bedrooms are shoeboxes,” he murmurs. “Links wanted bathrooms in them, and since he’s the man, that’s what we got.”
“Perk of being a SU footballer.” Schooler winks.
“Perk of alumni underbidding the competition, so his kid has a killer pad,” Downs corrects.
“Let’s grab a place to sit,” Elle suggests.
Sit? I think, but sure. Why not? Let her get her feet off the ground before she shakes her ass.
Sitting on one of the three overstuffed brown leather couches, half a beer left in my hand, I look around.
“Are we underdressed?” I whisper.
Elle laughs. “No.”
“But those girls …” I point at the blondes.
“Those girls look like they’re supposed to be at a club or on a stripper pole, not a house party after a college football game.” She rolls her eyes.
“Hey.”
We look up at the sound of a female voice and see a blonde smiling our way.
Elle gives her a tight-lipped smile and mimics her voice. “Hey.”
I nearly choke on my sip of beer.
“Are you the girl Logan Links has been spotted spending all his time with?” she asks.
“What?” Elle forces a laugh.
The girl holds out her phone. There’s a picture collage of her and Logan at Sound with the caption, “The Missing Links has been spotted.”
“First of all, you’re supposed to leave your phone at the door; and second, we’re friends,” she tells her.
The three girls behind the blonde sit down on a couch opposite us.
