by M. J. Fields
Lustful intentions, stupidly thinking I’m really the only one. I mean, he didn’t say there wasn’t someone at home. Someone with long, brown hair, who maybe wore his letterman jacket, someone who he looked surprised at seeing yet still caught her midair when she threw herself at him, enveloping her in his big, stupid arms and twirling her in a circle.
“There’re the boys.” Lucas laughs. “You played one hell of a game, Mitch.”
“Didn’t plan on playing that position, but hey, it worked out.”
“That is your position,” the girl I know is beside him says. “Always was. Glad you got to show them all where you belong.”
I can’t take it anymore. I hurry across the road. Okay, I play leapfrog, but I still make it.
“Hey!” I hear Mitch yell, and I look back and see her, the beautiful …
She looks at me, frowns, and looks up at him.
“What did you think?” he asks.
“Good game, player,” I yell back and hurry inside.
Once in my room, I dive into bed, under the covers, and cry.
Seconds later, I hear the door close, the whispers getting closer, my door opens, my bed dips, and three sets of arms surround me.
“We’re here,” Elle whispers.
“I’m fine.”
She sighs. “I know.”
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her.
Seven unread messages from Mitch have come and gone in the past seven hours. It’s now midnight, and I’m restless.
I need a walk, to clear my head, to allow the cold to chill me to the extreme tonight, knowing when I get back, the warmth of my bed to lull me to sleep.
Once off the elevator, I walk toward the door, and Norman, the night shift security guard raises his head from his phone and looks at me. I nod, like always. He nods back, and I walk out the door.
The cold air hits me in the face, and I bitterly welcome it. With no traffic, I easily cross the street and head toward the Dome. Standing in front of the big marshmallow, I attempt to exhale any thought of Mitchell Moore, cofounder of Jersey Chasers, and turn a sharp right to put it behind me.
I decide to take a different route, up the stairs and beneath the concrete archway that enters into Faulk, the college of sports and human dynamics, while laughing at myself for not being as intuitive as I once prided myself on being when it comes to understanding human dynamics, particularly when it comes to the people involved in sports.
Standing outside of Crouse College, where the musical theatre classes are held, I close my eyes, hold out my hand, and talk to God for the first time in weeks.
“Please remind my heart why I am truly here.”
“Miss? Are you lost?”
I open my eyes and see a man walking toward me.
I shake my head and pull out my phone, ready to call for help when he walks out of the shadows and into the light.
He looks familiar, so familiar in fact, yet I don’t know …
“Just leaving a meeting with Coach Brown.” He holds his hands up. “He’s the—”
“SU football coach, I know.” I step back.
“Busy schedules.” He smiles. “I have a game in Buffalo tomorrow, so it just makes sense.”
“Why are you telling me this? I’m not a cop.”
He laughs and smiles, his smile brightening the dark.
“You look shook, and I’m not about trying to scare anyone.” He holds his hand out. “My name’s José. I was a student here once.”
“I know who you are.” I smile as emotions brew inside of me as I shake the hand of a man who may be my father.
“Football fan?”
I nod.
“You see the game today?”
Again, I nod, afraid to say anything.
“What’s your name?”
I force myself to speak. “Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, could you do me a favor and let me walk you to wherever it is you’re going? Can’t leave here wondering if you’re going to be okay.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“But it is, I insist.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits a couple buttons. “Hey, man, just wanted to thank you for the meeting and let you know I met a friend. Her name’s Jamie. I’m gonna walk her back to …” He looks at me.
“Lawrinson,” I answer.
“Lawrinson,” he tells whoever he’s talking to. “I’ll be here for your next game.” He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll sit with Links, even though he hates my team.” He pauses. “Thanks, Coach Brown.”
He slides his phone in his pants pocket and shrugs off his long, wool coat. “Put this on; you look frozen.”
“I’m good.”
“I’m gonna have to insist.” He smiles as he drags the warm peacoat over my shoulders.
“Thanks.”
“So, what are you studying?”
“Musical theatre,” I answer, pulling the coat around me as the wind picks up.
“Great program.”
“What was your major?”
He laughs. “Sports Management, but I didn’t finish.”
“Looks like you did okay, though, huh?”
He grins. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe?”
“Maybe? You played pro ball and now coach the Giants.”
He nods. “Yeah, but I still wish I had that piece of paper, you know?”
I nod. “My mom wishes the same. She studied here for a short time. She left, though.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
I swallow hard and point to myself. “Well, I happened.”
“She didn’t get the piece of paper, but she got you. Bet she’s proud that you’re finishing up for her.”
I shrug.
“She into musical theatre, too?”
I shake my head. “Music education.”
We cross under the concrete arch.
“How about your dad? He alumni?”
I take in a deep breath, hoping the cold air contains courage. It doesn’t. But I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. “The man who raised me is a minister.”
“The man who raised you?”
“My biological father may be alumni, but she doesn’t talk about it.”
“Gotta be a reason, huh?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Are you looking to know?” he asks as we head down the stairs.
“Only if she doesn’t find out. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Well, Jamie, that’s one tough situation to be in.”
“Honestly, it’s not that bad. I have a good life, but there’s always that missing”—I hold up two fingers—“peace.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
Here’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment all questions are answered. If he’s my father, he will surely react when he hears her name. “Madelyn Davis.”
“Beautiful name.” He nods, showing not even a minuscule amount of recognition.
We walk down the tunnel silently, and I am awkwardly aware that he probably thinks I’m secretly wishing he was my father, because of his name or his money.
None of those things are true.
“I’m just across the street. I’m fine.” I start to shrug off the coat.
“Keep the coat. It’s cold here in Syracuse. Southern girls aren’t—”
He stops, and I look up at him.
“Sorry, I just made an assumption. Your accent.”
“Of course.” I smile. “And thank you for the coat.”
I hurry across the road; this time having looked both ways. I look over my shoulder. He’s watching me.
“I’m good,” I yell. “I hope you do well tomorrow.”
When he nods, I turn and jog toward Lawrinson.
When I walk into my quad, I’m surprised to see Elle is awake, all wrapped up in a thick, plush robe.
“Hey,” I say, shrugging off the coat. “You can’t sleep?”
She nods toward the chair in the corner, and I see Mitch. “Could have, b
ut he wouldn’t leave.” She stands up. “If you need me, yell. I have a club in my room, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Once she shuts the door, he stands up. “Got a new coat, huh?”
I look at the coat hanging over my arm.
He shakes his head. “The one I gave you isn’t good enough?”
“I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with you right now.”
He snatches the coat out of my hands and sniffs it.
I gasp. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps. “Smelling the fucking coat.”
I look up and rock on my heels. “You have major issues, but I’m not one of them any Moore.” I walk to my room and grab the box of disgusting shit that he sent. I open my closet and grab his stupid sweatshirts, the fucking coat, and toss them in it. “Take this and leave.”
I push the box toward him, and he has the nerve to look hurt.
“So, I was your in-between? What’s this fucking guy?” He tosses the coat at me.
“Well, Moore”—I roll my eyes—“he’s what I should have been focusing on to begin with, not some player who doesn’t want to discuss anything about his life because, oh, I don’t know, he has ass from home.”
“I have ass from home?” He laughs maniacally. “I have fucking ass from home?”
“Get out,” I sneer. “And take your shit.”
“The fuck I will.” He slams my door shut.
“Get. Out.”
“That ass from fucking home …” he almost yells, and my door gets flung open.
I look back and see Elle, in footie pajamas with unicorns on them, holding a small club.
“The fuck does he see in you?” He shakes his head.
“Don’t really care, but if you don’t do as my girl asked, you’ll be seeing stars.”
“He was right; freshie meat is fucking crazy.”
“Yeah, well, football players have taken one too many blows to the head, and unless you want another—”
“Elle …” he sighs. “You would fall over if you swung that thing once.”
He looks back at me, totally ignoring the crazy looks my little white friend in unicorn jammies is shooting him. “That ass from home happens to be my sister. But fuck you and have fun with Mr. Old Spice.”
I feel my eyes widen to the point of pain, and my jaw hits the ground.
“Yeah, same way I felt when she came here—total shock—but still, Jamie, fuck you.”
He turns around and looks at Elle. “You have got to be kidding me right now. Fucking unicorns? What are you? Twelve?”
“Oh, suck my horn!” she snaps.
He walks past her and out the door. When it slams, we both jump.
When we look at each other, I feel my lips quiver.
She shakes her head. “Don’t cry. God, please, don’t cry.” She drops her club and hurries over to me as I sit on the edge of my bed. “Okay, let’s just sleep on this and worry about it later, okay?” she whispers.
I sniff. “I just wanna go to sleep.”
She pulls back the covers. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Mitch
“You should give her a chance, Mitch,” Cara says as we stand outside Carla’s apartment door, five blocks from campus.
I shake my head. “Just don’t get why you care, Cara.”
“Because who else do we have?” she whispers. “A drunk old man who may be great with horses but can’t take care of himself or us, because he blows every penny on booze or gambles it away?”
“We have each other. Jesus, Cara, I’m doing everything I can, you know.”
She smiles and nods. “I eat, I’m warm, I have nice things”—she laughs—“finally. And the truck you bought me last summer starts every morning.”
“Did you get snow tires put on?”
She nods. “Yes, and thank you. I know what you’ve done, I know what you do, but I really want to know we came from something good, too. Even if it skipped a generation, I need to know.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I get it, but you can stay with me. You don’t have to stay—”
“I’m staying here. I want to get to know her, Mitch. I understand if you don’t, but I need this.”
I nod. “We’ll go out to lunch after practice?”
“Do I get to meet the girl?”
I roll my eyes. “She and I have an understanding.”
“You find her on your site?”
“Cara, I’m not using it.”
“So, you like her?”
I shrug. “I like her enough.”
“Not all women leave, Mitch.”
“Yeah, well, none have proven me wrong yet.”
“Him wrong.” She shakes her head. “You learned that from him. You’re not him.”
“I’ve tested the theory; you know it.”
“But she—”
“Don’t, Cara. And when you’re getting to know good old Carla, you tell her, she ever wants me to be civil, she doesn’t ever bring her up to me.”
“I’m here for a week. She wants to make Thanksgiving dinner for us while I’m here.”
“Thanksgiving is next week.”
“No kidding.” She laughs. “It’s a mock-Thanksgiving.”
“I’m not opposed to going out, but being here any longer than I have been, I couldn’t stomach it.”
I messaged Jamie half a dozen times, and she didn’t reply. I knew she was confused. Fuck, so was I. But her confusion was nothing compared to suffering her retaliation.
I should have gone to her place first. Instead, I came home to get my head on straight.
Probably a good thing to know she wasn’t any different than any other Jersey Chaser.
Fuck her.
I get out of the shower and grab my phone, hell-bent on being inside something to get the taste of her out of my mouth.
Sinfully sweet.
I should have known she was too good to be true. And like I told her …
Fuck her.
Fuck. Her.
Sitting at Lou’s bar, I have a blonde on one leg and a brunette on another.
“You killed it today, young man.” Lou slides me a drink. “That’s on the house.”
“Had a great game, and I’m guessing I’m gonna have one hell of a night.” I hold the glass up and drink it down.
“Hell yes, you are,” the blonde coos in my ear.
“You deserve it, Moore”—the brunette runs her hand up my thigh—“than any player on the team.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about—”
She grabs my junk.
“Fuck yes, I do.”
“Too bad we only have one night.” The other shoves her tongue in my ear. Kind of gross but … fuck it. I need to get over this shit.
“Let’s get an Uber and get out of here.”
“Your place?” the brunette stroking my cock over my track pants asks.
“Let’s take it elsewhere.” I gently push them off my lap.
“You can come back to our place.”
“You two live together?” I stand and throw a twenty on the bar.
The blonde winks. “We do everything together.”
“Perfect.” I laugh. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
As we’re walking toward the door, I hear my name and turn around
Keeka points to her still growing belly and mouths, “Wrap it.”
I must look shocked because she laughs and turns away.
Inside the girls’ apartment, I can’t help thinking about Keeka’s belly, about Jamie’s new fucking coat, about Carla and Cara and …
Well, shit.
I look down and see two pretty fucking hot chicks on their knees, one unzipping me, the other handing me the bottle of Jack that we stopped and got from the liquor store downstairs, right below their apartment. She licks her lips, and I take a drink.
Two seconds later, my pants are around my ankles, and both their tongues are on my cock.
> My phone buzzes and one of them lifts it up. “Mmm …” She licks me. “It says 42.”
“Yeah, well, don’t fucking answer it and don’t stop,” I say before taking another drink.
“Let’s fucking roll,” I hear Logan say, as I feel myself being lifted off something soft.
“Dude, don’t fucking do that,” I groan as he pulls me up.
“The fuck are you doing?” he whisper-hisses at me.
“Two is better than one,” I grumble.
“Yeah, killer, so I hear. Now move your feet.”
Outside, the cold air hits me, and I groan, “Fucking cold, man.”
“Fucking drunk, asshole. Move the feet.”
Twenty seconds later, I’m in my car. “The fuck?”
He slides in the driver’s seat. “You think I’m gonna let you hurl in Betty; you’ve got another thing coming.” He starts the car and hits the gas.
“Think I’m gonna puke,” I groan.
“Put your head out the window, then.”
I slide into the chair in the back of the room and sigh to myself as I get comfortable. My first detention.
When she walks in, she looks at me in disgust.
I flip her the bird, and she gives me two, as she mouths, “Fucking idiot.”
Did I expect her to maybe be grateful that I went into the principal’s office and told him it was my fault? And, when he told me to keep it under my hat, I told him he could either do the right thing, or I wouldn’t be playing. Hell yes, I did. I’m the only reason she wasn’t going to juvie, but, apparently, I’m the reason she may have.
I told him the whole story, and we compromised. He had to do something to reprimand a “girl like Lilyanne,” and I told him that it was more my fault, so he had to do it to me, too.
The truth did, in fact, set her free. Well, kept her free anyway.
An hour and thirty minutes later, I walk out, and she shoves me.
“Why did you do that?”
I walk faster and don’t answer her question.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.”
I push the door open and walk outside.
She follows me all the way to the truck, the whole time sputtering under her breath about what an idiot I am.
I get in and slam the door. When I turn on the truck, she has the balls to get in the passenger side, still bitching at me.
