by Teagan Kade
Peyton starts laughing himself. He doesn’t stop until we’ve popped out the other side of the park in front of the economics building, otherwise known as ‘Azkaban’ to the poor souls who find themselves trapped inside.
Peyton whips us around a corner, the two of us hugging a wall breathing hard.
I let Peyton peek around the corner first.
“Are they gone?” I whisper.
“Looks like it,” he replies, turning back to me. “So, was that risky enough for you?”
I’m still straightening my skirt, can still feel that beautiful numbness where he was fucking me. “What next? We going to do it on Dean’s desk? Cunnilingus in the cafeteria?”
Peyton just smiles. “Now you’re talking.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PEYTON
Erin and I see each other a few more times over the coming week. I find myself making any excuse to be with her. Everything takes a backseat to her — practice, football, actual lectures. I still show up to practice, yes, but keeping my head in the game is difficult when it’s stuck in strawberry fields with her, considering the many ways I’ll pleasure her come sundown.
It adds a sheen, a gloss, to the entire world. To say colors are brighter would be a cliché, but it is like someone has flicked the dial to Technicolor. I find myself admiring a good sunset, paying attention to the people who wave at me in passing. Even Tony looked confused when I didn’t start off practice with a quick jibe in his direction.
It's game night again. We’re up against Oklahoma. They’ve had five coaches and eighteen players in the College Football Hall of Fame, seven national championships… I’m relishing the chance to put them in their place, send them packing back to cowboy country.
This time’s Erin is in the crowd. She looks rather conspicuous in Crestfall colors. I wave from the field and she waves back, smiling. I consider ditching the game altogether and sneaking her under the bleachers for some of that high school playtime she missed out on, but Coach made it quite clear how important tonight’s game is. If we want any kind of traction going forward, we need this win.
We break huddle and make our way onto the field. I can see insects swarming in front of the field lights, the air heavy with humidity. I insert my mouthguard and settle onto my haunches, one eye on Erin, seated now with the rest of the crowd.
I focus on Oklahoma.
My time to shine, boys.
But it seems my shine’s looking a little lackluster tonight. The first play is a complete fuckup thanks to a miscalculation on my part. Oklahoma’s playing their old 5-2 defense, maximizing their size along the line of scrimmage. Usually we’d be all over that shit, but my fumble forces errors down the line.
It's not a good start.
Things improve in the first quarter, but I’m dreading heading to the sidelines.
As expected, Coach isn’t waiting there with a welcome platter. He’s got his hands on his hips, no doubt steaming away on the inside.
I’m staring up at Erin when he singles me out from the team. “You even fucking listening, King? You birdwatching or playing football here tonight? Tell me, ’cause it sure as hell doesn’t seem to me like you know anymore.”
I bring my attention back to him. “Sorry, Coach.”
He shakes his head, pushing the mic in front of his mouth away. “Look, these Oklahoma boys know how to put down solid defense. You guys have to bring it tonight. Shock and awe, understand?”
“Yes, Coach,” comes the communal reply.
He points at me. “And you… No more fuck-ups, hear? We want to show these boys who’s boss, not our backsides begging for an ass-kickin’.”
It’s an interesting visual, but I try not to smirk, not to bring my eyes back up to Erin.
We claw back the lost ground in the second quarter, but again, I’m struggling with ball control, can’t seem to get my body to cooperate tonight, that all-important connection between head and body somewhat severed.
“Peyton!”
Tony catches me looking at Erin again. “Forget the unicorn, man. Get into the fucking game!”
I nod and tuck, but the play goes sideways again. Nothing I do seems to stick tonight.
We make it into the last quarter trailing, but I manage, more luck than skill, to plant a touchdown in the final five to level the score. We head into overtime, but neither team scores in the two ten-minute halves.
Nothing dampens the mood on field more than a draw, the crowd evaporating fast, Erin waiting, smiling, while I pass into the tunnel below. I don’t think she understands exactly what happened out there tonight.
Coach is waiting in the locker room. There’s a general sense of defeat even though we drew. Like he said, we needed this win.
We don’t have it.
I take off my helmet, my hair plastered to my head, perspiration stinging my eyes, and sit.
I expect Coach to go nuclear, but he remains remarkably restrained. He places one foot onto the bench. “I think we can all agree that could have gone a lot better, so I’m going to keep this short: Next time, we kill out there. That’s it.”
He claps his hands together and everyone starts to shift away to the lockers or showers, shoulders slumped.
Coach points to me across the room. “King. My office.”
Tony’s eyebrows jump as I pass. I flip him off. At least that comes easy.
Coach remains standing in his office. I close the door, but he doesn’t tell me to sit, which means he’s not intending this to take long.
“You want to try to explain why my star player was hunting around the field looking for his balls tonight?” I mean, what the fuck, son? You couldn’t see that shit coming? We drilled for this, over and over and over again. I’m sick of it.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t have much else to offer.
Coach looks to the roof, levelling his head again. “I can do without the apologies. Tell me what happened. Give me answers.”
I learned long ago honesty is the best policy where Coach is concerned. “I wasn’t paying attention,” I confess.
“You’re damn right you weren’t, and I’d hazard a guess it has something to do with the pretty girl in the front row.”
Was I that fucking obvious? “Maybe,” I reply, not wanting to single Erin out. She won’t be let into another game if Coach knows who she is.
I expect another scalding, prepare myself for it, but Coach seats himself on the edge of his desk and sighs. “You think this is the first time I’ve had someone lose the plot over a bit of pussy? It ain’t, but can I make a suggestion?”
I realize it’s a rhetorical question.
“Next time,” he says, “tell her to stay home. At least then you won’t be playing eyeball ping-pong all night, yeah?”
“Yes, Coach.”
I’m saying ‘yes,’ but it’s not what I want, so I promise to play better, tell Coach I’ll pick things up next game.
That seems enough. He dismisses me with a wave of his hand, returning to his prized playbook. Poor thing looks it was dug up out of Death Valley, leather-bound and falling apart. I don’t know what magic he’s expecting to find in there for the next game, because the issue tonight wasn’t with the plays. It was me.
It's a hard pill to swallow.
Showered, fresh, I meet Erin at the side of the stands. She’s smiling, pleased to see me.
I kiss her, don’t care who can see the PDA now. Let them see. Fuck it. I’m proud to be seen with her.
She locks her arms around my neck, smells and feels so damn good in my arms. “A tie isn’t so bad, is it?”
“Well, it’s not ideal.” It’s an understatement, but I want to keep things light. “There’s still a party tonight if you’re interested.”
I expect her to turn it down, but she perks up almost immediately. “Sure. Where?”
“Nu Tau Beta, otherwise known as the Nut Boys.”
“Why?”
I decide to go easy on the details. “Guess you’ve never pla
yed soggy biscuit.”
*
The party’s fine, though a bit muted thanks to the draw. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, arms around two bottle blondes, heading upstairs when we arrive.
I move around with Erin by my side, doing my best to introduce her to the boys. A DJ plays casual Caribbean chill, something of a tropical theme to the whole deal given the trays of mai tais doing the rounds. The Nut Boys might be the lowest level of Greek, but they still know how to put on a party.
I hand a mai tai to Erin. She takes out the tiny umbrella, twirling it in her fingers, leaning against the wall. She looks super cute in Thunder colors. “I wasn’t a distraction tonight, was I?”
The truth might have worked with Coach, but it won’t work here.
I kiss her on the forehead. “Of course not. I just wasn’t feeling it.”
Her hand presses against my chest, falls slowly towards my belt buckle. “Perhaps you need a pep -up?”
I reach around and grab her ass, pulling her tighter against me. “Perhaps I do.”
Teammates try to get me on the beer bong, to jump from the second-floor balcony — the usual Nut Boys shit, but I pass, can’t get excited about that childish nonsense in front of Erin anymore. In fact, I’m a pretty good boy overall, the perfect party guest. We leave by 1am, which is basically when the party starts, Tony finally emerging from upstairs shirtless, bemoaning our early departure.
I flip him off again as we’re heading out. “See you at practice, asshole.”
“Likewise, fucker,” he shouts back, whooping aloud.
Mindy’s out when we get back to Erin’s place.
The door closes and I slam her against it, enough to force a short pulse of air from her lips.
We don’t even bother switching the lights on.
She goes to say something, but I cover her lips before she has a chance to speak.
A second later and the world starts to spin a little faster.
Our mouths press together hard, the kiss fast and fierce.
She tugs me closer with her hands around my neck, pulling me tighter, pressing herself against me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt such an urgent fucking need to take a woman. I’m overcome with an acute desperation only her slick little pussy is going to satisfy.
I tilt my head, allowing the contact to go deeper, her lips branding mine with their heat.
There is only one way out of this.
I’ve got to claim her, make her mine.
Nothing else will do.
I drag the hem of her dress up around her thighs. Her skin is fiery against my fingers.
She pulls her legs up against my wrist, my weight dipping down to lift her and the steely outline of my cock rocking against her crotch.
I growl against a low moan that saunters from her throat, dry-humping her against the door.
I hold her ass tight with both hands, grinding against her forcefully while our lips remain fused.
Her hands slide up my back and she clutches my shoulders.
My fingers press deeper into the soft flesh of her ass.
My mind is a tempest. The heat in this room… the sexual tension…
It’s consuming us.
We’re panting together, our mouths fighting for space.
Her hips start to thrust back against me, her legs tightening around my hips.
I’m not even inside her and already I can feel the way her body is coiling and pulling inwards ready to detonate, the heat at her crotch.
I meet her thrusts, pushing back harder.
We’re like two teenagers trying to get this over before Mom and Dad get home. I know I should stop before she comes, fuck her properly, but I can’t help it.
She moans in my mouth, my name trying to break free of her lips.
Her nails claw at my back and she shudders, arching against me, body heaving as she comes.
I take a moment to look at her face, her closed eyes, the way the pleasure rushes across her flushed skin, the senseless sounds she makes lost in orgasm.
The sight is too much.
I rut against her once more and can’t hold back any longer, creaming my pants without even taking them off. I grunt against her neck, the two of us caught there in time, my cock continuing to twitch with release against her crotch.
A final tremor of pleasure kicks me forward, sears through me in ways I couldn’t have imagined until now.
We sag together to the floor, leaning against one another.
She nods to my jeans. “Did you…?”
“I did,” I laugh.
She takes my face and kisses me. “Is that a first I can claim, making the great Peyton King come in his pants?”
“Claim whatever you want,” I tell her, kissing her back just as hard. “I’m yours.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ERIN
“Vegan sausages or vegan patties? Both are going to taste like wet plaster, I guess.”
I’m not really paying attention to Mindy, who is both filling and pushing the cart around the grocery store. We always shop together, but today I’m elsewhere — wonderfully elsewhere.
She sees me smiling. “Oh, shit. I know that look.”
I straighten up, trying to act nonchalant. “What look?” Even my tone is guilt-heavy.
Mindy puts a hand on her hip. “You know, the look that says ‘My, what a dreamy cock he has.’
A woman in passing scowls at us. It’s turning into quite the thing. I’m going to get a reputation soon keeping this kind of company.
“Sorry,” whispers Mindy to her, stretching her mouth out in an ‘eek!’ expression to me. She leaves the leaves the cart in the aisle and approaches me. “But seriously,” she sniffs, “you’re even starting to smell like sex.”
“That’s Rexona,” I say, but Mindy ignores me.
“I wanted you to dip your toe in the water, not surf Pipeline until your board breaks in half.”
I squint. “Strange analogy, but—”
She won’t let me get a word in. “Or is it even more,” her tenor becoming curious. She raises a finger. “It is more.” She points behind herself. “There’s a bridal shop down the road, you know. Sure we could find something for your skinny ass.”
I put up both hands. “Whoa on the wedding bells. It’s not like that.”
“But it’s heading that way, isn’t it?”
The thought of marrying Peyton, while not completely distasteful, does seem like a stretch.
He would look great in a suit, though, slowly taking off that wedding garter with his teeth, going down, down, down…
Mindy snaps her fingers and I come to. “What the fuck? There you go again.”
I walk to the cart and push it on. “Can we stop talking about my love life. How’s yours, huh?”
She bobs her head from side to side. “Can’t complain. That guy from the other night, the one who sounded like a sad calf when he came? Yeah, he didn’t work out.”
“Shocker,” I reply.
My cell goes off in my pocket. I reach down and see it’s Lewis. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Lover boy?”
‘No,’ I mouth, heading back up the aisle so Mindy’s not hanging on my every word.
“Lewis,” I answer. “It’s Saturday.”
“You should know the news never sleeps.” It’s one of his favorite lines. He trots it out any chance he gets.
“The news might not, but some of us humans do. You should try it.”
Mild laughter. “Look, I need you to wrap up your story.”
“I thought I had another week.”
“Amanda’s had to push hers back. She’s found a new lead and needs time to process everything, get it all ship shape.”
God damn Amanda screwing with the status quo.
“Is it ready?”
“Sorry?”
“Your story. Is your article ready for print?”
It’s not. It’s nowhere near it, but I don’t want to seem like I’ve
got nothing, either. “It’s… getting there. Almost done.”
“Well,” says Lewis, paper shuffling in the background I hope is actual paper and not his gimp waking up, “do whatever you need to hammer it out. We need that spot filled, and fast. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“I can count on you?”
“I’ll have it ready. Just a little more time.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I reply, waiting for Lewis to hang up first.
I lean up against a shelf of canned tomatoes and tell myself to breathe. I really didn’t need this. I have a story, yes, but it’s weak. There’s nothing really juicy to turn it from tabloid into a proper piece of journalism. I need that special something… and fast, given the way Lewis was blabbering on.
I’m thinking what to do when my cell starts to ring again.
Not again, I think, looking down to see it’s actually Peyton calling.
I answer. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, and immediately I know something is up. There’s none of the usual verve in his voice, no spark.
“Everything okay?”
“Can you come over?” Which only makes it sound worse.
I wave to Mindy, who’s signaling me to hurry up. “Yeah. Give me half an hour? What’s up?”
“It’s nothing. I’d just like to see you.” But it is something alright. He sounds upset, skittish. It’s not right.
“Okay. See you soon.”
No reply.
I hang up staring at the screen.
Things are getting weird.
“Do you want the mustard with the red flag thingy or the blue flag thingy!” shouts Mindy from the next aisle, and I know at least some things are perfectly normal.
*
The brothers are all out when I arrive at the house. Peyton leads me into the kitchen, where his laptop is set up on the counter.
“What’s… going… on?” I ask carefully.
He stands near the counter, gesturing to the laptop. Read for yourself.
A cold shiver runs through me. I’ve been exposed. He has a copy of the story, the draft, but I realize that’s impossible, isn’t it?
I creep forward slowly and see it’s actually an email.
“Read it,” he says.
I bring my face to the screen and read. It becomes apparent fast this is nothing to do with my story.
