Chapter 36 Beck
BECK
The team bus is shockingly quiet for a Friday morning, most of the guys sleeping or half-watching something on their phones. Logan’s slumped against the window next to me, hood pulled low, completely out.
My screen lights up.
Sophie: So remind me again why cheer doesn’t travel to away games?
because if you were here, I’d spend the entire game staring at you instead of the scoreboard.
Sophie: Smooth, Harrison.
I try.
Her reply bubble appears, disappears, then comes back again.
Sophie: You looked good at practice Tuesday… And I’m not talking about the actual football part.
My pulse jumps a little.
yeah?
Sophie: Mhm. All focused and sweaty. It’s a good look on you.
I shift in my seat, the corner of my mouth tugging up.
pretty sure the way you were looking at me wasn’t exactly innocent either.
Sophie: I don’t know what you mean.
uh-huh.
Another text comes through almost immediately after.
Sophie: Anyway… figured you deserved a sneak peek for tomorrow night.
A photo follows—her standing in front of the dorm mirror wearing my practice jersey, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Her hair’s a little mussed, like she threw it on just for the picture, and she’s giving the camera that playful half-smile that’s starting to undo me.
My stomach does a low, tight flip. My grip on the phone tightens before I even realize it.
…
Sophie: Cat got your tongue?
you’re gonna kill me, Prescott.
Sophie: Just keeping you on your toes.
I lean back in my seat, trying to keep my face neutral, but my heart’s thudding way too hard for a bus ride.
I don’t even realize Logan’s awake until I hear him mutter, “Damn, dude. That’s hot.”
He’s blinking blearily, squinting at my phone.
I smack him on the back of the head. “Eyes on your own screen, asshole.”
He groans and pulls his hood back down. “Whatever, Romeo.”
I shift again, trying to get comfortable, but the warmth under my skin isn’t going anywhere, and neither is the bulge forming in my pants. Talk about a bad time for that.
you’re trouble.
Sophie: You like trouble.
She’s not wrong. I bite back a grin, the bus suddenly feeling way too warm.
Sophie: Still thinking about that picture?
I smirk. That jersey, her bare legs, that grin? I swear it’s tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.
you’re lucky I’m not there right now.
Sophie: Why’s that?
because there’s no way I’d be keeping my hands to myself.
I stare at the screen, heart thudding hard enough I can feel it in my throat.
Sophie: And here I thought you had incredible self-control.
She’s teasing me. She knows what she’s doing.
not when it comes to you.
I shift in my seat, trying to discreetly adjust the tension that’s been building in my body since her first text. My focus is shot to hell.
I’m supposed to be reviewing plays right now. instead I’m thinking about how that jersey barely covers you.
Sophie: It really doesn’t. It would come off pretty easily, though.
Jesus.
I roll my lips together, resisting the urge to groan. Logan shifts beside me in his sleep, completely unaware of the chaos happening inches away.
my mind is officially in places it should not be while I’m stuck on a bus with thirty other guys.
Sophie: Good. That was the goal.
I exhale, drag a hand down my face, and glance around to make sure no one else is reading over my shoulder.
you’re gonna kill me.
Sophie: Not before I drive you crazy first.
too late.
The image of her in my jersey is seared into my brain, and now her voice is there too—soft, teasing, right in my ear.
we’re finishing this later. after the game. when I can actually do something about it.
Sophie: Looking forward to it. Good luck tonight.
I’ll text you as soon as we make it back to the hotel. we aren’t heading back until tomorrow morning.
I lock my phone, lean my head back, and close my eyes. But the only thing I see is her—and the only thing I want is to make good on that promise.
Stadium lights cut across the field in clean, white beams, and the crowd is loud enough to make my ribs vibrate under my pads.
I roll my shoulders and drop into my stance behind the line, breath steadying. I’ve been buzzing since the bus ride—not from nerves, but from Sophie. Her picture. Her texts. The way she’d pushed me right to the edge, then told me to focus on the game.
I’m trying. But she’s there in the back of my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
“Trips left!” I call out, voice carrying down the line. “Watch the counter!”
The QB snaps the ball.
Their running back cuts inside, but I read it clean. I shoot the gap between the guard and center and meet him head-on. Pads collide with a crack. I wrap him low and drive him back for a two-yard loss.
The sideline erupts. Second and long.
I grunt as I push up off the turf, but there’s a grin under my face mask.
They start testing the flats with quick outs and screens, trying to get us off balance. Their slot receiver breaks loose on a crossing route, but I close the gap and light him up just as the ball hits his chest. He hits the turf hard, and the ball pops loose.
Our safety scoops it up, and just like that, possession flips.
Logan jogs onto the field with the offense, jaw set. He’s gotten sharper this season—stepping into the main wide receiver role and filling a role left by a super star player like Jaxon Montgomery might’ve been difficult, but he’s taking it in stride.
I stand on the sideline, helmet off, chest still heaving as I watch him drop back and rifle a pass over the middle for a twenty-yard gain. Next play, our quarterback hits Logan on a wheel route. We punch it in three snaps later.
17–10. Momentum’s ours.
They’re down by three. It’s fourth and goal on our three-yard line. Clock’s ticking down. No timeouts left.
We huddle up tight.
“Watch the misdirection,” I tell the guys, voice low and sharp. “They’ve been leaning on that tight end all game. He chips and slides—he’s their bailout.”
We break.
The QB barks the cadence. The running back motions across the formation.
Snap.
The QB fakes the handoff, rolls right. I track him the whole way—reading the hip, not the eyes. He’s keeping it.
I explode through the gap, angle down the line, and hit him at the waist just before he crosses the plane. We crash into the turf, helmets clanging. The ball pops loose, and one of our d-linemen dives on it in the end zone.
The final whistle blows, and we’ve won the game on their turf.
The stadium deflates around us.
The bus ride to the hotel is extra loud and rowdy, music blasting from the back, guys reliving every big hit and touchdown. My body’s sore in all the usual places, adrenaline still fizzing under my skin, but my mind’s already elsewhere.
Specifically on Sophie.
We get our room assignments in the lobby. Of course, I end up with Logan. He tosses his bag on one of the beds, immediately flopping onto it like he’s been through a war.
“Dibs on this one,” he mutters.
“Knock yourself out,” I say, already fishing my phone out of my duffel.
My phone lights up the second I go to unlock it.
Sophie: So… did my good luck text work?
we won. defense came up huge on the last drive.
Sophie: I knew you would. You’re kind of a big deal, linebacker.
oh, so you do notice what I do on the field.
Sophie: I notice a lot of things.
My heart kicks up. I sit back against the headboard, still damp from the post-game shower at the stadium, but I can already feel heat rising again.
yeah? like what?
Sophie: The way you move when you read a play. The way you hit. The way that jersey fits you.
careful, Prescott. I’m still on the team floor.
Sophie: You started it, Harrison.
I drag a hand over my face, grinning. She’s got me there.
you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.
Sophie: Oh, I think I do.
I can’t exactly act on it with Logan five feet away.
Sophie: Then I guess you’ll just have to imagine…
Yeah. That’s exactly my problem.
I stand, phone still in my hand. “I’m gonna shower,” I say.
Logan cracks one eye open. “Didn’t you just shower at the stadium?”
I ignore him, heading for the bathroom.
Behind me, he calls, “Dude, if you’re about to have sex with Sophie on FaceTime, at least play some music—”
The door shuts on his laugh.
The tile’s cool under my feet, and I sit on the side of the bathtub before texting her back.
are you still wearing my jersey? you know, so I can imagine properly.
She replies almost instantly, but this time it’s a picture.
That would be a yes to still wearing my jersey, but she’s sitting in front of the mirror next to her closet on her knees, pulling the hem of my jersey down just enough to cover the space between her thighs. Her eyes are looking right at her phone while her lower lip is captured by her teeth.
Holy shit.
My dick is instantly hard, and I am already second-guessing how great of an idea this was. At this point, I feel like I know Sophie well, but I can’t lie. I’m really interested in getting to know this side of her too.
I think you make that jersey look better than I do. damn.
Sophie: Oh yeah?
I contemplate my reply for a minute, not wanting to push too much and make her uncomfortable, but I think she’s enjoying this just as much as I am.
yes. but I have to say… I think it would look better on the floor.
Sophie: Too bad you’re not here to put it there.
Fucking hell. I wish I could do that.
maybe I’ll get a chance to tomorrow night since you’re wearing it again.
Sophie: Maybe… What would you do if you were here now, though?
I know exactly what I’d do if I were there, so I don’t even try to lie.
My imagination is running wild with the thought of her warm skin against mine, the sounds she’d make when I touched her for the first time.
The way her body would respond to mine, how wet she’d be for me as I took her to the edge before letting her come.
But it would always come down to what kind of mood she was in. What she needed from me.
it would depend on you and what you wanted. what your body needed. if you wanted it slow and steady, or if you wanted it rough and fast.
Sophie: What if I just wanted you to touch me?
I groan, shifting to try to relieve some of the throbbing in my dick and readjusting my sweats. This was such a bad idea. I just kissed the girl for the first time last week, and now I can’t get the thoughts of her being naked in my bed out of my head.
Fuck it. She started it.
then I would.
I’d get you out of my jersey and show you just how much I enjoyed seeing it on you.
I’d learn what you like, what turns you on the most and gets you right to the edge.
I’d touch you everywhere. I’d find out how soft you are.
“Goddamn.” I mutter, running my hand through my hair and pulling on it slightly, trying to calm myself down, but all it does is make me picture her doing it instead. I can’t deal anymore.
I stand up, shoving my sweats and boxers down, freeing my swollen cock. It’s completely hard, my tip already dripping from how worked up this conversation has me.
Sophie: I don’t know if this is weird or not, but I don’t really care. I’m so turned on right now and really wish you were here to help with that.
no, it’s not weird. you’re not the only one.
Sophie: Are you?
my dick is literally as hard as a rock.
Sophie: So… does that mean you’re going to help yourself out?
I am literally about to get off to words on a screen. There’s no way I’m lasting thirty seconds when she actually touches me.
do you want me to?
Sophie: Yes. I am.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Soph.” I don’t hesitate after that, any sort of guilt I thought I needed to have evaporates completely.
I wrap my hand around my cock, stroking myself, using the precum at the tip to help my hand glide down my shaft.
Every stroke gets me harder, to the point I feel like I can barely breathe.
are you wet for me?
Sophie: So wet.
show me?
I don’t fully think she will, but why not. I’m so turned on I have no hope of having a single coherent thought, my abs straining as I stroke myself while holding my phone with the other.
Less than a minute goes by before I get another image from Sophie.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She didn’t send me a nude. No, what she just sent me is even hotter. It’s a picture of her fingers, absolutely coated in her.
That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.
I come long and hard for the first time in over a year, my body twitching as my releases splatters onto the wall of the shower.
Sophie: Was that too much? I’m sorry if it was.
The last thing I would ever want is for her to feel weird or awkward about sharing this with me, so I hit call on her contact.
“Hi,” she answers, her voice more quiet than normal, sounding a little breathless and a lot shy.
“Hi,” my voice coming out way rougher than I anticipated. “It wasn’t too much. I was just…busy.”
Silence follows the end of my words, as if it’s taking her a moment to grasp what I just said.
“Oh…oh!” She laughs, which loosens my worries. “That makes a lot more sense. I’ve never done anything like this before, so I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me. “Trust me, Soph. That was easily the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Well, I’m glad. It was hot for me too.” She yawns before continuing, “And apparently really tiring.”
We talk for a few minutes after I use the towel to clean myself up and wash off the wall of the shower. I peek out into the room and see Logan completely passed out and snoring, so I go over to my bed with Sophie still on the phone.
“Hey, Beck?” she says, her voice getting sleepier by the minute.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re not playing fake anymore.”
I grin into the phone. “Me too, Soph. Me too.”