Chapter 25
Zamir
Since the fun we had with Ellie a couple of weeks ago, I’ve had to physically stop myself multiple times from going over to Nash’s door. I don’t want to scare him off, but I also don’t want him to be in his head after what we did. I know the implications with it being the first time he had fooled around with a guy.
I didn’t think I had a “this is my first time doing this” kink, but I might after seeing Nash learn how to suck cock from the master herself.
Ellie.
Shpirt Im.
I knew she didn’t want anything serious, but did I see us doing what we did? Not in my wildest dreams. And fuck, are those dreams wild sometimes.
Today is the season opener against the Devils. We’ve really come together the past two weeks as a team with all the practices. Coach has been running our asses ragged. I’m getting ready to head to a run-through practice we usually have before our home games. They’re really just to keep us loose and walk through the plays we’ve been struggling with. Nash has seemed all business, which I can appreciate, but I also don’t want him to feel like I used him. Or is it you that’s feeling used, bastard?
I stopped by Barone’s last week to drop off the tickets to Bill for him and Ellie to come to the game tonight. I’m really hoping she shows up. I’ve also been forcing myself to not take my happy ass over to Shenanigans to make sure she’s okay. I feel like if I do, she’ll continue to think I’m her goddamn stalker.
I have reached out to our hacker back home, Arben, to look into Ellie and her family to try to figure out who it could be. He came up with nothing. They’re just your normal suburban family. Well, as suburban you can be growing up right outside the Vegas Strip with a father who works for the most unhinged mafia boss known to man.
This research brought up the old memories that I try so hard to keep buried. It’s been scratching that itch I’ve been so desperate to reach. The research I used to conduct when I had a target that needed to be taken care of was all too familiar when looking into Ellie’s basic info. I try to be careful not to get too close to that cliff because one step up, I’ll jump head first willingly. The closest thing I get to that old life of mine is riding my bikes or driving my cars reckless as fuck… but I know deep down that even that won’t keep me sated too much longer.
1I head out my door in full gear—riding gear, that is. Thankfully, everything I need for the game can fit in my backpack. I turn to lock up, ensuring I hear the lock side into place. I replaced my unit’s lock with a finger biometric to make it a lot safer. I’m sure it goes against the rental policy, but I’ll just throw some money at whoever needs it when I move out. Money fixes most things.
Walking into the underground garage, I sling my leg over my Yamaha R1. I keep this one for when I might have an extra rider. I try to look as normal as possible when riding so people don’t recognize me, which is easy hiding under a full-face helmet. My spare helmet is already strapped onto the back seat. I like to keep it just in case someone wants to hop on; hopefully that someone tonight is Ellie.
I look around the garage for Nash’s truck but don’t see it. Little shit is probably already at the stadium. With that, I put my music on through my helmets Bluetooth and mindlessly drift through the city, letting my mind go numb with the thoughts of everything that’s been going on. I should be focused on the game I’m about to play on national TV and in front of over sixty-thousand people in person… but the only eyes I want on me are Ellie’s. I’ll already have Nash’s on me, but not in the way I want.
Before I know it I’m walking into the arena, keeping my gear and helmet on. I step into the hallway to get to the locker rooms. I don’t even get weird looks anymore; everyone is so used to me riding by now. Except one person… Nash is staring daggers at me. Fuck, I forgot he hasn’t seen me on my bike yet.
“Why the fuck do you have a bike helmet on?” he spits out.
Oh, I’ve found a new nerve to dance on. “So my brain matter doesn’t end up on the road, rookie; why else would I have one on?”
“Are you stupid?!” he questions, throwing his hands out, pissed the fuck off.
“I mean, some would say yes; personally, I say no—I’m pretty smart,” I bite back, joking, but also knowing where his concern is coming from. If he only knew I used to have bullets shot at me on a regular basis—some even hitting me—and far too many knife wounds to count under these tattoos of mine. He should be thankful the worst I’m doing is riding a sports bike.
He huffs out a breath, shakes his head, and sidesteps to go around me.
As he’s walking out the door towards the field, I yell out, “I guess that means you don’t have a mask kink?!” I get rewarded with not just one middle finger but two.
We’re all on the field doing pre-game warm-ups, all of us carrying on with our own routines. The arena we get to play in is the coolest fucking place. The field is actual grass, which is so much easier on our bodies. The whole field gets rolled out to get the sun it needs to grow. This whole place is practically brand new, and it shows. The Rebel’s first year as a franchise was also my first year in the league, so we’ve been building this team from the ground up. I’m just glad we have Nash now. Our last quarterback needed to retire before he came here, but of course, he was holding onto the dream of getting a ring that he was never going to get.
I look over to the seats I got for Bill and Ellie; they’re empty, but I still have hope. Maybe they’re in line for some beers and pretzels. I shrug, falling back into my routine, drowning in my playlist.
We head into the locker room for the last little pep talk from the coach and then we’re all running through the tunnel, jumping up to smack fans’ hands, screaming, and getting hyped up.Once the coin toss is done, it’s decided that we’ll be first to receive so the special team takes the field. Coach keeps me on my toes; sometimes I’m out there with them, but normally, he wants me to save my energy to run plays on offense. My ass is getting old.
We’re huddled up on the field after special teams got us to the thirty-five-yard line on our end, which isn’t bad for our first return. Nash is straight business out here, and fuck, if that doesn’t have my dick up paying attention, I don’t know what will—and fuck knows these pants don’t hide anything. He gives us our play and we break out of our huddle, heading to the line.
I get to the end of the line closest to our sideline and turn to look at the seats one last time—there she is. I wave at them both, blowing a kiss to Ellie over the face of my helmet. I see the shock on Bill’s face, but he cools his expression. Coach is going to chew me up for being distracted, but this is the first time someone has shown up to watch me play. So, fuck off with the distracted shit.
We’re running a slant on this one, so it’ll be a quick pass over the middle, which is a big risk but can have a huge payoff. If coach isn’t saying a big fuck you to anyone who’s doubting us with this one, I don’t know what would. Nash goes through his sequence with the center, Barrett Ashford, a literal bear of a man. He puts the term ”big boy” to shame and is a ride I would not be upset to take a turn on. He’s painfully straight, so that won’t be happening.
I hear Nash’s cadence called out, knowing to get ready. “Dilly, willy.” I snicker like the child I am. What on the devil’s burning earth made them come up with that specific cadence? I’ll never know, but it throws the D line off just enough. I shoot up the middle, Nash sends a dart at me, and I catch it out in front of all the cornerbacks with a clear path to the end zone.
The stadium is shaking with how loud the fans are. No one is even near me in the end zone as I spike the ball down and throw my ass in a circle to celebrate. Usually, I just throw this ass around, but this time I’m pointing it to the stands at my Shpirt Im. She’s standing up, clapping with a shocked look on her face. I don’t have time to wonder if it’s from the ass-shaking or the bomb-ass opening play we just pulled off.
Nash comes running up, smacking my ass, and pulling me into his helmet by my cage. We lock eyes, and he talks like we’re just having a casual conversation. “You did so good, Bebé.”
Fuck, that makes my stomach flip. “You too, Djale I Bukur.” I saunter back to the sideline after returning his ass slap but lingering a little too long with a follow-up squeeze. I can’t resist… football pants are top-tier. He grins at me over his shoulder. He’s a cocky little bastard.
We beat the Devils 34-3.
1.Chrome Hearted - jxdn