Chapter 26
“Last chance to join us,” Dax says, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Reese found a place that does smash burgers until midnight, and I'm telling you, I'm going to eat five to celebrate our second win of the season! Whoop!”
Dax bends back so far for the whoop that he has to grab his towel so it doesn't fall.
“I'm staying here,” I say, flexing my fingers while icing my wrist. There’s a tiny bit of pain that still resides there, from the hit I took a few weeks ago, but not enough to get me off that field and prove myself.
“You've said that three times, but it makes no sense. We don't know how many more wins we're gonna get. We need to celebrate every single one?”
I laugh because he’s right. Our first win only happened because of an injury, and this one came down to one horrible play by Dallas.
Both victories were basically handed to us.
I’m grateful for them, but I also know better than to get comfortable, especially after seeing the way Coach went after Owen at the end of the game.
The guy can’t catch a break. We win, and somehow he’s still the one getting ripped apart.
“I'm good. I've got some Baseball Bachelor to catch up on.”
Dax stares at me. “Every day you become more and more like somebody’s emotionally unstable aunt who owns decorative signs that say Live Laugh Love.”
“That’s rich coming from a man one strong sneeze away from flashing the entire team.”
I glance down at the knot on his towel, and he instinctively tightens it.
When he feels like everything is secure, he points at me accusingly. “See? That’s exactly the kind of observational detail a divorced aunt would notice before settling onto her couch with a glass of pinot to see who Sam Brennon gives a rose to.”
“They’re bobbleheads.”
“Excuse me?”
“He gives out bobbleheads.”
Dax blinks at me slowly. “You knowing that makes it somehow worse.”
“Go and eat your burger,” I say, waving him off.
“Okay,” he drawls, “but I'll bring you one back.”
“I don't want one.”
He takes his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Well, you’re getting one,” he says as his head pops through the hole. When he finishes putting his jeans and belt on, he heads back to the bathroom, only returning once he smells like a boutique fragrance store.
“Alright, I'm going to pick up Reesey-boy. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”
He grabs his wallet and phone before heading to the door.
“That's an extremely low bar,” I mutter to myself.
“It's a generous one,” he throws back over his shoulder. One that is clearly judging me. “Get some sleep, QB, and rest your wrist.”
“Will do, Boss.”
The door slams and I smirk at his last remark, knowing exactly what he's referring to. Just because he likes to jack off in the room when I’m out to dinner doesn’t mean I take the same liberties.
I relax against the headboard, enjoying the most silence I’ve had since winning tonight.
2-6.
I have to believe that record can only improve in our next 9 games.
I toss the melted ice pack onto the nightstand and stretch my legs out in front of me. My whole body aches, but for once, it’s attached to a win. That alone puts me in too good a mood to sleep.
I grab the remote and flip on The Baseball Bachelor.
“Alright, Sam,” I mutter to the empty room, flipping through the channels. “Let’s see who gets a bobblehead tonight.”
Before I can unmute it, my phone buzzes with Honey’s tone.
I nearly bolt out of my bed as I snatch my phone from the desk, breaking it free from the charger, and read her message.
Honeycomb??: Congratulations, Zach! I'm so proud of you.
I grin, heading back to my spot on the bed before answering.
Zach: Thanks. Did you watch?
Honeycomb??: Of course I did. You were great! Two wins on the board. Are you celebrating?
I glance at the door Dax just disappeared through, so fucking thankful I didn’t go.
Zach: Apparently smash burgers are mandatory after every win now.
Honeycomb??: As they should be.
Zach: I stayed back.
Honeycomb??: Why?
Zach: I can think of a better way to celebrate.
Honeycomb??: With ice cream?
Zach: Only if it’s honeycomb flavored.
typing...
It stays like that for a while, and I wait, because I know Honey well. She's working through a range of emotions right now. Anger, indignation, curiosity, playfulness. It's the same routine we've been going through since we started doing whatever this is.
Text-flirting? Is that even a thing?
Honeycomb??: I’m trying very hard not to encourage this behavior.
I grin at my phone, remembering all the flirty things she texted me just to make me feel better after my loss.
Zach: You’re doing a terrible job.
Honeycomb??: Maybe you’re just impossible to discourage.
Zach: So don’t bother. Just call me.
I put it out there, hoping she’ll take the bait. I haven’t heard her voice since the cruise and I miss it. This win has made me just brazen enough to finally ask for what I want.
*Honeycomb Calling*
What the fuck?
That worked?
All this time, I could’ve just asked and she would’ve called me? Fucking idiot.
I quickly press the green ‘accept’ button before she can back out of it.
“Honeycomb?”
Chill out, Z.
I shift against the pillows, rolling my shoulders back as I try to sound casual instead of as eager as I actually feel.
“Hey, Z. You sound very awake for someone who just played a three-and-a-half-hour football game.”
“Can't help it. You know how much I like hearing your voice.”
“Well, congratulations. Genuinely.” Her voice softens. “The crossing route in the fourth? That was insane. I screamed so loud when you threw that touchdown, I swear my entire dorm heard it.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s the dorm name?”
“Zach,” she says with warning.
I chuckle, my head falling back against the pillows. “Sorry. You know I always like how loud you get for me, Honeycomb. Just wanted to see if I could experience it again.”
A soft huff comes through the phone. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is that a no you’re not going to tell me?”
“You already know the answer.”
She’s right. I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t want help to narrow down the list of potential colleges she could be at.
“Maybe, but I could sure as hell make you scream in more ways than one if I knew where you were.”
I hear the faint rustle of sheets on her side, and I can’t help myself. I start to imagine her in purple bedsheets, wearing my jersey and just a little thong underneath. Exactly what she used to wear when we were dating.
“You looked great out there,” she says.
“Did you see when I pushed through their defense line to get twenty yards in the third?”
“Yeah.” Her breath catches before her voice lowers. “You looked so powerful out there.”
I shift deeper into the pillows, my dick a little hard because just hearing her breathy tone always gets me. “You liked watching me, huh?”
“Shut up.” There’s another rustle of sheets. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
She goes quiet, and there’s more shifting on her end.
Then, very softly, she asks, “You’re alone, right?”
“Uh, yeah? Dax went for burgers with Reese.”
“Mhm.”
The second she says it, something in my brain snaps into place, because I know that tone. The breathiness creeping into her voice, the tiny hesitation, the fidgeting.
Holy shit.
Honey’s horny.
I smirk. She’s horny, but she doesn’t want to be the one to initiate it. She wants to make me think it’s my idea. Cute.
Well, if that’s what she wants, I’m going to make her work for it.
I settle deeper into the pillows and drop my voice lower, drawing out my words. “Tell me more about what you were thinking while you watched me tonight.”
She exhales shakily. “Just... how you stand there in the pocket so calmly even though you're about to be thwarted by these giant football players.”
“Mm.” I let the sound rumble. “I do like taking my time. Reading the defense. Waiting for the perfect opening. Then I slide it in deep when they least expect it.”
There's another tiny hitch in her breathing. It's barely there, but I'm listening out for it.
I keep going, my words thick and unhurried. “Just like tonight. They thought they had me trapped, but I just rolled out nice and easy... let the pressure build... then I gave it to them exactly where it hurt most.”
She makes a small sound, and her sheets shift again. “You're so cocky when you win.”
“Only when I earn it.”
I palm my hardening cock through my sweats and stroke once, slowly. There’s a little pain in my wrist, but this will be so fucking worth it.
“Zach...”
“Tell me something, Honeycomb,” I drawl, letting each word stretch out. “When I rolled out of that pocket tonight...you said you couldn't breathe. Was it the way my hips shifted or the way that my shoulders squared up before I planted and threw that got you?”
Her exhale comes out shaky. “All of it. You just... move like you own the space and nothing can touch you unless you let it.”
“Mhm.” I hum low, dragging it out. “I do like being in control. Feeling everything line up just right. Reading every little twitch, every tell. Waiting for that perfect moment when everything opens up.... and then I take it. Slow at first. Then deep, making sure they feel every inch of my decision.”
A tiny, involuntary sound slips from her. The sheets rustle again, but this time a wet, rhythmic sound follows. It’s quiet, but there's no mistaking the noise. She's gone too far to hide it.
I let out a low chuckle, letting it rumble through the line. “Honeycomb...you’re not even pretending anymore, are you? I can hear how wet that pussy is for me.”
She whimpers, embarrassed, but the slick sounds only get louder.
“Are you touching yourself right now?”
She lets out a tiny, mortified mewl. Then, barely audible, she says, “Yes...”
“Fuck,” I groan, shoving my sweats down and wrapping my hand around my throbbing cock. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I hear her breath stutter as she obeys.