21. Nolan
Nolan
B liss.
Being inside of Hadley is pure, unedited, bliss.
The fear of overpromising and underdelivering to Hadley has me working to break down the new plays Krueger, Hudson, and I have been discussing rather than the euphoria racing through my body.
Her hooded eyes and deep moans chase the euphoria back to the forefront of my thoughts.
I rock inside of her, my movements slow and rhythmic.
Sweat beads on my brow. I silently recite records and stats from my favorite football teams and players until I don’t feel like I’m going to embarrass myself.
I focus on her face, on her breaths, on the way her eyes roll back in her head as I move inside of her, changing my angle and speed so I know exactly what she likes and what drives her absolutely wild.
I grab Hadley’s right leg and swing it across the front of my chest, and while still buried inside of her, I shift her to lie on her side. The motion has her spine lengthening and straightening, her breaths turning into pants.
“Bend this knee,” I direct her, sliding my hand along the silkiness of her thigh.
She moves instantly, without question or hesitance.
I pull out to the very tip, then slam into her, reveling in the sound of her strangled cry.
I do it again, harder this time, and then again, and as I slip out a fourth time, I slide my fingers against where my cock is stretching her.
Hadley mewls, shifting her hips lower as she bends, to look at me as I circle her entrance again, dragging her wetness down, over her clit and massaging her, working to bring her to another climax as I slowly slide my cock in and out of her, finding the rhythm that has her breaths increasing, her fingers digging into my bed before her eyes squeeze shut and her body tightens and pulses against me.
My orgasm rips through me with a force that has me groaning and rocking into her, milking every bit of pleasure from this moment. I squeeze her thigh a final time and slowly open my eyes.
Hadley is lying on her side, face flushed a lighter shade than last night at the pool, her eyes closed, and lips tipped up with a grin.
I release another soft groan and slowly slide out of her, already regretting that it’s over.
I head to the bathroom where only the toilet and sink work and clean myself up before returning to find Hadley with her underwear already on, reaching for her shirt.
“How was the trial?” I ask.
She looks at me, an embarrassed smirk claiming her lips. “This wasn’t your worst idea.”
I chuckle.
Hadley slips her shirt on, staring at me with mild uncertainty as she grabs her underwear and pants.
“I thought we talked about twenty-four hours?”
Her smile is sarcastic. “I have class at nine, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to be at the gym by four.”
“Seven hours, then.”
“That’s quite the stamina you’re promising.”
“Or we could just hang out? Watch another episode of our show.”
Her eyes pinch. “I didn’t know if that applied to these nights or if hanging out afterward would blur the lines.”
It does. Or it would. But everything inside of me protests the idea of her leaving. “Why would it? We’re friends.”
“Who just had sex.”
“Fucking phenomenal sex.”
Her cheeks blossom red.
“Tell me it wasn’t,” I demand, nearing the bed, the scent of sex still ripe in the space.
She looks at me sideways as I sit down. “I might like your bedroom skills more than you…”
I belt out a laugh and grab the remote. “Scoot over.”
She shifts over as I flip down the blankets, so she can get beneath them. I settle in beside her.
Rather than turn on the TV, I roll to face her. “That quiche you made yesterday, was insane. I don’t think it could be any better.”
She grins. “It was Hannah’s favorite, too.”
I reach forward, sliding a loose piece of her dark hair behind her ear, needing to touch her again.
“How’s your coach doing?”
I shake my head. “He’s being a thorn in everyone’s ass. He fell at home yesterday morning, and they said he’ll need a hip replacement, but supposedly, he’s trying to convince Camden and the powers to be that he can finish the year while in a wheelchair or on crutches.”
“Could he?”
I release a sigh. “Probably.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Dislike is a mild word for how I feel about him.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he’s a vengeful prick who clings to an outdated and archaic playbook, regardless of the risks it exposes us to.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t changed anything in thirty years. Our team is fast. Any other coach would use our strengths and have us running the ball as much or more than passing it, but Peters only knows how to coach a passing team, so that’s what we do. That’s what we are.”
“How does that put you at risk?”
“Every defense in our conference knows our plays as well as we do. They know Hudson’s going to be looking midway down the field to throw it. It makes us easy to guard and easier targets to hit.”
“And he doesn’t listen?”
I scoff. “He has control issues that rival dictators. As the captain, Hudson should be calling every play, and those plays should be drawn by Krueger, our offensive coordinator, but instead, Peters controls it all, and if someone dares to cross him, they get fired or benched, and in college sports, if you’re benched, that’s the end of the road. ”
Anger pulses in her gaze. “Why does the university let him do this?”
“Before it was because it didn’t matter. Camden was known for science and medicine. Now, it’s because we have a winning record and it’s easy for him to take the credit.”
“There’s nothing you guys can do? Talk to someone? Go to the press?”
“We were hoping his injury might have him considering an early retirement or at least give us the rest of this season, but it sounds like he’s going to fuck that over as well.”
“That really sucks.”
I nod. “We’re operating under the realization he’ll be back while also planning for what things would—could—look like if he has to be out.”
“What’s your major?”
I roll closer, snaking my hand under the covers, and find purchase on her waist, noting the way her eyes warm. “Tonight, it’s impressing you.” I lean in and kiss her neck as she laughs.
“That was the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard.”
I nod, rolling to my knees and lifting her shirt to expose her breasts.
I trace my hands over each breast. Hadley tips her chin higher, swallowing what I know is a moan.
I dip my head, pulling one nipple between my lips, and her hum of approval has me feeling like a fucking king.
I roll the peaked flesh over my tongue while twisting and pinching her opposite nipple.
Hadley breathes out a curse as she digs her fingers into my hair, holding me against her. I change the pace with my tongue and reach down, swiping a finger between her legs, finding her warm and wet. She moans, her legs falling loose.
I give her nipple a final lick and reach for a second condom before flipping her to her stomach and thrusting inside of her.
* * *
I rarely consider who’s in the audience watching our games, but as we take the field, my gaze strays to the stands and I can’t help but question if Hadley’s here. If she’s looking forward to our arrangement as much as I am since it’s Saturday night.
Peters calls us to huddle. The man is stubborn as fuck—it might be his only redeeming attribute—however, it’s become our demise. He refused surgery and insisted on being here, coaching.
We’re playing against Syracuse tonight, and they won’t be going home without one hell of a fight.
It’s had us pulling extra practices and hours studying their game, and learning their defense.
Krueger had suggested a new play that would give us an advantage, unknown to their defense and optimizing our greatest strengths, but Peters shot that down without a second of consideration.
I stare blankly as Peters shouts demands and threats, I memorized two years ago.
When we break, I eye the stands again, catching a sign with my name held by two girls who scream like they know I see them.
Lenny joins me, yelling at the crowd, hyping them up. The energy is like a drug, the cheers and band so loud it’s hard to hear Lenny as he grabs my face mask, yelling words of victory that are intended as much for the crowd as they are for me.
We follow the rest of the team to the middle of the field.
Hudson calls the play Peters commanded. “Remember, if they collapse the pocket and we scramble, go left,” he says, peering at Grey, Corey, and me.
“Their safety favors the right.” It’s a rougher version of Krueger’s plan that would’ve allowed us more time to set up versus react because Hudson’s about to be sacked.
“We’ll be there,” I assure him.
Grey nods, patting Hudson on the shoulder. “Just stay on your feet. Evelyn will cut down our linemen if you get taken out again.”
Hudson grins. “Let’s do this.”
Luck is on our side—or maybe it’s on my side—because not only are two of Syracuse’s top defenders out with food poisoning, it starts raining in the first half, soaking the field and the fans.
Playing in the rain gives Holbrook ulcers, but it feels like a dream for me, in part because defenders are often distracted and sliding, concerned about injuries but is often where our team is most comfortable.
Much of our summer conditioning consisted of dual practices in the heat, humidity, and rain. Our team’s at home in the conditions.
Syracuse loses in what will likely be their greatest loss of the season, considering we were preparing for overtime, and already discussing contingencies in case we lost. Instead, we didn’t have to run any of the plays that would have Peters barking at us, and are walking away with a win.
My smile can’t be dimmed as I walk off the field.
“Party at your place?” Lenny asks.
Corey snickers.
I flip him off. “Drink a beer for me.”
I expect him to give me a hard time, but he accepts my easy excuse.