1 – FOUR MONTHS LATER
NICO
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Diva: Well well, Lover boy. Looks like you had fun last night.
Saint: How many cans of whipped cream did you go through? Had to have been a lot to pull off the Friday Night Lights bikini.
Diva: You mean bikinis…with an S. All four of them were wearing matching suits.
Saint: The cherry nipples were the…
Diva: Cherry on the sundae?
Saint: Yo! Lover boy! Where are you?
Diva: He probably can’t hear his phone while he’s wearing a pair of thighs around his ears.
Saint: Nice!
A drill pounds through my skull when I roll over.
A bright light tries to break through my closed eyelids, but I block the intrusion by throwing my arm over my head.
An obnoxious ding ding ding is accompanied by a constant buzz buzz that sounds like a symphony of flies as they hit the crescendo of their performance.
I throw my hand out to shut off what must be my alarm, but meet hot flesh instead.
The skin is smooth and though it hurts, I rack my brain for whom or what this could be. Images flash behind my eyes.
Laughter. Clothes thrown here and there. Brown and blonde hair. Whipped cream? The images don’t make sense and I think it must be a movie.
A groan sounds when I squeeze what I now know to be a body.
My guess is that it’s a bare, plump ass and now the flashes of clothes and hair come together in one big picture.
Prying my arm away, I open one eye and look around the room.
Sleep clouds my vision but I can make out not one, not two, but three naked women littering my bed.
The torturous sounds begin again, making it clear that someone is at my front door. It’s probably the same person who is calling my phone.
I push up on my elbows and my stomach roils.
If my theory is correct, alcohol and whipped cream don’t mix so well and they’re fighting their way up my gullet.
Working my way out from under the bodies, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand.
My hand grips onto the sheets when my world begins to spin.
The blonde woman rolls over, tugging the satin sheets over her body, searching for the warmth that my body was providing her with. The other two don’t even flinch and don’t wake from their deep, inebriated sleep.
My feet slap against the stairs as I descend them, gripping onto the rail so I don’t tumble down like an avalanche ready to take out anyone in its way. I know my cat, Mr. Nickels is around here somewhere and I don’t want to crush him.
With a yawn, I scratch my head and take in the scene. Clothes, empty bottles, the whipped cream cans…they’re scattered around my living room and with all the other evidence, I’d say we had a damn good time last night.
The ringing goes on and on and my annoyance finally reaches its breaking point.
“I’m coming! Fuck,” I yell out to whomever stands on the other side of the door.
I flip the locks and yank it open, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun as it filters in.
“Jesus Christ, Loving. Put on some fucking clothes.” I’m pushed out of the way as a large body moves past me.
“Bash? What’re you doing here?” I slam the door shut and immediately regret it when it reverberates and rattles my teeth.
Sebastian “Bash” Monahan is one of the top offensive tackles and my teammate…
and watchdog. I’m not proud to say that my antics have earned me the constant presence of a veteran teammate, but being young, handsome and talented is difficult to contain.
Everyone wants a piece of me. Especially the women.
And who am I to deny them such pleasure.
My generosity is what has earned me the nickname the Love Man, and I try my best to live up to that.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spins in a circle, taking in the remnants of my night.
“Uh, this is my house. Where else would I be?” I shrug my shoulders then prop my hands on my very naked waist.
“At practice!” He shouts and my head slumps between my shoulders.
“Shiiit.” I’m hit with the realization that Bash standing in my living room means it’s late in the afternoon and that I’ve missed practice.
I’ve not missed one practice since they began, but combined with my tardiness to mandatory meetings and showing up slightly hungover to film review where I fell asleep, my ass is most definitely grass.
“You really messed up this time, Loving. Get some clothes on and splash water on your face. I’ll make coffee. Be ready to roll in twenty minutes.” Bash walks towards the open kitchen, kicking clothes and cans out of the way and shaking his head in disgust.
“Nic?” A small voice calls out my name and Bash and I both turn around to see a petite woman wearing the same attire as I am –nothing– standing at the bottom of the stairs.
I smirk, proud of myself for picking such a delectable creature for last night’s activities. Perky breasts, most likely fake but nonetheless perfect, small waist and curvy hips framed with long blonde hair and plump lips.
Good job, Love Man.
“Are you coming back to bed?” She asks, running a finger across her lip and biting the tip.
I open my mouth to tell her I’ll be right there and to wake her friends, but a large palm claps my shoulder.
“No he’s not, sweetheart. Go ahead and find your clothes and be on your way. And you,” he says, tightening his grip on me, “better hurry. Only eighteen minutes and then we’re leaving with or without clothes.”
He smacks my back, the sting spreading over my skin, and begins pulling open and slamming shut cabinet doors and drawers. I’m sure it’s all part of his plan to “punish Nic”, and the last thing I’m about to do is argue with the beast.
I walk towards the cute blonde and take her hand in mine, leading her back up the stairs.
“Last night was a blast…beautiful,” I tell her, not wanting to try and guess at a name that could be something as simple as Mary or as ridiculous as Calliope.
“My maid will be here to clean things up, so just be sure to let her know when you ladies leave. She’ll see to it that everything is locked up. ”
She nods, big brown eyes with black smudges underneath staring up at me. “Okay. Can I call you later?”
Her fingernails scrap my chest as they dance across it. “You know, uh…how about I call you. Season is about to start and I’m going to be pretty busy.”
The sultry look in her eyes narrows and she drops her hand. “You mean you won’t be calling because you had your fun for the night, and now you’re tossing me to the curb like last night’s trash.”
“No. Not like last night’s trash. Like a decadent meal eaten and digested. But done, in any case. And not just you alone. You and your friends,” I say, pointing my chin at the other women who still lay comatose in deep sleep.
I see it coming and even though I brace for impact, the slap across the face still hurts like a motherfucker. Especially with the hangover that racks my body.
She spins on her heels and stomps around the room, waking the other ladies. She smacks one on the butt and screeches at the other, jolting them all from their slumber. I take advantage of her hastiness and slip into my bathroom.
A quick brush of my teeth, some water on my face like Bash suggested, and a pair of shorts and a t-shirt get put on in a rush.
I’m ready to go with three minutes to spare and cautiously step out into an empty bedroom.
When I emerge downstairs, Bash holds two travel mugs of coffee with a shrewd smirk on his face.
“Your guests are gone, and they left you a parting gift.” He tips his head towards the large glass windows that look out into my backyard.
Dickhead is written across them in bright red lipstick. Well…at least it’s not a permanent marker.
“Let’s get this over with,” I tell Bash and take a coffee from him.
As I sit in the passenger seat of his truck, all I can think of is what type of punishment I will receive, and how Nick and Nik will laugh their asses off when I tell them.
Flashbacks of being in high school, sitting in Principal Horowitz’s office with my two best friends beside me feel like more than just a memory as I sit here on the opposite side of a large desk from my coach who is staring me down with daggers in his eyes.
This is reality and Coach Wagner –Wags, as we lovingly call him– isn’t just a high school principal upset with our childish antics.
This man holds my professional football career in his hand .
“What the fuck were you thinking, Loving? You realize that you posted your bare ass all over social media. Not to mention the young ladies that were in various stages of…pleasing you.” Wags’ face is red and he looks like a tea kettle ready to blow.
“They were posted on my story so they disappear after twenty four hours. I doubt anyone even saw it or realized it was me,” I explain, but I think my attempt to calm him only angers him more.
“You had I am the Love Man written on your goddamn stomach!”
I wince, my eyes squeezing shut and shoulders raising up to protect my hearing from the decibel that is louder than the jackhammer that was drilling into my brain this morning.
“I know. My agent has already scrubbed the pictures from my account, and is working on a statement to apologize for my rash behavior. I’ll explain that this was out of character and I was under the influence of alcohol, lowering my inhibitions and ability to think clearly.”
“Like the entire world doesn’t already know about all of the other shit you pulled?
The naked cliff jumping. Naked foam party, complete with ‘helicopter’ contest where you were the only contestant.
Speeding down I-10, blaring the song Love Man at max volume with a shock of bleach blonde hair, bobbing in and out of the camera view from your lap.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that was.
See where I’m going with this? And why the fuck are you always naked, Loving?
Do you not earn enough to buy some goddamn clothes? ”
Coach rattles off the list of my offenses that I’ve racked up since being drafted by the Houston Drillers.
“I mean. When you’re blessed, why should–” A hand lands on the back of my head with a hard slap .
I look over my shoulder at Bash, my warden, and I send a glare his way that would normally send chills through a man’s body. Not Bash. He just laughs at my attempt to intimidate him.
“This is your last free weekend before preseason starts. I don’t want you to say anything, do anything, or post anything. Just sit on your fucking couch and watch game film. You can’t get into trouble if you don’t move. I need a few days to think of what to do.”
“What to do? I don’t understand,” I stutter, my words sounding like I’m learning English for the first time.
“About you. My star rookie wide receiver is a pain in my ass, and I need to figure out if he’s worth the headaches. Plus, I need to speak to Monty about this. He’s going to be pissed about all of the money he sunk into his new problem.”
I have nothing to say. Sorry only cuts it so many times, and I’m pretty sure all the holes have been punched in my apology card. I swallow back boulder sized nerves and dip my chin, giving him a short nod of understanding before being dismissed.
Seems like I’ve really done it, now.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, firing off a text to the two guys who know me best. They may not have a solution to the shit pile I find myself in, but at least they’ll be able to commiserate.
I tell them to be ready in thirty minutes because this requires a phone call. They give me a middle finger, which is our way of agreeing with the other, and I shove my phone back into my pocket.
When Bash drops me back at my house, I do exactly as Coach ordered me to do. I sit on my couch, watching tv and talking with my best friends, and marinating in worry of what will happen next.
When your coach and the owner of the team get together to “talk” about what to do with you, it can’t mean anything good.
It feels the same as when Mom and Dad would have to discuss my punishment before laying down the law.
I guess the one good thing is that Coach can’t spank my butt for being naughty.
At least I hope he can’t.