Chapter Seventeen
Body Slammed
Jordan
‘Guys! Seriously? I thought we were done with this after last week! Hey!’
It takes my entire body between Josh and Nathan to break up what I believe is supposed to be some WWE gimmick, all the other kids absolutely not helping by cheering the two knuckleheads on as they basically roll around in the grass, getting dirt everywhere, including on me by the time I finally manage to separate them.
‘Josh, Nathan, ten minutes now. Please.’ I point to opposite sides of the field.
‘Coach, we weren’t even actually fighting!’ Nathan insists.
Well, that’s odd. Kid’s got dirt practically up his nose and he’s going to tell me this isn’t a fight. ‘Ya sure about that?’ I shoot back.
‘Yes!’ Josh cuts in now. He gestures to their adoring crowd. ‘This is Tag Team WrestleMania, Coach Jordan!’
I stand up, dust off my shorts and look at each of them in turn. Then, ‘What in the world is that?’
Josh raises a hand and starts to speak, but I stick out an arm. ‘Ba-ba-ba. I lied. I don’t wanna know. Please go wash up. And no more Wrestle Team. I don’t want to have to file an accident incident ever.’
They prance off to the water fountain to do said washing up – ew. Benny comes over soon enough, scratching his forehead in as much confusion as I’m feeling right now. ‘What was that?’
‘Some awful wrestling ring. This is lacrosse camp!’ I practically harrumph, pushing my new pink sunglasses up my nose before they slide straight down. ‘Come on! These folks have a massive game in a month, don’t they?’
‘You wish it worked that easily,’ calls Rod from across the field, where I’m pretty sure he’s disentangling a kid from the goal net. No way.
‘What is going on?’ I throw my hands up in disbelief. ‘They were brilliant just a week ago. Suddenly, it’s a dumpster fire?’
‘The honeymoon phase is over,’ says Benny.
‘The what?’ Do I need to deep clean my ears? What is in the air today?
‘Honeymoon phase,’ he repeats awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. ‘It happens at the beginning. They start out really good. Then, two weeks in, they get used to you. Realize you guys don’t actually have any power over them. And this starts. The Trenches.’
‘The Trenches.’ I let out a sardonic laugh. ‘More like the bowels of H.E. double hockey sticks.’
‘We’ll get there,’ Rod, still at the goal with the stuck kid, yells. He raises an expectant hand. ‘Can I get some scissors?’
By the end of the camp day, Benny, Rod and I are all frazzled, bug-eyed, and totally washed out.
I shake my empty Stanley for some extra drama-queen effect, and a sad little slosh of melted ice cubes reminds me that despite chugging a whole flask of chai, it still wasn’t enough to get me through the shift.
‘Oh, my-lanta,’ I grumble as Rod and I shove cones back into the shelves of the shed as per our usual day’s end routine.
Benny comes in fifteen early and leaves at the end of camp, three thirty p.m., and we come in at the start of camp and leave fifteen late.
He takes set-up, and we handle clean-up.
At that, Rod chuckles, eyes glittering in the dim light of the shed. ‘What did you just say?’
‘You’re gonna make fun of me. I know it.’
‘No, wait.’ He grins. ‘Say it again. Please.’
I push a folded-up goal onto a shelf with an exasperated roll of my eyes that’s not actually so exasperated. Please. I’m calling unfair advantage. How does he manage to detangle my insecurities like this? ‘Oh,’ I huff, ‘Mylanta.’
‘Like the fuckin’ ad,’ laughs Rod. ‘No way.’
‘Stop that.’ I shove his shoulder before crossing my arms, as if I’m totally objecting to the fact that I like any sort of attention this man gives me. ‘It’s stupid. Most people think it’s cringe. But my mom picked it up when she was younger, and then it rubbed off on me.’
‘It’s not stupid.’ He glances at me over the shoulder I’d smacked as he arranges a set of practice sticks on a bottom shelf. ‘I think it’s cute.’
‘It’s cute you think it’s cute.’
‘Take a win, Curly,’ he quips, brushing past me with a gentle tug of one of the dumb curls of hair that’s escaped my ponytail.
Something else that’s always bugged me; no matter how much I straighten my hair, the little bits in the front always escape.
Something else he seems to find ‘cute’. A warm feeling expands in my chest, and I reach out, take his hand to stop him from leaving the shed.
He looks back with an air of pleasant surprise.
‘What did you just call me, now?’
‘Oh, so you get “hotshot”, “big time”, “Romeo”, and I can’t get away with “Curly”?’ Dimples cut into Rod’s cheeks, even through his short stubble. ‘Romeo is such an awful nickname, you know. He dies at the end. They both die at the end.’
‘Yep.’ I know how dangerous that stupid nickname is. It’s the reason I’ve been calling him that in the first place, but it feels more finite when I think about it. Keeps me from fully meeting his eye. It’s not like this is going to last for ever, either.
He takes one of those stubborn curls and tucks it behind my ear, his eyes skimming my face before landing on my lips, then back up to meet my gaze.
As if he’s read my mind, he succeeds in distracting me as per usual, and I’ve never been more thankful.
‘Y’know, you still owe me the “ride the cowboy” part of the bargain we made. ’
‘Do I really?’ I chew on the inside of my cheek in exaggerated thought. The look of thirst on Rod’s face is absolutely delightful. Of course, I’m going to prolong the agony so I can soak that look in for just a moment more.
But he’s not prolonging any agony. He does that wonderful thing where he pulls me to him, wrapping a hand around my waist, and his lips find mine right away, hungry.
No, starving. Our tongues dance around one another, hands roaming without abandon.
So we’ve learned we’re not exactly gentle.
This doesn’t stop us from colliding with the wall of the shed a bit too hard, cones teetering precariously as the shelf next to us shakes.
Rod’s touch finds its way beneath my T-shirt, pulling it over my head, one hand squeezing my breast through my bra.
I moan into his mouth and tug him closer by a handful of his shirt.
It takes maybe two seconds before that, too, is lying on the ground next to mine.
‘No condoms,’ he whispers as his fingers sneak round to the small of my back, and he presses me to him so I can feel the solid bulge at his crotch against my leg.
‘No?’
‘Mm-mm.’
‘Rod.’ I almost don’t recognize the raw need in my voice. I’m not needy. Not until it comes to him.
‘Let me …’ He drops a trail of kisses down my neck, towards my clavicle, before he kneels down before me, a hand on my thigh, thumb stroking the sensitive spot on the inside. ‘Let me make you come, Jor.’
A giddy breath hitches in my chest. This has to be a dream. After shit years of shit sex at OKC, this is new. Like, really new. I cover his hand with mine and lean down. My eyes meet his desperate ones, shaded by long lashes.
‘Say it again.’
‘Please.’ I don’t know if it’s accurate to say that he pleads with me, begs with me. It lights a fire in my core. ‘I wanna make you come.’
I tuck those words away, tuck the yearning on his face away to remember for the rest of my life.
Sure, it’s not every day your celebrity crush goes down on you.
That’s great and all. But it’s the way he looks at me.
It’s this reverence. This awe. I’m not sure if I’m worthy of that kind of awe.
I’ve never seen that in a man’s eyes before.
All I know is I never want to forget what it looks like.
‘Make me,’ I whisper.
That sparkle in his irises makes my little heart stampede. One hand still grips me to him, the other sneaking underneath the short black athletic skirt I decided to wear today. I almost thank my lucky stars I picked that skirt out – almost – until he curses.
‘Seriously?’ Rod grumbles, lifting the fabric of the skirt to reveal the built-in shorts underneath.
‘I paid way too much for it,’ I explain breathily. ‘It’s nice!’
‘It’s going.’ He presses a kiss to my thigh before literally yanking the thing right down my legs, and I kick it off with a laugh. ‘Sit.’
I plop my ass down on the nearest plastic folding chair like I’m on a timer.
As if we’ve been doing this forever, this dance of unbearable attraction, he takes my right leg by the ankle, popping it up on his shoulder as he rises on his knees, looking up at me with a smirky smile that tells me exactly what I’m about to be in for.
And, let me tell you, he delivers.