6. Player
PLAYER
She stares at me like I'm some miserable insect, and I don't know why, but it makes me want to make her bend to my will even more.
"The game begins," I announce, "and I never lose."
I'm still holding her arm. My attention drifts from her face to her breasts. She can say whatever she wants, but her body doesn't lie… she wants me. I have enough experience with women to understand that, and even if I were a novice, her hardened nipples would be clue enough.
She's wearing leggings and a tank top that don't hide much of her figure, her hair tied in a ponytail on top of her head. I notice my hand on her skin and then spot the thin white mark on her forearm.
"What happened to you?"
Her tone is icy when she responds, "How is that any of your business?"
My grip loosens and she crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her breasts up slightly. I can't resist the urge to needle her, "Playing the mysterious woman doesn't suit you, Alabama."
She blinks several times before composing herself :
"I'm not playing anything, Player. I simply don't want to talk to you about my life. Besides, I doubt you're interested."
Dixie is right, I couldn't care less about what she's been through, who she is, or what she wants. All I see is that a game has started between us. This game isn't unfamiliar to me, and it's a welcome distraction in my boring-as-hell life.
It doesn't matter that I don't plan to act on it with her, I'm just interested in making her crack. "One day, you'll be begging me to fuck you, Alabama. And that's when I'll have won."
She arches a skeptical eyebrow. "Dream on. I'll never want to sleep with you, Player."
I give her a knowing smile. She's pushing me away with too much vehemence for it to be true. "And I'm certain you'll crack before the end of the year."
Her arms fall to her sides, and she squares her shoulders before announcing, "I'll prove you wrong, and when I do, you'll apologize for all the insults you've thrown at me."
I let out a small chuckle. "That will never happen," I predict.
Dixie observes me for a moment, then approaches me. I eye her warily. "You're just a man, Player, perhaps more insufferable than most, but I'm certain I can make you crack too."
She just said this with a confidence I didn't suspect she had. "You think a little bird who fell from mommy and daddy's nest can turn me on?" I mock.
Dixie moves closer until her breasts brush against my chest. Breathily, she murmurs, "A guy is still a guy..."
"Meaning what?"
Her eyes sparkle when she retorts, "That you think with your dick instead of your brain, and you'll be eating out of my hand before you even realize it."
I'm left speechless. Did she really just say that? Without giving me time to reply, she walks around me and goes to the common area couch, where she curls up in the corner and opens a thick book.
The desire to throw one last provocation at her doesn't leave me, and when I reach my door, I turn around to say, "I'm going to jerk off tonight, Alabama, and you won't have anything to do with it."
"Great. Have fun, and don't forget to say hello to your right hand for me.
" She gives me a little nod accompanied by a disdainful smile.
Suddenly, I imagine taking her on that couch and pounding her wildly until she can't take it anymore.
Yes, I would fuck her so hard that she'd swallow all her sharp comebacks.
Dixie ignores me to dive back into her books, and I slam my room door behind me and pushing my pants down. When I grip my erection, I can't help but visualize my new roommate's body.
Damn it! That's exactly what I said I would never do!
Except Dixie can't read my thoughts. She'll never know that I masturbated thinking about her mouth wrapped around my cock. Hissing. I stroke quickly. No, she'll never know that I came imagining spreading my cum over her breasts.
No little girl from the backwoods of Alabama is going to make me waver!
The mantra runs through my head while working out in the team weight room. The Jaguars don’t half-ass anything, and we’re expected to lift and practice, all to make sure we’re in top condition for our games.
Each player has an individual program based on their position on the team and their personal needs. In my case, Coach Johnson, the strength coach of the Jaguars, determined that I need more shoulder strength, specifically in my rotators. So here I am.
"Player, come here!"
Used to Coach Johnson’s booming voice echoing through the gym, none of the players are surprised. I step forward and Coach's steel-blue gaze scrutinizes me before his verdict falls:
"Ten sets of two minutes jump rope. Get some conditioning in."
Without questioning the orders, I grab a rope and start jumping rhythmically. I alternate between jumping with both feet and hopping on one foot, sort of an Ali shuffle from time to time.
My heart rate increases, but I'm far from my limit. When Johnson’s watchful eye finds me, I pick up the pace some. He doesn't correct my posture, a sign that I'm at least not fucking up.
"Coach! I need your help," calls a guy from across the room.
Johnson walks away without a word.
"Well, looks like you've got some fire in you today."
I shoot a sideways glance at Emery who just joined me. He's circling his torso with a large black medicine ball that he handles as if it weighs nothing, though the thing, about the size of a basketball, weighs around twenty pounds.
My cold attitude doesn't discourage him, because he continues, "Do you hate her that much?"
"Who are you talking about?" I ask.
"Dixie."
The rope slaps the floor rhythmically as I continue jumping.
"I don't give a damn about that girl," I mutter.
Emery moves back and forth lifting his ball, clearly working his midsection. When he comes back to me for the third time, he says, "I'm not so sure about that. "
I pause between two sets and retort, "Nobody asked for your opinion."
"That's clear, but I'm giving it to you anyway."
I glance at the large clock hanging on the wall to make sure it's time for me to resume jumping.
"She's nice, and I appreciate the quiet life of the dorm when you're not making a mess, Player."
I don't respond to his comment and start my next set.
My calf muscles are starting to heat up, a few more sets and I'll feel that familiar burn I've learned to love after years of training.
It's a sign that it's working. Not to mention that the more I move, the less I think, which isn't a bad thing considering the nature of my thoughts since this morning.
"I know you, Player."
My friend's gaze locks with mine, and I can follow his train of thought, he's thinking about our shared past. As for me, I believe that anything that isn't today and now doesn't deserve my attention.
"You're going to mess her up," Emery predicts.
I continue jumping and respond, "Why do you care? You don't even know Alabama."
"I don't need to be friends with her to find your attitude fucked up."
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. "You're saying that, Em? The guy who hooks up faster than his brain can say ‘this is a bad idea’ wants to give me advice! That's rich!"
I pause at the end of a jump series, my attention fixed on the clock.
Emery continues his torso circles without strain. He might not look it, but he's been training for a good two hours. I think Coach's exercises might be too simple for him.
"You don't have to be a jerk to everyone," he continues. "Couldn't we say the girls in our dorm are off- limits?"
"Are you trying to negotiate a ceasefire? Did Alabama send you? She's no match for me and she knows it. Though it's a sign of intelligence to retreat when you don't have the strength to handle it."
"Can you hear yourself?” he asks, exasperated. "This is crazy! You sound like you're talking about armed conflict! It's just a girl, Player. You can stop being a little prick."
I should get back to jumping to complete the last round of jump rope, but instead, I move closer to Emery.
"No way. Not before I win this game. I never lose, and you know it."
Emery returns my gaze, and I can tell he's not convinced by what I just said.
"I hope she's smarter than you," he finally comments. I furrow my brow, not sure I'm following him, and he adds, "I'd really like to see the great Player eat dirt someday."
He punctuates his statement with a laugh, and I feel my whole body tense.
"You're playing against your own team now?"
Emery raises his eyebrows. "Out there, on the field? No. But in this case, there's no team, no quarterback to protect. You're alone in this, Player. Don't count on me to help you mess with Dixie."
"You want to do her, is that it?"
My friend's eyes widen in surprise. "Not at all! I mean, she's hot, that's clear. But I don't have my eyes on her."
I turn away and shake out my rope for the last round. As I start to jump, Emery muses, "But hey, I'm not saying I'd say no if she was up for a one-night stand..."
The image of Emery and Alabama in action pops into my head, and without realizing it, I speed up my pace. I have no intention of screwing her, so I don't see why my buddy shouldn't enjoy a moment with Alabama .
But this idea almost makes me grit my teeth. If she sleeps with someone else, I might as well forfeit. No, Alabama will only want one man in the coming weeks, and that person is me.
Strengthened by my resolve, I finish the jump rope before moving on to floor exercises. After all, Emery’s not the only one who needs a strong core.
The more I think about it, the more confident I am: Alabama will fall for one guy. Me. I'll do whatever it takes to achieve my goal. And nothing is impossible for Player. When I want something, I get it.
Alabama better watch out!