22. Player
PLAYER
All the players are gathered in the locker room, and Coach Adams is giving us an earful. He expects perfection, and two failures isn’t helping his blood pressure one bit. "What do you think this is? You're not here to be extras in someone else's show!"
His clear gaze passes from face to face. If there's someone angrier than me right now, it's him.
"Some of you think you're tough."
His attention shifts to me, and he continues, "Now's the time to prove it! Because if you keep playing that sort of sloppy grabass style, Morgan State’s going to hand you a beating you won't forget anytime soon."
I can feel the tension running through the entire team.
"You thought you had this in the bag and you eased up, and they took advantage to get back into a game you’re supposed to dominate!
" Adams continues. "And if you think this kind of bullshit won’t matter against Morgan State, what do you think happens next week and we start our conference schedule? Huh? That's a certainty!"
Murmurs rise in the room, further fueling Adams' anger. "You think you're hot shots? You think nobody can beat you? Well, let me tell you something: you're arrogant little pricks. And that's what will be your downfall! So I suggest you pull yourselves together and make them eat their helmets!"
He falls silent, shoots fiery glances at each of us, then leaves the locker room.
"Offense with me," Hacket calls out.
We follow him to the other end of the room where he briefs us on what changes he’s putting into the offensive gameplan to adjust to what Morgan State’s showing out there.
He’s all business, which helps the offense come down a notch to a better place than we were.
When we return to the field, we're on edge—motivated but tense.
We take the kickoff for the second half, and I’m ready to lead the offense out when Adams puts his hand on my shoulder to hold me back.
"Player, you stay. Chauncey! You're in!"
I frown but don't say anything. The coach's orders aren't up for debate. I remove my helmet and mouthguard before sitting on the sideline bench.
I hate this view. Damn, if it were up to me, I'd be doing everything in my power to turn the tide. But Chauncey’s been ‘the man’, and under his command the Jaguars score two touchdowns on back to back drives that allow us to retake control of the game.
One Morgan State fumble returned by the Jaguars defense for a touchdown at the end of the quarter, and the game’s all but over with .
I watch, helpless, as the rest of the game unfolds. The Jaguars' victory doesn't lift my spirits. If Coach pulled me, it's because I disappointed him. I keep dwelling on this thought as I leave the locker room after changing.
I head toward the team bus, a massive red coach bus emblazoned with the OMU school emblem: a Greek helmet surrounded by stars. It doesn’t match the team but fuck it. My position is important, and my value is recognized, yet I don't feel like I belong with the Jaguars.
I'm convinced it would have been the same on any team.
I never wanted to play at a professional level, that was my father's ambition for me, nothing more.
I would have been content blowing off steam on the field, just to release my anger, without expecting anything more.
But I had to mess up enough to put myself in a position of weakness and give my father the opportunity to control everything in my life.
Leaning against the side of Morgan State’s stadium, I kick at the gravel that scatters in all directions. I follow the path of one pebble that goes further than the others, and my attention fixes on Coach Adams.
The big boss of the Jaguars is walking alone when a man joins him. Adams doesn't seem happy to see him here, he looks around as if making sure no one sees them. He doesn't notice me, probably because I'm in the shadows, and he addresses the stranger who has joined him.
From this distance, I can't make out their conversation, but the coach is strangely calm. His composed attitude contrasts with his usual behavior during practices and games.
I focus on the man he's talking to. He's tall, thin, with almond-shaped, pinched looking eyes His oily skin is marked with acne scars. His clean, perfectly pressed suit isn't the attire you'd imagine for a football fan .
A presence beside me pulls me from my thoughts. "You played a good game."
I glance at Chauncey before shaking my head. "You're the one who saved our asses. You took over in the second half."
He seems to consider this, and his voice is thoughtful when he responds, "People talk a lot about the quarterback, but football is a team sport."
"No QB, no touchdown. Media says it, fans say it, and pro contracts say it, we're the most important guys on a team. And you know it."
Chauncey looks down at his shoes before turning his attention back to the bus. "Yeah, maybe."
"If you're not convinced, you should at least pretend to be, because if Adams finds out, he'll chew you out."
I stay quiet, frowning. It's not like me to give advice, but I wonder where this guy came from. He has the position coveted by every player in the country—some would sell their own parents to be in his place—and yet he doubts himself?
If Chauncey wants to put himself down, that's his business. I couldn't care less what he thinks. Without waiting for his response, I head toward the bus door. His voice rises behind me, "I wish I could be more like you, Player."
I freeze but don't turn around. He continues, "You know exactly what you need to do and where you're going in life. That's something I envy about you."
Chauncey couldn't be more wrong: I have no idea where I'm going.
I'm forced to follow the path my father chose for me, and it makes me sick when I think about it too much.
My position is due to chance, to luck (or rather bad luck), and I could do without this damn "providence.
" If I had been terrible at sports, my father wouldn't have this hold over me.
Just goes to show, what's a blessing for some is a curse for others.
My mood isn't great when I get back to the dorm, late. For once, I have the strange hope that Alabama might be asleep on the living room couch. But when I cross the room, I realize there's no one there.
Instinctively, I turn my attention to Dixie's door, where a sliver of light filters underneath. A crazy idea crosses my mind, but I shake my head to chase it away.
Instead, I enter my room and throw my bag on the floor. It lands in the middle of the room with a loud thud.
Am I trying to get my roommates' attention? Particularly that of a sexy brunette?
I let out a discouraged sigh as I fall onto my bed. Damn! I'm tired of thinking about her. We hooked up once. It was nice, end of story.
Nice, huh? Just that?
Eyes fixed on the ceiling; I think that I should never have slept with Dixie. Now I know her taste, her smell, the sensation of being buried deep inside her, and it was downright amazing!
My cock twitches as desire ignites in my veins without warning. Suddenly, the idea of hooking up with Alabama again seems very tempting, and she's so close... I could just jerk off thinking about her. Yeah, that's what I should do.
But my body decides otherwise, and before I think about what I'm doing, I find myself in front of Dixie's bedroom door. The handle turns silently, and the door pivots on its hinges.
A bedside lamp is on, illuminating Alabama's face.
She's asleep with a book resting on her.
A quick glance at the other bed tells me she's alone tonight.
I don't hesitate anymore and enter the room before closing the door behind me.
I shouldn't be doing this. A little voice in my head tells me to get out of there fast, but I silence it .
Alabama must be deeply asleep, because she doesn't react when I take the book and place it back on her nightstand. Her sheet doesn't cover her chest, and I can't resist the temptation to trail my fingers along her collarbone.
This time, Alabama stirs in her sleep. She sighs and tilts her head to the side, giving me access to her neck. Without thinking, I let my fingers slip under the strap of her top, but I don't pull it down. I want her to know I'm here and to be fully aware of what I'm about to do to her.
Her face is relaxed, her full lips slightly parted. I lean toward her and place a first kiss on her mouth.
Dixie lets out a little moan and her eyelids flutter before opening slightly. Her dark irises fix on me as I hover above her, waiting for her reaction.
She stares at me for a moment, waiting for her thoughts to clear, until she realizes I'm really there.
Surprise, desire, and a certain form of anger succeed each other on her face. At least, that's the impression I get. It lasts only a fraction of a second before she grabs my t-shirt to pull me closer. When she kisses me, I have no doubt about what she wants.
A kind of frenzy takes over us. Dixie pulls at the fabric of my clothes while I remove the sheet covering her. She's wearing only a tank top and panties, and my cock hardens even more in my pants.
Dixie slides her hand along my abs and I understand the message.
I remove my t-shirt, tossing it on the floor.
Already, she's working on unzipping my jeans, and I straighten up to give her better access.
My pants and boxers slide down my legs, and I find myself naked in front of her.
Our gazes lock, and Dixie gets rid of her tank top.
I watch, dazzled, at the sight of her breasts waiting just for me.
She doesn't hesitate for a second before grabbing my erection that stands before her face .
I wonder if she's ever gone down on a man before, but I push that question far back in my mind because the idea that she might have done it causes an unpleasant sensation in my stomach.
She strokes my erection with confident movements, but the moment she makes to put her lips on it, I move away and grab her knees, pulling on them.
Dixie lets out a small, surprised moan when she finds herself stretched out on her bed. I devour her with my eyes. Her velvety skin is just waiting for me, and my tongue.
Her panties are just a tiny obstacle between us which I quickly remove. Finally, I climb onto her bed and place my hands on her knees. Without taking my eyes off hers, I spread them, and Dixie's cheeks turn scarlet, but she doesn't ask me to stop.
Her delicate skin breaks out in goosebumps when I caress the inside of her thighs. Her warmth welcomes my fingers the moment I encounter her offered sex.
"You're driving me crazy..." I rasp, and she smiles dreamily.
"Then what are you waiting for?" she replies.