39 | Henry
GEORGIA STARES UP at me from the couch, a glint of naughtiness flashing across her widened eyes as she pouts her lips. Her breasts are swollen and flushed with arousal, contrasting with the feigned innocence of her expression.
God, I want to fuck that look off her face.
I tug at the center of my belt buckle as Georgia, lips plump and rosy, surveys me.
She raises a slender and manicured hand towards my waistband, offering to help speed up the process, when a loud bang stops us both in our tracks.
“Georgia!” A muffled voice slurs from the other side of the front door, followed by a series of increasingly aggressive thuds.
“I knows you’re in there you fuckding b-bitch!”
Watson’s words are practically incoherent from drunkenness as he continuously smashes his hand against the door. I look towards Georgia, whose expression of fear instantly shatters my heart and ignites an unbridled rage within me.
“Here,” I demand, handing her my button-up from the floor. “Put this on and go to your room. Lock the door. I’ll take care of this.”
She does as she’s told, instantly pulling the oversized shirt over her head and racing towards her room, bolting herself in.
“Let me in you fudcking slut!”
I swing open the front door and am instantly assaulted by the smell of cheap liquor, cigarettes, and vomit.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Watson – you smell like a goddamn urinal.”
My face twists in revulsion as he stands in front of me, breathing heavily like a deranged ape.
“Ged the fugck o-out of my way, Coach,” he garbles.
Holy shit, he’s wasted out of his mind.
“Get out of here, Watson. Georgia doesn’t want to see you. Or smell you.”
Watson glares at me, his darkened eyes glazed over with inebriation.
“Hey,” he says, his lips curling as he prods a finger into the center of my chest, “I know you – that fudking pussy, Anderson. You took that b-bitch–”
“Watch it–”
Before my words can leave my mouth, Watson pulls back his fist and lunges it towards my jaw, just missing me as he stumbles into the brick siding of the porch.
“Fuck you!” he blunders, raising his voice. “I took t-that whore out. She o-owes me pussy. And I’m goings to get it.”
He thrusts his weight towards me, grasping onto the metal doorknob and twisting hard in an attempt to get into the house. To get to Georgia.
To fucking rape her.
Before I can stop myself, my hand instinctively tightens around his bicep, my every thought muted by blind fury. The sheer force of my grasp immediately drives him against the brick wall of the porch, knocking the air from his lungs. Ignoring his sporadic grunts of pain as I tighten my grip, I close the gap between us and immediately become nauseated by the smell of him – like a fucking dead animal.
This fucker couldn’t be more drunk if he tried. Did he drive here?
The thought is fleeting as his breaths grow strained and shaky beneath my grasp.
“Focus on what I’m about to say,” I snarl, my face inches from his as the quiet night surrounds us. “I told you never to go near her again. You didn’t fucking listen–”
“Fuck you, Anderson. Y-you think you own me? You steal my f-fucking place as captain and think I’m your bitch now?”
“This isn’t about football, you sick fuck – and you know it. You want captain? You can be the fucking captain. I don’t give a shit. But you don’t threaten Georgia.”
I tighten my grip around his arm, instantly causing him to wheeze in pain and desperately attempt to loosen my grasp.
“You don’t hurt Georgia. You don’t touch her. You don’t show up at her door. You don’t fucking breathe in her direction.”
He grabs onto my wrist and tries to rip me off of him, but my hold only intensifies.
“I’ll let you go,” I assert, shoving him against the brick once more to emphasize my point, “if you swear you’ll never so much as think about me, or Georgia, ever again.”
“S-suck my d-dick, Anderson,” he chokes out, saliva dribbling from his lower lip as he speaks.
“Oh, yeah?” I taunt, hardening my grip and yanking downwards, forcing Watson to a kneeling position on the brick porch. “Which one of us is on our knees?”
He glares at me, his breaths shaky and weak.
“F-fine,” he stutters, pupils dilating as his shallow breaths quicken, “I’ll fucking leave.”
“Henry, what the hell happened out there?” Georgia asks, her expression vulnerable and concerned.
My oversized shirt clings to her curves as she saunters towards me, immediately entangling herself in my arms.
“Don’t worry about that,” I murmur. “He’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”
She nods, her lips pouting as she gently traces her finger down my bare abdomen.
“Well,” she starts, a coy smile on her lips. “Then should we pick up where we left off?”
I chuckle and plant a soft kiss at the center of her forehead.
“I’m sorry, princess – but there’s something I need to go take care of.”
I run my fingers through my hair anxiously as I stand on the porch of the Zeta Kappa sorority house. I can hear muffled party music coming from the inside, and I groan as the door swings open.
“Ooh, how are you, Mr. Anderson?” slurs Amber, a friend of Natalia’s and a professional jersey chaser.
Her blonde bob is styled pin straight, framing her puffy cheeks with wisps of golden hair. She’s dressed, but barely, and I instantly notice how her leather mini skirt is clearly inappropriate for the cold temperature outside.
“Hey, Amber – where’s Natalia?”
She rolls her eyes, pouting her overfilled lips in annoyance that I’m not here to see her.
“Oh, boo,” she whines. “Nat’s upstairs... NATALIA!”
Amber screeches into the house behind her, her strident voice easily carrying over the pumping bass of the house music.
“Thanks, Amber,” I remark, flashing her what I hope is a charming smile.
“Yeah, whatever.”
She pushes the door open fully, allowing me to enter into the chaos that is Zeta Kappa on a Friday night.
I pay little attention to the flirty advances of the drunk sorority sisters as they touch my arms and whisper my name. My eyes are glued to the large, winding staircase towards the back of the foyer, the same one that leads directly to Natalia’s room.
The music fades in intensity as I make my way up the wooden steps, my attention fixed on the first door to the left of the second-story landing. Bold purple letters spelling NATALIA zigzag across it, and I inhale deeply as I draw nearer. I’ve barely knocked before the door swings open to reveal Natalia’s tall frame, clad in only blue, lacy lingerie.
“Jesus, Natalia–” I start, shutting my eyes and turning my head away.
“Finally came to your senses, huh?”
Did she know I was coming? Or does she always hang out alone in nothing but a lacy bra and thong?
“Listen, I came here to tell you that this – whatever the fuck this is,” I gesture between us, my eyes still averted, “is over. Watson’s out, you lost your lackey, so you can stop whatever game it is you think you’re playing.”
She chuckles, brushing her long, curled hair over her shoulder.
“Come in here, Henry,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry.
“I’m good out here, thanks.”
She pouts her glossy lips, eyebrows furrowed in feigned hurt.
“Don’t you think I deserve some sort of explanation, what with all our history together?”
“Our history? You mean when you cheated on me and then tried to get my girlfriend killed on the side of the field?”
My girlfriend. Can I call her that? I have no idea.
She chuckles, her eyes heavy and words garbled slightly.
She must have been drinking earlier.
“Come on, baby. You look so sexy when you’re mad–”
“Natalia–”
“Just come in for a minute. We can talk like adults. No funny business.”
She winks at me and spreads open the door, fully revealing just how scantily dressed she is.
I groan, rubbing a hand across my chin in frustration as I step into the darkened room.
“I was getting a bit worried that I’d never see you in here again,” Natalia coos.
She leisurely lights a scented candle at her desk as she talks, her back arched over the wooden frame in an obvious – and pathetic – attempt to turn me on.
“Listen, Natalia. Nothing’s going to happen between us again. Ever.”
I flip the light switch beside her door, immediately showering the room in fluorescent brightness and momentarily blinding us both. Under the harsh, white lighting, Natalia’s usual modelesque exterior suddenly appears much more abrasive and unpleasant. Her makeup is heavy, with thick, black eyelashes glued slightly off-kilter. Her red lipstick is outside the boundaries of her mouth, I assume to make it appear fuller. Brown eyeliner bleeds below her bottom lashes, with specks of black mascara flaking onto her cheeks. She fumbles to hastily close her transparent robe, her cheeks glowing bright red in embarrassment.
“Henry, what the hell!”
“I’m gonna make this really simple for you,” I grunt, my muscles tensing as I remember how badly she’s attempted to hurt Georgia.
She tried to sleep with me after she saw Georgia crying. She sent Watson to fucking kill her by tackling her on the sideline. She broke into my physical therapy to hit on me after I’d rejected her. She kissed me after the game, knowing Georgia was watching, just to break her heart.
“You don’t go anywhere near me, or anywhere near Georgia…” I pause for a moment, realizing I probably should’ve planned a bit better for this conversation. “Or I’ll tell your dad that you’ve slept with the entire team – more than once.”
No you fucking wouldn’t, Anderson… but Natalia doesn’t need to know that.
“Ha!” she sneers, her eyes ablaze as she stands with her arms folded. “Like he’d believe you. I’m his little girl, remember?”
Alright, time to pull out the big guns.
“He might not believe just me, but he’d sure as hell believe it when every guy on the team admits it's true. They’ve been desperate to tell Coach they fucked his daughter for years, just to piss him off.”
Her brows furrow as a spark of rage shimmers through her narrowed eyes.
“You won’t do it,” she snarls. “Daddy would just kick y’all off the team.”
I scoff, my jaw slacked as I raise my eyebrows at her.
“You seriously think Coach is gonna release the entire D1 team from his roster? That’d be national news. It would never happen. He needs us far more than he needs to pay for your sorority house, or your car, or your tuition–”
“Ugh!” She stamps her foot comically, like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. “Henry, why won’t you just accept that we’re meant to be together?”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have fucked Watson when we were dating – on my birthday.”
“You didn’t seem to mind a few months ago. You don’t remember that night at the party? When you followed me upstairs? We had so much fun–”
“That was before Georgia.” My tone is cold and harsh as I wave her off, not bothering to look in her direction.
Her manicured hands anxiously fiddle with the tie around her robe as faint party music echoes from downstairs. She stares at me, blue eyes darkened in the vivid overhead lighting and mouth slightly agape, as if she’s trying to figure out what to say.
“You’d seriously tell Daddy?”
“Natalia, I wouldn’t hesitate.”