I rub myself, but the relief I get is fleeting. My only solace—and it’s a small one—is that he has to be in as much pain as I am.
“Didn’t sleep well,” Riley notes in the morning. I’m eating her chocolate-covered cereal. It seemed like the right thing to do when I got up frustrated, horny, and upset.
“No. I wish you actually had a high-powered vibrator in your room instead of the sewing machine. I can’t hump that, can I?”
She stares at me wide-eyed and a little fearful. “Um, no. Please don’t do that to my sewing machine.”
I close my eyes and try to gather a little patience. “I’m not, but God, I’d like to punch him in the nuts.”
“I thought you wanted those nuts to do something to you.”
I wave my hand. “I can't even with him.”
“Or odd?” she jokes.
“This is how terrible he is,” I huff. “He’s driven me to using Tumblr words in real life.”
“You should seduce him. He's clearly interested. Put on a sexy dress and make sure he can’t say no.”
I set down my fork. “Riley, you are a fucking genius. I’ll do it after the game on Sunday.”
“Why wait?”
“He’ll be more susceptible after the game. They have so much adrenaline from a win and they need to expend it somewhere.” I grin wickedly at her.
She laughs. “And that somewhere is all over you?”
“Exactly.”
Masters wants me. That much I do know. I need to convince him to let go. And remember to call him Knox.
Masters—I mean Knox—texts me during the sociology class.
Knox: You mad at me?
Me: Why would I be mad?
Knox: So, really mad.
Me: No idea what you’re talking about. Good luck on the game this weekend.
Knox: Is this your way of saying I’m not seeing you this week?
Me: You’re so bright.
Knox: I do have your schedule now…
Me: I can report you to campus police.
Knox: I’ll see you next week.
Me: Or after the game.
Knox: Keep talking.
Me: After you win this week. Maybe I’ll see you around.
Knox: All right.
22 Knox
Post Game: Warriors 2-0
It's standing room only at The Gas Station by the time Matty, Hammer, and I roll in. Two games down and ten to go. We cheerfully accept the back slaps and high fives as we navigate our way to the bar. This time we deserve the congratulations. The team fired on all cylinders. We played fantastic defense, getting four sacks, generating two fumbles. Campbell caught two touchdown passes. Ace threw the ball like Peyton Manning.
More importantly, we played with intensity. Today everyone was hungry—and not just Ace and I showed it on the field. After the game, when game balls got handed out to the players, Coach talked about building off this win and making sure that our best games were ahead of us. This second game was just the start. Then he told us that we had no curfew, but he didn’t want to read about our names in the papers tomorrow unless it had something to do with scoring on the field or saving a busload of old ladies on their way to bingo. Then we were excused.
Now we’re here, basking in the praise and adulation of our classmates.
Or some of us are. Hammer heads straight for the bar to do shots. He doesn’t have his name just because of the hits on the field. Matty already has some Alpha Phi hooked to his hip. She has half her body pressed against his arm while he gestures for the bartender for another drink. I think she’s either trying to assimilate into Matty’s body or absorb him. Later tonight I’ll find some half man, half sorority sister passed out on my living room floor.
Someone presses a bottle into my hands. What the hell? But I might need to get lit tonight if Ellie doesn’t show up. I find a place off the edge of the bar where I can see the door.
I’m not certain she’ll be here. According to Jack, she doesn’t go to the games. The starting whistle blew before I had time to question him further. Post-game, I asked again. He gave me a look that said I was being obvious, but what did I care? The punk. If I wasn’t so fucking happy at his play, I might have punched him in the mouth.
But if she didn’t show up to the post game celebration, it wouldn’t be because she hated football. Just one player. Me.
I fucked it up, making too big of a deal about her slip of the tongue. Girl’s got a few barriers. Someone hurt her—someone she cared about—hard, and she’s worried. Not just for herself, but for her brother. I can get behind that, and even better, I understand it. If Ty had gotten the ass end of a stick, I’d be wary, too. And wasn’t that about half the reason I haven’t been laying pipe the whole time I’ve been here?
I blame my asshole attitude on the fact that most of my thinking power went in my pants last week. Jesus, the first taste of her was enough for me to shoot my wad. I already hovered on the razor’s edge just by kissing her thigh. Who knew that particular part of the body felt so soft?
All week I couldn’t get the taste and feel out of my mind. I’d fucked my fist so hard and so often it’s a miracle my dick isn’t so much raw meat right now.
I exchange high fives, receive back slaps, and more than a few invitations, but my gaze doesn’t waver. There’s only one girl for me, and if she doesn’t show up, then I’ll go to her.
So what if her head wasn’t in the same place mine is? Maybe the universe doesn’t move at the same rate for her. In the meantime, I need more of her. I’ve only had a sample, but I wasn’t lying when I told her I could have stayed between her shaking legs all week. Nothing on this fine earth tastes as good as she does.
Early on, after I’d decided I would wait, I’d marked below the waist as a no go zone. I pride myself on my personal self-control and self-discipline, but even I knew that a hand below the waist meant clothes would come off and the virginity thing would be in the past. It’s also why I didn’t move to the bed even though Ellie panted that word like it was the only one in her vocabulary.
A bed and Ellie made too much temptation for a poor boy like me to resist. But I’m done resisting. I’m done making demands. I’ll lay myself at her pretty little toes and smile if she decides to walk all over me. Because eventually, eventually, I’ll wear her down. Eventually I’ll get her. Like I’ve read every offense. The first time it might take me by surprise, but after a little film, a helluva lot of practice, there’s no O-line that can stop me. No barrier I can’t overcome. No defense I can’t wear down. Eventually.
I glance at my phone. Its blank screen mocks me, as does the door that opens, but never seems to spit out the one person I want to see. Time to take the mountain to Mohammed then. I look around the room to check on my guys. Matty, Hammer, and Jesse take up one side of the bar. Matty nods at me. He’s in charge and will make sure our side of the field gets home. Ace sits in the corner staring hungrily across the room at Stella, who’s talking to some basketball player. Ace looks like he’s about to throw the beer bottle into the guy’s head, and the way he tossed the ball around today like a dart and not some awkward oblong piece of leather meant he’d make good contact.