He bends forward and kisses me, sweetly and softly. Apparently my grungy attire or slightly sweaty skin don’t matter to him. He keeps his hands on either side of the doorframe of the alcove, holding himself slightly away. I don’t like that space between us so I twine my arms around his neck and tug him closer. He makes a noise—not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, but more of a sigh of happiness. It fills pockets in my heart I didn’t know were empty. As he draws back, I follow him because I’m not done with that kiss.

“What was that for?” I ask hoarsely. His fingers are the tiniest bit shaky as they smooth a few strands of hair away from my forehead.

“I hadn’t kissed you since the bookstore. That’s a long time.”

My lips part at the sincerity of his words. They aren’t a line—at least not to him.

He captures those parted lips between his again. This time his tongue delves deep into my mouth, finding places that have me moaning in longing. He lifts me with ease, using his football player strength, and pushes me against the wall. I wend my fingers into his short straw colored hair and wrap my legs around his waist.

All sense of preservation lies somewhere between the softball field and the apartment. He’s wrecking me, in long licks and tiny bites, one tender and scorching hot kiss at a time.

I want to suspend time and remain in this moment forever with his big frame blotting out the light and his mouth memorizing every curve and plane of my face. I feel weightless, protected and cherished.

Under my fingers, his shoulder muscles bunch as he reaches down to stroke a firm palm along the outside of my thigh. His kisses are making me wet and hungry. He makes low sounds of appreciation and I rock against him in growing desperation.

After what seems like both an eternity and not long enough, he allows my legs to slide to the ground. His head drops on my shoulder and I can feel his entire body heave as he tries to gain his breath and his control.

After three shuddering breaths, he pushes away from me.

“I need to wear longer T-shirts when you’re around.” He tugs out his shirt and tries to pull it down over the erection tenting his shorts. We exit the alcove and walk past four doors to stop at my apartment.

“Do you want to come in?”

He gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. I need to get home, get some beauty sleep, and prepare for the game.”

I try not to let my disappointment show. “You worried about the game this weekend?”

He shakes his head. “Not worried. Eager. I’ve waited since last December to get back on the field. I want to make grown-ass men cry. I want to imprint the paint from the yard markers and grind it into their skin. I want them to go home and have nightmares about meeting me on the turf.” He looks down at me. “But I’m not taking it for granted. They’re a weaker team but it’s their home field. Anything could happen.”

Right. The odds in Vegas are probably fifty to one that the Warriors lose.

“Do you really believe that?”

He pauses for a moment. “Yeah. Anything could happen. Ace could go down. He could throw a half dozen interceptions. We could fumble on every kickoff and punt return. We could forget how to tackle. Do I think those things will happen? No, but I can’t go into the game thinking it’s won before the last whistle blows.”

“When’s your charter bus leave for the airport?”

“Around eleven.” He leans an arm against the door and it takes real effort not to swoon at the sight of the bulging muscle in my periphery vision. “How’s Jack doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Masters cocks his head. “He’s on my list.”

“What list?” I straighten and push his arm away from my head.

“Ace and I watch over the newbies, make sure they don’t get into trouble, know the unspoken team rules.”

He looks at me curiously wondering why I’m making a big deal of this. I shouldn’t but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Why is Jack on your list?” I snap.

“Because his grades are on the border of eligibility. I’m checking in to make sure he’s got all the help he needs to pass his classes.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that a problem?”

I paste on a fake smile. “Of course not, but don’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

“He's sensitive about that.” I jut my chin out. Why can’t Masters do as I ask?

He rubs the back of his neck. “Jack’s a smart guy. I’m sure he knows that he’s on the bubble. He could be an important part of our team this year. Last year we struggled with scoring. With Ace, Jack, and Ahmed, we have decent scoring options.”

“So you’ll stalk him?” My voice starts to get high.

“Nooo,” Masters draws out slowly. “I try to save that for girls I like.”

“I think you should go.” I cross my arms over my chest. Dating Masters would be like holding my hand over a flame. At some point, I’ll get burned. I don’t need that in my life.

17 Ellie

Game Day: Warriors 0-0

“I haven’t seen Jack around,” Riley comments as we settle in for Saturday’s game.

“He’s getting ready for the game.”

“Is it like this all year? They disappear for the weekend?”

I hide a smile at Riley’s disgruntled tone. Jack has become a regular fixture at the apartment. Sometimes it’s just him but often times he brings a teammate with him. Riley and I would have dinner with him or hang out, but on Friday the team left for the game and it’s gotten eerily quiet.

I haven’t seen Masters since I gave him the book back. I wish I didn’t regret that I pushed him away. Telling yourself that you’re doing the right thing and feeling good about it are two totally separate things. Eating broccoli is good for you, but it tastes like shit, and that’s pretty much how I feel not getting one flirty text from Masters or seeing him pop up around campus.

“From September through November they’re pretty busy, but Jack says he has the most trouble in the spring when there’s no rigid schedule. They have a thirteen week schedule with twelve games,” I explain. “One week is a bye where they don’t have any game and then the thirteenth game is the conference championship. If they win, and they should, then they go into a four team playoff for a shot at the national title.”

“Student athlete seems so glamorous. Full tuition scholarship, free tutors, first pick of classes, but it does seem like they work hard.”

“Very.”

We’d last seen Jack on Thursday, and he’d been hurting. Riley made him put his foot up and I got ice for his knee. The nonstop pampering probably made up half the reason he enjoyed coming over.

“How come you aren’t at the student center?” Riley shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“I don’t like watching the games in public. If you go to a game, you have to sit with a bunch of people who don’t know the game, but think they know it. They’re yelling about the bad refs, or if your brother misses a catch, you have to listen to them talk about how terrible he is.” I shake my head. “It’s better at home.”

“I don’t know anything about the game,” she points out.

“Will you yell nonstop about how bad the refs are?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll ask a lot of questions.”

“Fair enough. What do you know?”

“That there’s a quarterback, Tom Brady’s balls deflated, and there’s a Super Bowl.”

I stifle a laugh. “It’s a start.”

“Why do they hold hands when they walk to the middle of the field? Are they afraid they’ll lose each other? Do they play a game of Red Rover, Red Rover to send one of the Hawkeyes right over? And then if we win, we get the ball?” she jokes as Ace, the running back and three others walk toward the fifty yard line.

“It’s team unity. They’ll also slap each other on the butt all the time.”