He turns his head toward the stands after every drill, every play, though I can’t see his eyes from this distance, shaded as they are by his helmet. My palms begin to sweat every time he glances in my direction, a low thrum starting between my thighs. My blood hums, nipples erect. The more I register his sinewy arms and the lines, bulges and musculature outlined in his white football pants, the more I can hear my breaths, loud and shallow in my head.
Wow. He’s really good. Male grace and fearlessness in every movement. At one point, he removes his helmet and dark, sweaty hair lands in a mess around his intense face, his cheekbones colored with exertion and my mouth goes dry as a desert. Is that how he’ll look while we’re…in bed together?
I want to fuck you.
He said that to me in the classroom. In those moments, the possibility seemed very real. Imminent. Teddy on top of me. Inside me. But now, watching this big, strong god avoid tackles and leap over bodies on the field, I cannot imagine him and I together like that. I cannot. He’s like Achilles in battle, ripped from the pages of my Greek mythology text. I’m, like, a random servant girl in the background. It doesn’t make sense.
And now he’s frowning at me from the sidelines.
Someone is calling his name—a coach—and he turns reluctantly. Puts his helmet back on. That’s when I realize one of the girls is prodding my arm. Krissy, right? Based on her exasperation, she’s been trying to break through my Teddy stupor for quite a while.
“Sorry.” I resist the urge to hide behind my fall of hair. “I got lost in thought.”
Krissy laughs. “Look at that blush, girls. Anyone want to guess what she’s thinking about?” They break into moaning sounds and obscene gestures with their fingers. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that you’re fantasizing about your boyfriend.”
I shift on the metal seat, hands wrestling in my lap. Isn’t this how girlfriends talk to each other? If I ever want to make friends or at least be accepted, I need to stop being so scandalized. “Guilty as charged,” I mutter, making them laugh.
Most of them, anyway. Krissy isn’t laughing. She looks almost calculating. “Yes, but is he fantasizing about you?” She squints down at my clothing. “You might be leaving a little too much to the imagination for that.”
“Krissy…” Mindy says in a warning tone. “Leave her alone. I’m telling you, he’s—”
“I’m just trying to help her out.” She crooks a finger at me. “Come here. Let’s do something with this outfit. It’s not totally beyond saving. And I have some makeup in my bag.”
My instinct is to say no. I may have grown up sheltered, but I’m not stupid. It’s easy to see Krissy doesn’t have my best interest in mind. But if I’m going to be around these girls a lot, if I’m going to fit in and not be a social outcast, I have to try a little. Make an effort. And maybe…maybe there is a part of me that wants the help. No one has ever aided me in picking out clothes or putting on makeup or styling my hair. I grew up without a mother. What I had was a distracted guardian—and I was grateful for her. But now? My lack of polish is so glaring compared to these girls. Not to mention, people are going to compare me to Teddy. They’re going to wonder what the hell he’s doing with a girl who barely brushes her hair and wears clothes meant for a man. Maybe a little makeover wouldn’t kill me?
I swallow hard and slide toward Krissy on the metal bench. “Okay…”
* * *
Teddy
“Damn. Who is the hot girl in the stands?”
“Haven’t seen her before. Fuck. Those legs are begging to be clamped around my head.”
They shove each other. “After me, bro.”
I don’t even glance up from the playbook. This is normal bullshit from my teammates. They’re always going on and on about women, their bodies. I don’t have the heart to break it to them that all of their groupies look the same. They can’t hold a candle to my Iris. Jesus, I want her. I want her so bad, but I’ve got another half hour of practice until she takes me to her secret place. I’m dying to see it. Dying to know everything about her—
“Oh shit, dude. That’s Xavier’s girl.”
“What?” He sounds nervous. “No…she…that’s not how she looked earlier.”
My chin snaps up, something sharp and ugly winding down my throat and wrapping around my vocal cords. Xavier’s girl. Iris. They’re talking about my Iris? I didn’t even have to say a word when I stepped on the field. It went unspoken that she is off fucking limits. So why are they talking about her? I’m going to break the neck of whoever spoke about her legs out loud.