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“So, now you want to have sex?” Madison asks.
“I think so. I mean, if not sex, I definitely want to at least do other stuff. I feel a little out of control. I can’t stop thinking about wanting to touch him and wanting him to touch me. Am I crazy?”
“No babe. You’re not crazy. You’re horny,” Taylor says and Madison snort laughs.
I cover my face in embarrassment and groan into my palms.
“Hey. No, no, no,” Taylor says as she pulls my hands from my face, “what did we tell you about being a strong woman? Own your sexuality. You deserve it.”
I nod my head and agree with her.
“You’re right. I’m gonna tell him I want to do more. Eventually,” I say, laughing and turning off the engine as we finally get out of the car and start heading to the stadium entrance.
As soon as I spot Emmett on the field warming up, I get butterflies in my stomach that travel south. Far south.
Chapter twenty-nine
Emmett
I’mtryingmydamnedestto keep my head in the game, but every time I catch a glimpse of Aubrey on the sideline with Taylor and Madison I can’t help but replay every incredibly delicious detail of last night. I think of every touch, every kiss. I remember the way Aubrey closed her eyes when she peaked and her lips formed a perfect little circle.
She wore her hair down today, just the way I like it, natural and wild. Her hair isn’t even what’s turning me on the most. It’s more so the big number eighty across her chest. She found one of my practice jerseys and is wearing it as a fucking dress. If I wasn’t so committed to my damn teammates I would say fuck it and run to her, throw her over my shoulder, and take her home right now.
Aubrey’s always been gorgeous, even when she was wearing baggy overalls and long sleeve shirts when we first met. But there is just something incredibly sexy about how her confidence has grown these past few months. The way she takes ownership of her body now brings me to my knees, literally. Last night it took more willpower than I’d like to admit to not climb onto the bed on top of her.
A whistle blows and jerks me from my fantasy.
Even though this is my first game back, I’ve been participating in practice for weeks. The movements come back naturally, but I still don’t feel one hundred percent.
I jog over to the huddle as Ender barks out the play call. It’s a passing play with me running a drag route over the middle. We break from the huddle and I head to my assigned location off the right side of the offensive line. As Ender calls out the pre-snap count, he puts one of the receivers in motion from the left side of the field to the right side. The ball snaps just as the receiver gets to his new spot; and I jump off the line. I take two steps before turning left and running my route across the field. I can see Ender’s eye’s moving around the field, working through his progression to try and find open receivers.
All the other receivers must be well covered, because Ender looks at me and fires a pass straight at my chest. My hands burn when I catch the ball, which happened even before the cancer because sometimes Ender throws the ball that hard. I take a step upfield and get hit from the side and tackled to the ground. Even with practicing the last few weeks, it’s still been almost a year since I’ve been tackled in a real game, and practice just doesn’t quite prepare you for the force of an opponent trying to knock you out of your cleats. Plus, I’m pretty sure everyone’s been taking it easy on me in practice.
As I take an extra second to pick myself up off the turf, I can feel the concerned stares of my friends and teammates on me. I slowly jog back to the huddle and Ender slaps me on the back giving me a knowing look.
This goes on for what feels like days. Whistles blow. Ender yells out the play. The ball snaps. The thick cracking sound of men crashing into each other. The ball spirals through the air. The crowd cheers when the play goes our way and releases sounds of disappointment when we fumble. It all creates a melody I’m so familiar with and pushes me to ignore the fact that my chest is tight, I’m out of breath and I feel like I might pass out at any second.
When the final whistle blows, we squeak out a win by only six points. A single touchdown.
I’m just as excited as everyone else for the win but push past my celebrating teammates. My eyes never stray from hers as I take long strides to the sideline. I drop my helmet on the grass and lift up my girl, spinning her around in circles.
Aubrey squeals and laughs as I spin her a few more times before letting her stand back down on her own two feet.
“You did so go–”
I cut her off by pressing my lips to hers and tangling my fingers through her wild hair. She doesn’t miss a beat and sinks into my kiss, letting out a soft moan that vibrates my lips.
When I finally pull away she has a shy smile on her face.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since you showed up on this sideline in my number,” I growl into her ear.
“I just wanted to show my support,” she says, while trying to give me an innocent smile.
It doesn’t work. I see right past it. Aubrey knew exactly what she was doing when she put my jersey on and yes, it had the exact effect I’m sure she was hoping for. I’ve had to practice some pretty intense breathing to keep my dick from going hard all game.
“Are you ready to get out of here, gorgeous?” I ask her.
Before she can answer, Taylor comes bouncing over.
