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I looked up to the stands to try and avoid looking at him. The fans were filing in, seats filling up quickly as we were only thirty minutes from the start of the game. It never ceased to amaze me how much football fans craved the live games. Didn’t matter at all that it was preseason, there would be a packed house and aggressive fandom happening right down to the last tick of the clock.
Then I read the scrolling on the signs as they made their way around the stadium, taking time to read each and every promotion the team had. I looked at my nails to check for dirt, I checked my shoes to make sure they matched. Anything to keep me from looking back to Coach Peyton.
When I looked at the team, taking note that Tyson Black wasn't even on the field, that led me right back to wondering about Coach Peyton’s stress being about more than just me. I inadvertently took my eyes back to him, hoping for a quick glimpse, but instead of being able to look away with no one knowing, I found myself wrapped up in the opposing stare of his gorgeous eyes.
I couldn’t turn away. It was like we had caught each other and were now at war with who would look away first. Something about him made me not want to ever lose, so I tilted my head and kept my eyes on his. He narrowed his eyes a little, taunting me back, but I knew I would win that fight. He had a team to coach, and I had nothing to do for twenty-five more minutes.
He licked his lips, but it didn’t feel as though it was on purpose. It was a reflex, and my responding reflex was to moan under my breath. The sound I made was quiet, but it snapped me out of my daze. I couldn’t moan for that man, especially not there and then.
I averted my eyes, hoping no one heard me. I lost the fight and I hated myself instantly, but when I looked back to Coach Peyton, I saw no face of triumph. He was still looking at me, like he was trying to figure something out that I didn’t understand.
Then, with a small jerk of his head, he turned and walked from the field. The team followed him, taking their fifteen-minute break before the game started and the officials remained on the field. But I needed my own minute, something to cool me down before I stood so close to Coach Peyton on the sideline for three hours.
“I’ll be right back,” I nodded toward the corridor. “Gonna change my socks really quick.”
The looks of concern and confusion from my co-officials was warranted. Who the hell needed to change their socks? It was just the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t be noticeable when I returned. Telling them I was considering pinching my nipples to ease the pain of them hardening while I stared at Levi Peyton didn’t seem like a good idea, though.
I started jogging so I had more time in my locker room, even considering how long it would take to bring myself to an orgasm just to take the edge off. When I got in the room, I leaned against the door and squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to not want his.
The TV in my small locker room was on the broadcast and I looked up to see a commercial about orphaned dogs. I tried hard to let myself cry for those dogs. I imagined what it must be like for them and how I wished I could save them all.
But even that didn’t work. Once the commercial ended, I was right back in my head about my stare-off with Coach Peyton. I walked to the sink and splashed some water on my face, then headed back to the door.
I yanked it open with frustration and made the two steps around the corner to the main walkway. Just as I stepped out, I was side by side with him, like some cruel twist of karma for sleeping with him in the first place.
He was leading his team out and there were cameras all around. It was being broadcasted onto the big screens in the stadium and I knew I had to get as far away from that as possible.
“Sorry,” I muttered to no one and sped up to get past the cameras. I took one last glance backward, like the masochist I was, and saw Coach Peyton watching me walk away. He swallowed so big I could see his Adam's apple move and then he bit his lip.
I turned back and ran, because even though I wasn’t convinced he was doing it on purpose, it started to feel methodical on his part. A different way to win the war. I needed distance and I needed it quickly.
Running from the corridor, I caught up to my officiating team and made a quick joke about how much better my socks felt. Then we looked up to watch the teams being announced and led out onto the field.
Fireworks were blasting, music was playing, and the fans were so loud I barely heard Martin telling us to have a good game. I shook the hands of each of my co-workers and made my way to the home team’s sideline, just as Coach Peyton did.
With the game starting and everyone looking his way, he paid me less attention and I was beyond thankful. He took his headset and settled it on his ears, and I pulled my smaller one out and settled the bud into my right ear.
We gave each other a practiced nod, something everyone else would expect between two professionals. But somehow, the air around us had changed. Being close to him had been hard from the start, but now that I had the image of him sending Sisco to the mat in my head, I was jittery and apprehensive.
I kept wondering if he was as fucked up as I was. I wondered, while I settled in my position to call the game, and he settled into coach, if he was watching me from behind. Thank the football Gods that the coach had to stay behind the line judge because there was not a doubt in my mind, I would survive the game if he was in my view.
The game started and to my relief, I was able to forget about the man behind me and do my job. Also, there had been no close calls in the first half, so I had no need to throw my flag, which was the best way to keep Coach Peyton out of my hair.
It wasn’t until close to the end of the game that sparks started to fly again, and not the good kind. Sparks like ammo and gunpowder, old outlets, and lightning near telephone poles. Just as I predicted, the defense for the opposing team tangled up with one of the Jets’ tight ends, Lawrence Anders, and even though I could have thrown the flag for a penalty, it was a “let them play” situation and Coach Peyton was letting me hear all about it.
“We are leaving here after this game and going straight to the ophthalmologist. I swear to God you cannot see anything.”
“Calm down Coach. We are letting them play it out.” I said the words Martin told me to say, but all they did was drive Coach Peyton crazier.
“You think I give a shit? You think this is a fucking game?”
I turned around, amusement all over my face. “Really, Coach? A game? That’s exactly what this is.”
“No, it's my job, and you making calls like that doesn’t come down on you, they come down on me.”
“Hey, hey, hey….” the assistant coach, who I knew was named Dave, was pulling at him, trying to lead him away. “Calm down.”
“I’m not calming down. Is this how it will be all season, Apple? Gonna be fucking everything up when you spend more time looking at the players and not the play?” I flinched at his use of my one-night stand name but everyone else thought it was an insult. It wasn’t. Insinuating I was ogling the players was the insult. Another jab at me for not being good enough for the job based on my gender.
