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Sunday was a home game for the Jets, so I knew where I would be and how it would go down. But the Sunday after that, the second game of the season, was my first away game and I was nervous.
I would fly by myself, on a commercial flight, and it would be up to me to get to where I needed to be. Not that I wasn’t a grown ass woman and couldn’t handle it, but last time I flew to another city alone, I ended up in bed with Coach Peyton.
At least I knew that wouldn’t happen again. I wouldn’t be in bed with anyone, actually. Because since that night in New York, I was broken. Levi “Brett” Peyton broke me. I couldn’t even get myself to a climax without thinking of him.
That thought made me pound the bag harder, grunting and screaming. The few people left in the gym didn’t bother looking my way, they let me battle it out. Sweat was dripping down my forehead, my shoulders were starting to ache, and I knew I only had five more punches left in me.
One punch for the fact that I had a one-night stand and he showed back up in my life like a devil leaving hell.
Another punch for the fact that I couldn’t stop picturing him between my thighs.
A third punch for how disrespectful he was to me on the field.
Number four was for how much I had come to hate him since getting to know him more.
Finally, I reared back and gave it all the strength I had left, one last punch for the night. That one was for the fact that given the chance, I would fuck him again with no hesitations about what was right or wrong, or how much I hated him.
And for that, I hated myself.
Chapter14
Levi
It was the opening game of the regular season and I had already spent all morning in a meeting with Richard so he could tell me all the things I had already done wrong that season.
For starters, I had a black eye. The last-minute fight that Al set up for me on Friday ended up being tougher than I thought. I shouldn’t have accepted the bout but taking the edge off before the big game on Sunday seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now I was convinced it was a waste. No amount of hitting someone was going to calm my nerves after being told fourteen times in one hour that I was on the chopping block. That if I didn't start bending where he told me to bend, I would be in deep waters. He even pointed to the black eye, asking what happened, and I dug a deeper grave by lying about a door hitting me.
His face said he knew I was lying and instead of owning up to being in a boxing match with someone forty pounds heavier than me, I just kept the lies coming.“The door was big. Bulky. I didn’t expect it to open. Then ‘whack’ right in the eye.”
If he hadn’t been more worried about how well I coached that first game, he probably would have sent me home just for being a sketchy dick. I probably wouldn’t have blamed him at that point. If I was willing to lie about something so small, what else would I lie about?
When the meeting adjourned, I was able to run to my office and prepare for the game. The players filed in from the hotel across the street where we stayed the night before and were getting ready to take the field for warmups. Including Ty, who had decided to play again after settling his own drama. I was going to have to check on him constantly, make sure he was okay.
I was the only one that would.
Everything had been so consuming, that I had almost forgotten about Charleigh. It wasn’t until I was walking to the field that she popped out of the alcove to her locker room and started walking ahead of me. She didn’t see me, so the sway of her ass in the straight black pants they forced her to wear wasn’t for me. It was just her natural sway and allure. Something so plain shouldn’t have been so arousing.
Those pants were made for men, but somehow, she made me lose focus every game she walked back and forth in front of me. Down the line, following the ball and the plays as I remembered everything under those pants and how her ass felt in my hands.
“Fuck!” I yelled, too loud. Everyone that had been walking to the field, including Charleigh, turned to look at me. I held my clipboard in front of my dick, the one that had a mind of its own and hardened without my consent. “Sorry, forgot some papers.”
Another lame lie, one that everyone was sure to see right through. I turned and went back to my office, willing myself to get my head back in the game. For good measure, I threw my clipboard into the floor and chalked it up to practicing how I was going to argue her calls later.
When I finally had my shit together, I jogged back to the field and did everything I could not to look her way. No more staring competitions, no more games of chicken. She would win. I had no doubt she was having the same problems I was, getting aroused because of what we had shared in New York. Only her arousal wasn’t as apparent as mine and she could hide it while I just walked around like a piece of gym equipment—hard enough to do pull ups on.
Thankfully, avoiding her was working and I played that hand for all it was worth. She did her job, and I did mine, neither of us causing the other any unwanted issues or drama. But just like in every other game, right before the end of the half, or right before the end of the game, when things were on the line, she fucked up.
The whistle blew as her flag flew, calling our defense for pass interference. Last week they “let them play” and then for that game, she called it? It had to have been because it was against us. It had to be because she hated me and knew the way to make me suffer the most.
In true Levi Peyton fashion, I threw my headset and my clipboard while Dave was trying to hold me back with force. “So now you call it?”
She never looked my way, choosing to continue ignoring me as I went on and on about how blind she was–my go-to insult. I didn’t even know what I was saying or what words were coming out of my mouth. The next play happened, and I didn’t even have my headset back on. I didn’t know what was being called, nor did I care.
I crossed my arms, widened my legs, and stood as still as possible, waiting for the half to end so I could get the hell out of her damn snare.
“Coach,” Dave said in my ear, “Replay said it was a good call.”
