Page 50
Story: Guarded By the Goalie
“What is that?” I whisper, cheek planted against his chest.
Another loud thud slams into the wall and a stack of notebooks slides off the shelf and onto the floor.
“Jefferson,” he mutters, hand reaching between us to adjust himself, while never letting me out of his grip.
Oh. The wall fucking. That’s what he was talking about.
Out in the hallway, I hear the sound of a door opening and then a louder, more insistent pounding.
“Uh oh, he pissed off Cap.”
“Seriously, dude?” Reese’s voice carries through the walls. “It’s three-fucking-AM. You’re waking up the whole house. We’ve got practice in the morning.”
“Shut up, man,” Jefferson retorts. “You think you and Twy are all quiet in there, but you’re not. Oh, Reese!” His voice rises into a high falsetto. “Oh, Sunshine!”
“Oh my god,” I snort, then bark out a too loud laugh. Axel brings my face to his chest, smothering my laughter.
“You’re gonna give us away,” he says, quietly. “They may be okay with us hanging out some, but I suspect this crosses the line.”
He’s right. Twyler would lose her shit if she knew I was still in here–although right now, she’s probably just dying of embarrassment that Jefferson called them out.
“Just go to bed, asshole,” Reese says. “And fuck your girl on the bed like everyone else.”
The doors slam, one then the other, and the house falls silent. Axel’s hand is on my back and there’s no mistaking the hard erection between us. It was like that while we watched three episodes of the show, but he never made a move–not once.
“Is it like this every night?” I ask, lifting my face to his.
“Only when Jeff brings chicks home. He spends a lot of time over on sorority row.”
“I’ve heard those are your stomping grounds too.”
He shrugs. “Used to be.”
“Do you miss it?”
His green eyes hold mine. “Not as much as I thought I would.”
Our bodies are close, every inch pressed against one another, including the rock hard erection he’s been sporting all night.
“Twyler is so private. She’s going to be horrified showing her face in the morning.”
“The first night she slept over, she bolted before daylight.”
“Sounds right.” I smile, before it falters. “I guess I always saw the walk of shame as this badge of honor. Like I wanted everyone to see me coming out of a football player’s dorm or apartment.” I think this comes from my first time with my neighbor, too. “Walking home in the morning was never what made me feel shitty with the football players, especially with Brent.”
“What did?” he asks.
“They didn’t want me to be seen with them, but they also wanted me to just hang around. Wait for them while they were playing or at practice. Sit and wait until they got back from a party. It was boring and never as exciting as I thought it would be.”
I was an afterthought. A quick and convenient way to get off.
“I was never good enough to be seen with them–like as their girl. No one was looking for me in the stands.” I sigh, feeling so dumb. “I thought eventually they’d realize that I was the girl they were waiting for. See how I could be more to them than a quick fuck.”
“Hey,” he says, arms circling tight, “that’s bullshit, you know that right?”
“It’s hard when you know the only value they see in you is how much money they can make from selling you.”
“Jesus.” He exhales. “You are worth so much more than you understand. Those assholes were lucky you even gave them the time of day.”
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