Page 14 of Necessary Roughness

Knox

“That went really well,” Logan said on the walk home.

That was an understatement. Three hours ago, I’d felt immensely disappointed that Sloane had canceled on us. I suspected she had cold feet, but the soup delivery really was made with the most innocent of intentions. All I’d wanted to do was make her more comfortable around us.

I never expected us to actually do anything.

Now I was disappointed that her roommate had interrupted us. If she hadn’t…

“I wish I’d known you were going to kiss her goodbye,” I muttered.

Logan barked a laugh and let his stride turn into a strut. “Can’t copy my swagger, bro. Not my fault you didn’t make a move.”

“I thought the vibe was ruined thanks to her roommate.”

“There’s your problem. You’ve got to make your own vibe.” He sighed happily. “Sloane is fucking great. Even if this whole arrangement doesn’t pan out, I’d hang out with her just as friends.”

“Same,” I said absently. I could still feel her skin underneath my palm, her tongue probing into my mouth…

There was just one problem.

“Is our agreement still in place?” I wondered out loud.

“It fucking better be,” Logan exclaimed. “That kiss was such a tease. I might go insane if I never get to do more with that girl. Like watching the first ten minutes of Die Hard. Just the first ten minutes.” He shivered.

“We’ll see,” I said.

When I closed my eyes that night, it was Sloane’s face I saw in my dreams. Smiling at me in class. Giggling on the couch while we watched a movie. Throwing popcorn at me, then snuggling up against my arm.

They were the kind of dreams that stuck with me long after I’d gotten out of bed the next morning. When I eventually took a shower, I closed my eyes, allowed my hand to drift down between my legs, and stroked myself to a quick—and intense—orgasm, my sighs echoing off the shower tiles.

When I emerged from the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get a drink, Roman stared at me with curiosity in his dark eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replied in a voice that sounded like a rockslide.

“You’re thinking something.” I opened the fridge. “I can tell.”

“Usually am.”

I gave him a look.

“You had fun last night,” he finally said.

There it was. He was thinking about Sloane.

“What makes you say that?”

Roman gestured at me with a meaty hand. “You’re different.”

“No I’m not.”

He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes on my back.

“Are you jealous of our thing with Sloane?” I asked.

He snorted. “What thing? She got cold feet.”

“Logan likes to kiss and tell, doesn’t he,” I murmured.

“All you did is kiss. Not much of a fuck-buddy, huh?”

“It’s a start,” I said.

“The start of a relationship,” Roman said bluntly.

“No. That’s not what this is. We all want the same thing: a physical relationship.”

“Two hours watching a movie, and two minutes kissing.” Roman scoffed. “Not very physical.”

I ignored him and went back to my room to get dressed.

Jacking off helped banish Sloane from my thoughts… until I saw her in class. She smiled and gave me a little wave as I took the desk next to her again.

That was the only attention she gave me during class, but I still couldn’t stop glancing over at her.

Keeping her gorgeous body and beautiful face within my peripheral vision.

I wanted to flirt with her, but I needed to focus on this class, too.

Student athletes got a lot of leeway with their coursework, but I still wasn’t guaranteed a passing grade without at least some effort.

She drifted through my dreams again that night.

But on Saturday morning? I had my game face on.

Coach addressed us in the locker room before the game.

I listened with only half an ear. I was reviewing the play sheet on my wrist, making sure I had memorized all of the formations, routes, and protection schemes.

Our plays changed every single week, so I always had a new set of code-words and nicknames to memorize.

Then we were running out the dark tunnel, emerging into the sunlight on a perfect Florida day. The crowd noise was muffled deep underneath the stadium, but now it cascaded down to us in waves of cheers, chants, and screams.

I closed my eyes and allowed it to wash over me, as I did before every game. Some quarterbacks shriveled under the spotlight, crushed by the weight of their expectations. Not me. I thrived under pressure. It sharpened me like a knife until I was the deadliest football player on the field.

When Roman paused next to me, I asked him, “How many sacks are you going for today?”

He grinned behind his facemask, but there was no humor in the expression. “Three.”

“Three? You don’t think you’ll struggle to get around their offensive line?”

Roman’s sneer deepened. “They’re gonna struggle to stop me .”

The huge linebacker put his helmet against mine, a friendly gesture, then went jogging off. He reminded me of a human battering ram.

“Glad he’s on our side,” Logan said, smacking me on the ass. “Sometimes I feel bad for the other team.”

“Feel bad for them after the game,” I said.

He gave me a salute. “Sir, yes sir!”

As I jogged to the sideline, I once again let the roar of the crowd wash over me. It always energized me, and today was no different.

But one thing was different: I imagined Sloane in the crowd, adding her voice to the cheers.