As I pulled into the horseshoe drive in front of Jamaica’s dorm, I wished for the hundredth time that I didn’t have to go to film this morning. While the coaches would certainly praise us more than ride our asses after our performance yesterday, I’d rather have stayed home, let my girl sleep in, and shared a leisurely breakfast with her instead of that embarrassingly rushed event we’d left a few minutes ago.
“Thanks for the ride, Hotshot.” Without looking at me, she unclipped her seat belt and opened the door. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast, but I appreciate it.”
“Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”
“Callahan.” The way she sounded out my name implied I should know better than to ask.
“Jamaica.” I sounded out her name to remind her I wanted that kiss. Emphasizing my request, I slipped a hand into her curls and deliberately brushed the pad of my finger along the shell of her ear.
She grasped my wrist but didn’t resist when I gently pulled her toward the middle of the seat in the cab of my truck.
When our mouths were only a breath apart, I whispered, “Thanks for coming to see me play. And for coming to the party.” I brushed a kiss over her lips, and I swear a shock of electricity leaped between us.
A tiny gasp escaped her, telling me she felt it too. As I increased the pressure, her hand slipped from my wrist to the side of my jaw. Accepting that invitation, I tasted her lips with the tip of my tongue. Giving me what I wanted, she opened her pretty mouth and let me in. In a flash the kiss went from a chaste “see ya later” to “fuck, I can’t get enough of your hot, sweet mouth.” I plowed my fingers into her mass of curls, holding her head with one hand while I gripped her hip with the other. One soft palm cradled the side of my face while the other clung to the top of my shoulder. Our tongues played a spirited game of tag that made me wish I could fool around with her all day.
From some distant place a car horn honked. Only when we came up for air on a series of short, lippy kisses, did the sound intensify, alerting me it was coming from directly behind us. Jamaica straightened up so fast she almost fell out of the open passenger door.
Wide eyes stared at me. “That should never have happened.” On a whisper I think was supposed to be to herself, she added, “Why does this always happen with him?”
“Like I told you before, this was always going to happen, Island Girl.” With a grin, I tugged one of her curls and let it spring back with the others. “See you tomorrow in class.”
The guy behind me blared his horn again, and I flipped him the bird through my back window.
“Callahan.” She gritted my name through her teeth, her eyes on my upturned finger. “I’m already doing the walk of shame. Don’t make it worse.”
“Zero shame, Jamaica.” When she tossed me a look, I added, “You’re too classy for that. Trust me.”
That stopped her. She blinked and a tiny smile tugged up the corner of her lips. “See you tomorrow, Hotshot.”
She slipped out of my truck, shut the door, and sashayed into her dorm, throwing me a wave over her head. There was absolutely zero shame in Little Miss Super-Cool’s walk. Laughing, I put my truck in gear and rolled out of the drive.
Ten minutes later I arrived at the practice facility in a great mood. I was also a few minutes early. Double bonus. I’d scored a sizzling-hot goodbye kiss from a girl who intrigued me in a way no other girl ever had, and my early arrival for film meant earning brownie points from the coaches. Breezing through the front door, I waved hello to the equipment manager and headed straight for the film room.
At MSC, Wildcat football ruled. The administration and staff treated the players like kings. The film room was more a movie theater than a practice space, right down to the cupholders in the seats big enough to comfortably accommodate a 350 pound lineman. An array of fruit waited on a back table, and I snagged a banana and a cup of pineapple chunks on my way to my usual seat.
Early in my career I’d learned the players who stood out on the team stood out first in the locker room, leading by example. That meant no hiding in the back for any aspect of practice, including watching film. After a bad game, sitting in the front of a film session put a guy square in a coach’s sights and wasn’t any fun at all. Conversely, after playing a great game—and scoring the winning touchdown—sitting in the front meant having all the positive attention. I smiled to myself as I set my pineapple cup in the cupholder and peeled my banana.
As I took my first bite, naughty fantasies starring a certain curly-haired brunette flashed through my head, and I almost choked. Finn announced his presence with a solid smack in the middle of my back as he took the seat next to mine.
“What the fuck, dude?” I demanded when I regained my breath.
“You were dying. I brought you back to life.” He smirked. “You’re welcome.”
The heavenly aroma of coffee wafted from a to-go cup he placed in his cupholder. “You happen to bring two of those?” I asked.
“Uh, no.” A sarcastic crinkle of his brow punctuated his response. “You left the house with plenty of time to pick up your own, so why didn’t you?” His eyes gleamed with an unholy light. “Too busy making out with your girl?”
“I took Jamaica back to her dorm. There wasn’t a coffee shop en route.” Not that I’d cared about coffee at the time. Now after only about four hours of shut-eye, I wished I had some to ensure I stayed awake through three hours of dissecting yesterday’s game.
“She’s not your usual type.”
“Meaning?”
“You usually go for blondes with long legs. Like Tory Miller.”
The mention of that girl’s name turned the sweet pineapple in my mouth sour. “That jersey chaser is one hundred percent not my type. Is that why you keep inviting her over, because you think I need help hooking up with her?”
He shrugged. “You’re always kinda weird around her, so I thought maybe you actually liked her.” His eyes darted to a door at the front of the room where Coach Ellis and his staff were filing in.
“She’s all yours, man. But I’d think twice about hooking up with that one if I were you.”
“Yeah? Why is that?”
“Tory Miller is a calculating little bitch. I’d hate to see you in a jam over that girl.” I finished off my fruit and was debating grabbing more when Coach spotted us.
“You two are early.” He fist-bumped each of us. “Does this mean you used common sense and didn’t spend last night drunk?”
“Nah. We were drunk,” Finn stupidly admitted. “But our mad skills extend off the field too, Coach. Superman wishes he had our strength.” Flexing his bicep, he grinned.
I couldn’t elbow him to shut him up without being obvious.
“You too, O’Reilly?” Coach asked with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes.
“I switched to water fairly early in the evening, sir.”
“Don’t give him any credit, Coach. He was trying to impress a girl.” Finn laughed when I gave in and slapped him upside the head.
Coach grimaced. “Ah, Jesus. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“In ’Han’s defense, you should see this girl. She’s got sweet—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Finn,” I growled.
Coach smirked.
“—curls. It was all I could do not to reach over and sproing them during breakfast.” He made a tugging gesture like he had one of Jamaica’s curls between his fingers.
My fist found his thigh and he yelped, but at least he shut his damn mouth.
“Make sure you focus on what’s important, O’Reilly. We have a real shot at the National Championship this year, but it will only happen if all of you”—Coach glanced in Finn’s direction—“keep your eyes on the prize.”
In unison we said, “Yes, Coach.”
With his laptop tucked under his arm, he headed up the aisle to the projection box.
Loud laughter preceded the running backs, Johnson and Taylor, as they entered the room, followed by the shuffling of heavy feet, which meant Dally, our all-conference center, was on his way in. Within a few minutes of their arrival, most of the rest of team had filled the room in various states of awake.
Bax and Danny slid into the row behind us. Danny leaned forward and poked me in the shoulder. “Are the rumors true? You’re hooking up with someone?”
Making a quarter-turn in my seat, I shot him the stink-eye.
His brows waggled as he grinned at me. “From the expression on your face, I’d say the rumors are true. You gonna bring her around when the house isn’t full of rowdy, drunk-ass people so I can meet her too?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you guys? You act like you’ve never seen me with a girl before.”
“That’s not it,” Bax said. “We’ve never seen you make breakfast for one before.” He turned to Danny. “Plus, the kitchen was spotless when we came downstairs. ’Han even mopped it, and it wasn’t his turn.” Returning his attention to me, he added, “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“It’s fine with me if you assholes don’t make a big deal out of me getting to know Jamaica.”
“So that’s what the kids are calling it these days, huh?” Danny asked.
The guy was our age, but his four years in the military before he started classes this fall gave him the idea he was our elder. Most of the time, he did act older. I would have appreciated if now were one of those times.
“Okay, ladies, finish grabbing your food and find your seats. Film starts in one minute,” Coach Ainsworth called out.
I checked my phone. 9:59 a.m. Our coaches lived for punctuality.
Last call gave me an out with my roommates, so I bounced out of my chair and headed to the food, grabbing another cup of pineapple and one of melons, and returned to my seat right as the opening kickoff appeared onscreen. For the next hour, we studied what we’d played right during the game against the Bulldogs. The high-fives were flying along with “atta boys” and “fuckin’ A’s” as we congratulated ourselves on our prowess.
After a five-minute break, we came back to enjoy our screwups, of which there were surprisingly few considering how evenly we matched the Bulldogs and how close the game had been. Still, the two key blocks I missed had irritated me when I’d missed them and thoroughly pissed me off when I watched myself miss them on the big screen.
“How could you have read that inside linebacker better, O’Reilly?” Coach Wiley, our offensive coordinator asked.
“I misheard Patty’s call, so I didn’t shift like I should have. I stepped left when I should have paid attention when the outside backer put his weight on his inside foot.” Turning to Mick Patterson, our QB, I said, “Sorry for letting him through on that one, Patty.”
Patterson nodded, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. He had avoided a sack on that play by tossing the ball into a team meeting on the sidelines. We lost a down but no yards. Plus, we both knew I made up for letting that linebacker through when I caught the pass that padded the hell out of Patty’s stats for the game—not that Coach Wiley would see that as a win.
After dissecting offense and defense, we switched over to special teams, and I kinda zoned out as thoughts of Jamaica Winslow filled my head. When I’d come back to my room a lot later than I intended after I left her, I discovered her curled up in a ball on the edge of the bed, fast asleep. I nudged her shoulder and told her to wake up, but she waved a sleepy hand in my direction and rolled over. With her sweater riding up the way it was, she didn’t look comfortable, and I knew from experience that sleeping in jeans was not great. So I took it upon myself to help her be comfortable.
She muttered something incoherent when I told her I was going to take off her jeans. When I undid the fly and pushed them down over her hips, revealing pretty white lace bikini panties, my cock twitched in anticipation. But I ignored it. Sitting beside her, I lifted her torso into my arms and tugged her sweater over her head. That sexy satiny camisole showed off her gorgeous rack, but I forced my eyes from lingering the way they wanted to. When she let out a sleepy protest but still didn’t wake up, I had to chuckle. The girl apparently was a hard sleeper. I tugged the covers down and slid her under them, then undressed down to my boxers and slipped in behind her, spooning her close. In seconds I was out.
When she woke up to discover us in bed together, I was as surprised as she was at the state of my dick. I had no idea I could have the mother of all hard-ons while sound asleep. Then again, I’d never fallen asleep snuggled up with a woman as sexy as Jamaica before either. If not for early film today, I might have broken my three-dates-before-sex rule for her.
As it was, when my alarm went off at stupid o’clock and I dragged ass away from her and into the shower, I had to be especially quiet as I jerked off to fantasies of how sweet it would be to enter her from behind while we spooned in the middle of the night.
“’Han, pay attention,” Finn hissed with an elbow to my ribs.
I blinked and readjusted myself in my seat as Coach Wiley said, “Those pancake blocks you laid on the D-end were textbook, O’Reilly. Yours too, Elliot,” he said to our all-purpose fullback.
“Thanks, Coach.”
“All right, that’s it for today. Coach Larkin will see all your shiny faces in the weight room at 6:30 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning.”
After the way my roommates worked me over at the start of film, I was glad I’d driven to the facility alone. Then Bax invited himself to join me for the drive home, reminding me it was our week to buy groceries. At least he let me up about Jamaica. Sort of.
“I was serious last night about you helping me meet someone hot like your girl,” he said as he strapped himself in.
“Take an English class,” I said. “Maybe don’t hang out with Finn and the jersey chasers.”
“Jesus, I thought you’d give me some useful tips.”
I shot him a side-eye.
“I mean, shit, I still want to get laid.”
That cracked me up. “Make up your mind, dude.” As we rolled up to the store, I said, “Do you have the list?”
“Nah. I thought you did.”
“Guess we’re making it up as we go.”