“How fresh is that Ducks loss?” she asks.
“Like yesterday. That loss won’t go away until we win the national championship.” We laid a turd in that game against the Ducks last year, but this year when we play them, it’ll be a different story. “It won’t happen this year. I spent the summer watching tape of the spread offense and conditioning like a motherfucker. No one is outrunning me on the field this year. If anyone is gasping for breath during the fourth quarter, it won’t be me.
Ellie tilts her head and her hair falls like a curtain, a privacy shield. I wonder what she’d do if I dug my hand into that hair to hold her steady while I plundered those plump lips with my mouth. Given that one kiss would not be enough, I probably should wonder if she likes public displays of fucking, because once I had my tongue in her mouth, it wouldn’t take long before I’d want to have my dick inside her *. Said dick now makes my cargo shorts a size too tight.
“How come you and your brother don’t play for the same team?” she asks. Her light colored tank top catches the lights, making her look a little fairy like. A sexy fairy. She’s wearing a jean skirt, and the tank top is decorated with fish scales—sequins I think. She glitters when she turns. It doesn’t show a lot of skin but the hints are there. Like Telly noted, she has a nice ass, but she also has a sizable rack. Her tits might even spill out of my giant hands. I curl my hands into fists to keep from testing that.
“We play the same position and didn’t want to compete against each other for playing time like we did in high school.”
“That was some SI spread.” She smiles, remembering something she liked—hopefully me. “Your brother looks a little weak, though. You tease him about that?”
I start breathing lightly because here it is—where the rubber meets the road. Not many people can tell us apart and she’s suggesting that she can. “He doesn’t get up early enough to lift; doesn’t get the reps in,” I joke. That’s a partial lie. Ty does get up later, but he’s a beast. We had competitions all summer, and probably would have ended up tearing something in our efforts to outdo each other if our dad hadn’t monitored our progress.
“I’m that way too. I like to get up early, but Jack’s a night person. He’d rather practice in the afternoon, stay up, watch film, and then sleep until noon. I like getting everything out of the way so I can spend the evening having fun.”
“And what constitutes fun for Ellie Campbell?”
“Ellie?” she says with a raised eyebrow.
“Ellie,” I reply firmly. Eliot is a weird ass girl’s name, although I keep that sentiment to myself. “You look like an Ellie, not an Eliot.”
“What does an Eliot look like?”
“Five ten, wears skinny jeans. Maybe has a goatee.”
“That’s pretty specific.”
“You avoiding the question?” It’s no casual question. Ellie will be part of my life for a long time. I need to know what she enjoys doing.
She shrugs and flips her hair back, allowing light to come into our small circle. Little spots of golden color hit her forehead and the top of her nose. “I like…football. Watching it, of course. I like orderly things. Opening a new pack of perfectly sharpened pencils. Starting a new notebook. Writing the first goal down in my day planner.”
Ellie slaps herself on the forehead. “God, could I have sounded geekier? Let me try again. I like pounding beers every night and smoking a joint before bed.”
“I like Geeky Ellie,” I tell her and rub the spot on the top of her head that she slapped. The touch surprises her. She stills.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. The words come out almost inaudible, but I’d know what she said if she stood across the room.
“Feeling you.” I can’t help myself from dropping my hand to her cheek. It feels as soft as it looks. I wonder how soft other parts of her feel.
“I don’t think you should do that,” she protests, but doesn’t move.
“Why?”
Her eyes are like chocolate. I want to eat her up.
“Because it gives a girl ideas.” She dips her head and her lips nearly brush the palm of my hand.
Reluctantly, I withdraw. I get the sense I need to slow down for her—that at this point she won’t recognize my actions as sincere or genuine. I drop my hand to the rough wood of the porch railing and immediately miss the feel of her skin.
Beside me she makes a small sigh. I choose to interpret it as disappointment.
After a few moments, she breaks the silence and asks, “Why’d you wear your brother’s uniform for the magazine shoot? Didn’t any of them catch on?”
My heart stops. Literally. It halts for a full second before it hitches back up again. I exhale heavily and put an inch of space between us. She’s too potent and I’m feeling weak.