“And we’re getting details that an ex-boyfriend of beleaguered NFL team owner, Julianna Heaton will be on CNN tomorrow, discussing his relationship with her and what he thinks she must be going through right now in light of the recent sex tape of her and Ethan Blake…”

I fucking curse to myself hearing this shit. Having to hear that motherfucker’s name over and over again on the television as having bagged Julianna is seriously driving me fucking insane.

I’m in the locker room getting geared up for war. We’re taking on the Denver Donkey’s tonight and it’s probably going to be the highest ratings the NFL has ever had. Why? Because of this non-stop media coverage of Ethan fucking Julianna.

It might be good for the fucking ratings, but it’s driving me up the fucking wall. Every single mention, every single video teaser is another fucking testament to how Ethan once again stole something that’s fucking mine.

Like he’s done his whole fucking life, that fucker couldn't let well enough alone. He got jealous of my success. He let that fucking jealousy turn him into something hateful and he took what should have rightfully been mine.

“Check out her fucking tits, man,” DeShawn, the tight end is showing one of the Wide Receivers. Yep. That’s Julianna on his phone. In all her fucking glory. The team’s been trading comments and jerking off to her video since it came out, most likely.

And why wouldn't they? She’s a fucking hot as shit woman. Fantastic fucking ass. Amazing tits. The most fucking sinful face - made even more sinful because it looks so sweet and innocent. Granted, the video itself is only about 45 seconds of usable footage, but those 45 seconds have probably unleashed twenty gallons of fucking cum from this team alone. Never mind America.

But I’m not supposed to be sitting here jerking off to her. I was supposed to be there fucking her, not Ethan.

I finish suiting up and look at myself in my locker mirror.

And that’s when I see him.

Ethan Blake. Calm as a motherfucking cucumber. All padded up and walking from one end of the locker room towards the coach’s office. People giving him nods of respect. Others giving him high-fives. Trading fucking banter. That motherfucking cunt.

I slam my locker door shut. Hard.

“You okay, bro?” DeShawn asks, looking over to me. As if he fucking cares, drooling over Julianna’s perfect fucking titties.

“I’m fine,” I say through clenched teeth. DeShawn sees me raging and follows my gaze towards the target. Ethan fucking Blake. He takes a step closer. “Let it go, dude,” he says to me. “Ain’t worth the trouble. Not for a bitch.”

And you know what? For any other fucking girl, I wouldn't be so fucking worked up. If I wanted to, I could go out and fuck a new girl every fucking hour till the day I fucking died. I wouldn’t care if Ethan took one from me. It would be like taking a fucking piece of candy from a Hershey store. They hand that shit out for free as samples.

But this wasn’t any fucking woman. This was Julianna Heaton. And I don't know why I was feeling like this time he fucking crossed a line. That he took something more than just a fuck from me.

I don’t know why my cock was getting so fucking hard every time I watched that fucking video.

Yes, okay? You fucking happy. I downloaded that shit as soon as I heard about it on SportsNation. I must have probably been one of the first people to find that shit. I got hard. Even as I got fucking angry and jealous as fuck, my 12-inch cock literally exploded as I stroked it - I was that fucking horny watching the two of them.

DeShawn is probably going to say something but the coach comes out at that moment. That fucker Ethan is nowhere to be found. He must have left the office and went back to his side of the locker room at some point as I let my mind wander.

“Okay, listen up everyone,” the coach says, summoning us to the center. I roll my fucking eyes as the coach drones on and on. I’m the fucking champion at what I do. The fucking king of the battlefield we’re about to enter. I don't need to listen to his spiel about teamwork. I have a better idea than just doing whole teamwork routine. Want to know what it is?

Listen to everything I say. Do it exactly as I fucking say. And don’t argue.

I guarantee, we’ll end up winning.

I don’t know if that’s what Coach Karl ended up saying because everyone cheers at that point. I join in - you can’t help but get caught up in the moment. We’re going to war. And while I may be the absolute fucking best at the QB1 role, I’m going to need my support team. And that’s all of these guys.

If only one of them would realize he’s not the same fucking king of the hill as me.

But that’s not going to happen today. Today everyone’s patting him on the back and looking up at the fucker because he fucked the owner. Today he’s the fucking hero.

I’ll fucking show him. I’ll show all of them.

* * *

By any definition of the word, what happens on the field that night between the New York Nailers and the Denver Donkey’s is a fucking blowout.

In fact, we even win the fucking coin toss, electing to receive the ball. First fucking ten seconds of the game, we run that shit to the end zone and put 6 points on the board. We end up successfully converting for two points and just like that Ethan’s on the field.

He fucking sacks their Quarterback three times.

Not once. Not twice. But three fucking times. It’s like they can see what’s coming but they can’t do a goddamn thing to stop it.

In the end, their QB throws the ball too fast and Ethan literally jumps up and intercepts it.

I’m watching his body work - the muscles working in sheer tandem with each other. Each movement of his is efficient and action is optimized for peak perfection. Fuck, there are certain things about this game that fucking turn me on, and watching the pinnacle of human achievement on the field by anyone - even if it is by a fucker like Ethan Blake - is literally one of them.

The other is Julianna.

Ethan’s interception means I’m back on the field. This is the first time I’ve taken the field and I’m determined to leave my mark.

“I’m going to smoke your ass, motherfucker!” the defensive tackle for the Donkeys is yelling at me as I start the snap count. I brush it aside. I know the guy. His name is Marvin Jomas. I’ve gone up against him before. I know exactly who he is.

How?

No time to tell you now, because I snap the ball and all of a sudden I’m in the zone. Everything else falls out and my eagle eyes are looking for my receivers as they shoot down the field. My left tackle is doing his job but he’s not doing it perfectly because Marvin is all of a sudden through. The Donkeys are fucking pissed at the three back to back sacks and interception we just gave them and they’re looking to take it out on me.

Marvin twists and turns his body and I see a wide receiver maybe three seconds from being open out near the 30-yard line. But I don’t have three fucking seconds. Marvin is only maybe a second away.

Literally, by the time you read this, Marvin is already fucking on me. I can smell his fucking hot breath. I can see the eye of the fucking tiger in his eyes. I can feel the adrenaline going through my veins like a fucking drug.

He reaches his arms around to grab me.

But I’ve done this rodeo too many fucking times. I literally do what no QB in the world can ever do. I take two steps back, then to the side and then forward. And I do it so fucking fast that Marvin has no idea where I fucking went. He’s trying to grab me and sees me from his front while I’m at his side. It’s like instinct. I’m letting my legs move themselves - letting each muscle work itself and strain and push and take my body as close to God as it can get.

I’m in nirvana.

And that’s where I calmly stick my foot out, and before Marvin can even understand what happened, he’s tripping over. He tries real hard to get his balance back, but he was moving too fast, and with too much mass. I could recover, but Marvin’s muscles aren’t as well tuned to make such small course corrections.

He lands on the ground.

Three seconds are up and I see the wide receiver running with his hands out. I pull my arm back, take note of his trajectory and let the ball fucking fly.

The football shoots out and over the heads of the everyone on the field. It sails and for one second there’s peace.

Until it lands in the arms of my receiver.

He’s so fucking far down the field that in another five seconds he prances to the end zone.

I look over at Marvin, the defensive tackle that’s going to try to redeem himself. It’s time to make sure he realizes who the fucking boss is.

“Oh yeah, Marvin,” I say to him as my breath comes out in ragged gasps. “I fucked your wife.”

He looks at me like I could do better in the insult game. But I’m not done.

“Like literally man, you were on the road and we had a Thursday game, and I came over and fucked your wife.”

His nostrils flare like a bull and he snorts.

“Careful what you do amigo, you don't want to get fucking ejected,” I say to him as I start getting ready to run to the side-line. “And just in case you don’t believe me, that poplar tree outside your house could use some pruning.”

Boom. His fucking face falls. He knows he can’t touch me on the field. And he must know that if he even tried I’d knock him back down to Division III football I’d hit him so fucking hard. All he can do is go back to his side

By the end of the first quarter we’re up 28 to 7. By halftime, we’ve got this shit locked down. The Donkeys didn’t score. By the end of the game, I’ve taken this team to a 35 -14 win over the Denver Donkeys.

I throw my head back in adrenaline.

Lights. Camera. Flash.

Glory.

Football.

This is what I fucking live for.

* * *

“Fantastic team effort, everyone!” Coach Karl says to everyone in the locker room. I don’t mind. We fucking won. Not just won, we destroyed the Donkeys. In a fashion that they’re not likely to forget.

“Game ball,” the Coach says, and people quiet down. This is where the team pays homage to the one person who displayed more talent, skill, and fucking heart than everyone else. Without who we wouldn’t be celebrating. Everyone looks to see who the coach is going to name but I already know. “Game ball goes to…”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because that’s the exact moment when Julianna comes in.

“I’ll take that, Karl,” she says, walking into the locker room without batting an eye. It’s over a hundred fucking men. Large, sweaty, muscled men in various stages of undress. And she’s a fucking smoking hot single woman with a fucking tight black dress on that’s showing off her legs, tits, and ass.

Coach Karl stumbles a bit, not used to the owner, or even a woman come in and upend him. You can tell by his demeanor that he’s not used to taking orders from a woman. For a second, I wonder if they’re gonna replay the same shit that happened when she took over practice. But he retreats graciously this time, giving up the one accolade he allows himself to give his players each fucking game to Julianna.

I feel kind of bad for the dude as he as he steps aside and hands her the ball. A bunch of the guys fucking clap and give her dog whistles as she enters the huddle. She smiles like she’s fucking enjoying it.

Fuck. Any other woman with a sex tape out there in the world would be curled up in bed hiding from the world. Julianna seems to not even care.

“I see you’ve seen my handiwork, huh?” she says with a grin.

Fuck me, my cock twitches at her fucking words. She doesn’t care. She laughs and the guys laugh along with her, cheering and hollering. She’s basically one of them - except with a fucking hot body.

“Game ball,” she said, twirling the football with the skill of a professional, “I think is pretty fair to say it goes to the one and only Colt Stackford!”

The guys are cheering now. I bet some of them thought if she was going to be all lovey-dovey and shit give the game ball to Ethan because he fucked her. But I can tell from Julianna’s eyes as she walks up to me and hands me the ball that she doesn't think like that. He was pleasuring her. He was servicing her. Not the other way around.

This woman doesn’t take shit from anyone.

“Where you been, sailor?” she asks me with a smirk. “I thought you had a prize to collect?”

Fuck me. She’s fucking coming onto me. I love this fucking woman.

“I thought you were busy,” I say, trying to throw the ball back in her court. And fuck it, you got me, okay? I’m a bit jealous.

“I was,” she says. “I had sex with Ethan, or do you live under a rock?”

Fucking Christ. That just takes me down. She doesn’t even fucking care. I can tell the guys are looking at us but trying to enjoy their own festivities - one or two are even popping champagne. I can tell DeShawn is trying his best to pretend like nothing is happening next to me, but he’s still wearing his fucking jock strap - too weirded out to take it off.

“Nah, I fucking saw that,” I say, wondering if I’m sounding like a little bitch.

“But I’m free tonight, if you want to see if you can do better?” she says out loud.

She doesn’t fucking care that a few of the guy’s snicker. I don’t care at this point either.

She doesn’t say anything more – just smiles sweetly at me and turns around.

And all I can do is stand there and watch her sway her hips, her perfect ass cheeks teasing me as she walks out of the room.

* * *

It takes about two hours to finally get into the city.

I can’t believe it but I’m fucking nervous. I have no reason to be. But I am, as I stand outside Julianna’s door.

I managed to scarf down a burger and a vitamin water on the way over here. I didn’t want to be fucking late.

Jesus Christ, will you fucking listen to me? I sound like a fucking 16-year-old on his first fucking date in his life!

But still, I take a deep breath and I ring the doorbell to her penthouse condo. Apparently, the receptionist was expecting me It’s just her door in the hallway. And the elevator that brought me up. Nothing else.

At first, there’s nothing.

Then the door opens.

Julianna’s standing there. With a glass of wine. My cock is fucking twitching like a fucking snake just seeing her.

She reaches over, grabs my shirt, and pulls me inside.

Fucking hell, this girl is gonna be trouble.