Winning in Every Way

The Comets win the next game, an away one, and I’m flying high.

But is my good mood about success on the field, or is it because I know I’m returning home to Eden?

Ah, I like that—returning home to my girl.

And that’s what I do. I arrive back in town Sunday night and Eden and I share a late meal.

As we’re seated at the dining room table, she tells me how she watched all the plays in the game. She even dissects some of the mistakes we made.

I can’t deny I’m impressed with her football knowledge.

“You really do know your shit,” I remark.

She pushes her empty plate away, her fingers lingering on the china’s edge. “I guess I do,” she says softly.

“I like that, Eden. It makes it fun to talk to you about the games.”

Lifting her eyes to me, she says, “I want to be here for you, Graham. I like that you feel you can confide in me.”

Ah, here’s my chance to ask something I’ve been curious about since game one.

But I first preface with, “Do you feel comfortable confiding in me, Eden?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.”

“So tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you miss my first touchdown in game one? When I asked you about it that night at the pizzeria, you started blushing like crazy.”

She laughs. “And that’s why you want to know?”

“Hell yes!”

She starts blushing again.

She’s so cute.

I think I may be out of luck on an explanation until she says in a rush, “I was thinking about what it would be like to be with you, Graham.”

“Shit, I didn’t expect that honest of an answer.”

Suddenly all I can think about is the same thing—what it would be like to have Eden Vetterly beneath me, accepting me, taking me all in, calling out my name.

Fuck.

I reach for what’s left of the ice water I had with my dinner.

As I take a big swig, she snickers.

But that stops when, as I set my glass down, I assure her she’ll find out eventually what it’s like to be with me.

Now it’s her turn to reach for her ice water.

“Crap, Graham,” she says after taking a drink. “You’re making this waiting and being patient thing really, really hard.”

“Uh, that’s not the only thing that’s hard,” I murmur.

And it’s not. I want this woman so badly that I can taste it. Speaking of which, I can’t wait to do some of that too—taste her.

We wrap up quickly after that, both of us heading off to our respective bedrooms. I don’t know what she plans to do, but I spend half the night touching myself, thinking about her.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, we’re careful to keep all of our conversations platonic. It’s just too much temptation otherwise. I tell her about practices, and she fills me in on the one shift she picked up on Wednesday night.

We also talk a lot about Paul. He’s really fitting in at his new school, making friends like crazy and loving the art-centric curriculum.

Me, I just love seeing Eden happy about that.

Finally, Thursday arrives. There’s a game tonight. We’re playing at home and our opponents are the Toronto Tigers. They’re 3-0, like us, so this should be a great match-up.

“Are you coming to tonight’s game?” I ask Eden.

It’s about an hour before I’m set to leave the house, and I’ve just caught her as she’s bringing up laundry from downstairs.

We have a system in place, and it’s been working out rather well. I do the laundry one week, and she takes care of it the next. It’s easier than doing all of our own laundry on different schedules. We tried that at first and it was utter chaos.

Resting the basket on her hip, which makes her look cute as hell, she says, “Of course I’m coming to your game tonight. I wouldn’t miss watching you play for the world.”

I can tell she’s completely serious, not just yanking my chain.

And that makes me so damn happy.

I’m clearly crazy about Eden. Ever since that night under the stars, when we were caught out in the rain and opened our hearts, I feel like I’ve been falling more and more for her.

That’s cool. I’m okay with that.

I guess timing really is everything.

Smiling at how lucky I am, I say to her, “Thanks, babe. Your support means a lot to me.”

“Well, you have it, Graham.” She puts the basket down and comes over to me. Standing up on her tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine and adds, “Good luck tonight, by the way.”

“Hmm,” I murmur, grasping her around the waist and pulling her in as close as I can. “I think if we keep this up, I may skip the game.”

Laughing, she says, “Guess we better stop, then.”

I nuzzle her neck, making her shiver. “I think a few more minutes won’t hurt.”

And they don’t.

In fact, maybe all her kisses are infused with magic or good vibes or something, since during the game I play exceptionally well.

I pass for over a hundred yards, and the Comets score two touchdowns.

That’s only at the end of the first half, where we are right now.

Before the team heads back into the locker room for halftime, I peer up at the luxury box Eden’s in tonight. It’s kind of far away, making it hard to see inside with the bright stadium lights glaring. But I swear she’s at the glass, smiling down at me.

I don’t care if I’m imagining things or not. I smile right the hell back and give my girl a thumbs-up.

On the way down the tunnel to the locker room, I’m bombarded with screams from fans in the stands, especially women.

One lady even throws her bra at me.

What the fuck?

I’m stunned and stop for a sec, instinctively catching the damn thing. But then I come to my senses and let the lacy undergarment fall to the ground, before I resume walking.

Jesus, the team’s obsession with promoting me as some kind of a sex symbol is beginning to get out of hand. I’ve been meaning to say something, and now I must. Already the photo shoots the team keeps scheduling for me have been requiring fewer and fewer clothes.

I get what they’re doing, but enough is enough.

Just yesterday, after one of the shoots where I was directed to lose half my attire—which I didn’t dare mention to Eden for fear of upsetting her—I called Jock and asked him to talk to the team for me.

He said fine, he would, but he wants to wait until October so we, hopefully, have more wins under our belt.

“That would give us more leverage,” he explained.

I sigh, the bra-throwing incident fresh enough to make me feel uncomfortable. It can’t be soon enough that Jock talks to the team.

By the time the third quarter begins, I’m still fired up, and thereby pumped.

That’s good for the game.

One touchdown and a field goal later and the Comets end up winning.

Later that night, once I’m back at home, Eden and I celebrate by making out on the sofa.

It’s a good way to let off even more steam.

And Eden seems really into it.

She squirms beneath me as I grind against her.

“We’re supposed to be behaving,” she breathes out heavily.

“Fuck that,” I growl. “I can’t wait to feel you pressed against me like this, but without so many damn clothes.”

We’re both wearing jeans and thin cotton tees, but it feels like layers and layers are keeping us separated.

“Maybe I should take something off,” Eden suggests.

“Shit, babe, you’re killing me here.”

We ultimately decide taking off clothes is not a good idea. I already don’t know how much longer she and I can keep up with this taking-things-slowly agenda.

I have a feeling it won’t be much longer before we both lose control.

And you know what?

I can’t fucking wait.