Logan

I look up to see Mitch diving on me, then so does half the team. I don’t give a shit. I’m on top of the world.

When they all get the fuck off me, Mitch reaches down and pulls me up, yanking me into a bro hug. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just closing the gap, man, just closing the gap.” I smile and look up at the stands.

My eyes stop on her, London. She and Tessa are hugging. She looks happy, good. She looks like mi-

Fuck, I think, stopping the thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I look at Dad, hit my chest, and point up. He does it back, then cups his hands around his mouth. I can’t hear him, but I know what he’s saying. “That’s my boy!”

I can’t help it. I look up at my grandfather’s box to see who’s in it this week, but it’s empty. No Mom, not like I should care. She’s never around anymore.

I look back at Dad and notice my stepbrothers, Matthew and CJ. I give them a nod.

CJ stands and holds up a Pitt hoodie. Then he throws it down and stomps on it. I nod, and he raises his beer.

Coach Brown motions for me. He looks pissed. I know better.

“What the fuck was that?” he yells, but doesn’t give me time to reply. “I’ll tell you what that was.” He hits my helmet. “That was my boy. That was you. That was motherfucking Logan Links!” He grabs me and gives me a quick hug, which is very unlike him. Then he pushes me away.

I laugh, and his eyes crinkle a bit in the corners.

He shakes his head in disbelief then looks away. “Bring it in, team!”

With twenty seconds left to the game, we are up by one, and they have possession. I’m double covered, and we are at their thirty-yard line.

Fuuuck!

At the snap, I can’t hold back. 57 comes at me from the right and 49 is straight ahead, doing the same. I shove him with everything I have as 57 comes in low, intending to take me out. I fake left then jump right, leaving them both behind. Pitts QB is in my sights.

I see Jones coming in from the right. I should let the fucker have this, but I won’t. I increase my speed.

The QB’s arm is pulled back to riffle the ball, when I jump, lunging at him and knocking the ball from his hand.

After taking him down., I quickly get up and see Jones going after the ball as it bounces on the ground. I could easily get it, so fucking easily.

“Get that fucker!” I scream as loud and clearly as I can with a mouth piece in.

Without hesitation, he does. Then he begins to run toward our end zone. He’s fast, but not that fast.

I get ahead of him and block as many Pitt players as I can from coming at him.

The horn sounds when he’s at the ten.

I turn in enough time to see him spike the ball. I run up, and we smash into each other as the rest of the team rushes out to join us at the ten.

---

After dinner with Dad, Tessa, Mitch, CJ, and Matthew, Mitch and I haul ass back to our place to make sure everything is ready for tonight. Not only is it ready, but the party has started early, no doubt because of the upset today at the Dome. We weren’t supposed to win, but we sure as fuck did!

As soon as I walk in, I’m handed a red solo cup and at least two dozen congratulatory fist bumps.

I scan the room, and it’s got a dozen or so of “my type.” Most are dressed in easy access short skirts, looking eager and ready.

I take a drink as I scrutinize each one. She has to be a girl with a good face, but more importantly, a hot body. She has to come looking to get fucked, not like she’s on a date. Short skirt, tight shirt, maybe a pair of heels. Her hair needs to be done, not pulled back in a ponytail or a knot on top of her head. Makeup spot on, and no, I don’t care if she has that winged eyeliner or blush on. I just need to know she made an attempt to catch my attention.

Jewelry is somewhat telling. Is she wearing some costume pieces to add bling to her look, or does she have on her grandmother’s ring and a pearl necklace, the kind she got when she was sixteen from her parents, not the kind I’m going to give her later? The girl with sentimental jewelry, she’s not a one-night stand kind of girl, no matter how much she tries to portray she is.

And the final decision is always based on tits. Fake tits are always smiling at you. They scream a nonverbal, objectify me, I objectified myself. A girl with fake tits in her twenties is definitely not thinking of becoming a mom anytime soon, which means she’s not trying to get wife’d. And let’s be really fucking honest here; no man in their twenties goes out determined to find the woman he wants to marry. He’s driven by becoming something, building a life, finding himself. He’s looking for a warm place to put his cock, attached to something hot, ready, eager, and looking for the same things

Why? Because she needs to know the drill. Fucking can be fucking, and if you want more, I’m not your guy, but I am one hell of a good time.

Fucking hate that both men and women are so delusional that, one, they think marriage works. Look at the fucking odds! And two, they think dicks and pussies have got shit to do with love and marriage. A good fuck doesn’t mean a good relationship. It means a good fuck.

“You narrow it down yet?” Mitch asks, hiding his question behind his cup before he takes a drink.

“Blue shirt, green shirt, and the two black shirts on the far right.”

“Did you see the red shirt? She’s hot.”

“Did you see her ring? She’s apt to be a stage five clinger.”

“I’ll get more intel,” he says as he walks away.

More intel? I don’t want tonight’s trophy to be a chick who’s attending here. Intelligence is a huge turn-on, but for me, I’m not looking that deep. Tits work, legs work, a girl who doesn’t want to talk my ear off, well, that works, too.

I finish my beer then head to the bathroom to take a piss. When I walk out, there are twice as many people here.

Mitch raises his hand, and I start walking through the crowd. It’s a twenty foot walk that takes far too damn long to get to a beer. The guys give fist bumps, way to goes, you killed it, that’s our man, which are all appreciated. I give them a nod and a smile. The girls grip my forearm, pat my abs, rub my back, and are given...nothing.

When I finally get to Mitch, he hands me a full beer and delivers the intel.

“Green shirt, black shirt, gold O necklace, students here. Blue shirt and black V-neck shirt, not students here. Both Le Moyne juniors,” he reports.

I hold my glass up, and he hits his against mine.

“Which one will it be?” Mitch asks, and I give him a sigh. “I know they need to come to you.”

“Then why do you keep asking the same damn question every time?” I laugh, gripping his shoulder.

Mitch pats my back. “Bro, it’s been eight months.”

Fuck, he’s right. How the hell did I lose track of time? Oh yeah, life, family, a reality that is all too real, one I will avoid at all costs until they are all set and I’m ready to settle.

“Jesus, man, have you gotten fucked in the past eight months?”

I laugh. “I was in the city; what do you think?”

“Without a wing man?” He puts his hand on his chest.

“A city full of women and power. Women who are too smart and too damn busy to want more than a release. Not hard to pick them out there.”

“When you say women, do you mean—”

“Definitely older.” I nod. “Fuck of a lot less needy in bed, too. Clear and precise objective: to get off. Worked out great.”

He laughs. “Take me to this city you speak of.”

“Next time, man, next time.” I take a drink and look around.

Mitch nudges me. “Beer pong in the backyard?”

“Great place to start,” I agree.

---

Two hours later, I’m feeling good, really fucking good. Not only did we win the game, but we won the first ten games of beer pong. I didn’t drink a drop of beer. I did, however, do a shot or ten to make sure I didn’t get dehydrated.

“Who will it be?” Mitch grins. He’s as fucked up as I am.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” I scratch my head, trying to remember. “Blue shirt kept walking by; rubbed against me a few times.”

“But black shirt suggested strip beer pong,” Mitch reminds me.

“And had I agreed, she’d not only be shit-faced, but naked and shit-faced.”

“She is fucking loaded, but man, she seems like a hell of a lot of fun,” Mitch slurs.

“I’ll take blue. You seem vested in black.”

He holds his hand to his heart. “You sure, man?”

“You need to get fucked just as badly as I do.”

“Don’t fucking remind me. I invited her tonight, too,” he groans. “I’d have licked that all night long.”

Arms around each other, we walk inside.

“Maybe your down field games off, man,” I tell him.

“Oh, hell no. I can lick the hell out of a pussy. You don’t get to judge my game. You never fucking go down.”

I chuckle. “Maybe I will tonight?”

The crowd parts as we walk through, guys still looking for fists bumps and giving congratulations, while the chicks still cop a feel.

When I see blue shirt in front of me, I look at her, not saying a word. It’s part of my game. One that doesn’t require a down field visit to gain access to snatch.

“Heard you played a great game today.”

I nod. “Heard that a few times myself.”

She steps closer. “You as good in bed as you are on the field?”

I shrug. “Heard talk I was better.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “No time for a relationship. It’s football season.”

She smiles.

“Done with school in a few months. Won’t be coming back.”

“No?” She shakes her head slowly from side to side.

“Joining the Peace Corps.” I almost laugh, and Mitch does fucking laugh.

She smiles a scandalous smile. “Is that so?”

“Probably not, but sounded good.”

Now Mitch loses his shit.

She looks at him and smiles. “You a package deal?”

He and I look at one another. Never fucking been asked that before.

“You think it would take two of us to satisfy you?”

“Bro.” Mitch grabs my elbow. “A minute please.”

“Not even gonna entertain the idea,” I tell him without looking away from her.

“Never been into it myself.” She flattens her hand against my chest. “But I really want to fuck you, so I would have worked it out.”

She’s fucking perfect. I mean, day-um, talk about no strings.

Fucking perfect.

“Bro,” Mitch says again, this time with more urgency.

“Not happening, man.” I step back and look her up and down.

“Where shall we start?” she asks.

“Blowjob in the bathroom sounds really fucking good right now. You down for that?”

“As long as I get mine later, I’m down for pretty much anything.” She leans in to kiss me, and I give her the cheek.

“I’m a private guy, Blue,” I tell her.

“Well, I’d like to get a look at those privates.”

I take her hand and turn to walk toward the bathroom.

I hear Mitch again. “Links, hold up!”

I smile. “Fuck that.”