I can’t help myself. I just love the chase; you know?

When I stare at her in the bar, I see the girl I fell in love with back in high school. Suddenly, something changes inside me. I don’t know what it is and I’m not saying I’m turning into a fucking sap, but something is there. Part of me wants to dive in. Another part of me just wants a taste of her.

I stare at her all night, until I’m drunk enough to stumble into a cab. The whole way home I can’t stop laughing. I don’t know why.

The cab driver looks in his window and narrows his eyes at me. “Hey, aren’t you that football player?”

“So what if I am?” I ask him. This could go either of two ways.

He slams on his breaks. Yep, we’re doing this. He gets out of the cab and opens my door. “Out!” he yells. “Out of my cab!”

Not again. I sigh loudly. “Come on, man. Politics aside, I need to get home. I’ve had a long night.”

“I said, get out!” he yells again, pointing at the empty street. I’m just a few blocks away, so I decide to just bite the bullet and walk home.

“You know what?” I reach into my pocket and pull out a giant wad of cash. I really need to stop carrying my money around like this but I hate paying with cards. I count out two hundred dollars and climb out of the cab. I take the money and throw it at his face. “Keep the fucking change, asshole.”

“You piece of shit!” he screams as I laugh like a jackal. I walk away into the night. “You’re a disgrace to the Black Wings! You’re a disgrace to football!”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “And you’re a disgrace to all cabbies around the world, but at least I still paid your ass.”

I stumble home. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. I stumble through the walkway in my perfect yard and manage to get inside. It’s weird living like this. I didn’t always. I used to live in cheap housing with my buddies back in college. And before that? Well, shit, my dad used to beat the ever living crap out of me when I asked if we had any milk to spare, so it’s a bit obvious why I opted in for the mansion and sports car.

I don’t bear any ill feelings about my past. It’s just something that happened. I can’t change those things, but I can look forward to the future. It’s still weird to walk into a home like this, covered in porcelain, marble, and gold. It still doesn’t click to me. The fact that I’m alone here is also a bit unsettling. The house is just so damn big and empty. There’s even a fucking echo.

I go into my giant bedroom and fall down onto the mattress that’s perfectly designed to contour around my body. I flip on some porno flick because I’m bored and horny, and I can’t stop thinking about women on a 24/7 basis. Or, lately, on particular woman.

Yeah, I’m an asshole. I’ve been told that too many times to count. And now I’ve just adopted what people tell me. Now, I don’t give a fuck.

There’s still that voice in my head, though. It tells me, don’t do it. Don’t end up like your father. It’s a bit of a cliché, I guess. But it’s truer than ever. I don’t want to end up like that bastard. I shrug it off and click through to a scene I want.

It doesn’t satisfy me, so I turn the damn thing off. I don’t get it. I can’t stop thinking about those perfect thighs of Fiona’s. If only I could go back in time, just for one night. Shit, we never did actually fuck back then. It’s a shame.

I close my eyes and think of her in that tight little skirt suit. I think of her going home from a rough day at work. She needs a massage, a bubble bath, because she’s so exhausted. I imagine her filling up that bathtub and bending over the porcelain. She slips out of that skirt of hers, revealing a black garter belt and stockings. She’s so fucking hot, so ready for someone to just come in and catch her at the right moment.

I imagine myself walking in and I’m behind her. She can sense it and for a second, she almost turns around. Something makes her stop, however, and I reach out and touch her round ass. She’s startled, but quickly realizes who it is. I reach underneath her and touch her warm, soaking lips. My cock is as hard as ever and I push it against her. Her lips part and she wraps around me perfectly, swallowing up my head and shaft.

I rip her bra off and kiss her neck. “Fuck me, big boy,” she says, and I feel my blood start to pulse. I need her. I want her so fucking badly. “Cum inside me,” she says.

I pump her full of my hard, rigid flesh. I make her mine. I pull her hair and fuck her in that warm bubble bath. I make sure she cums over and over again because I take pleasure in making her fall for me.

I open my eyes again and I’m in my bedroom. I’m stroking my cock and I’m about to fucking cum. I explode everywhere. It’s a pupil-widening, toe curling, muscle twitching type of orgasm that leaves me flustered and totally satisfied. Except for the fact that I’m alone right now.

I take a hot shower, sober up a little, and head to bed. I’m alone, but it doesn’t mean shit. I don’t need that woman. I don’t need anyone. A few days from now is more important. It’s the big game against Dallas and I have some new tricks I want to try out.

* * *

On the field, it’s another day of learning. This is my trade and I take it seriously. That woman can say whatever she wants about the way I act. I know I’m arrogant. But it’s only because I play like a winner. If I didn’t carry around that attitude, I could lose it all. Okay, I’m a little superstitious, but if it helps me win, I’ll worship the damn stars if I have to.

The QB hikes the ball and suddenly I barrel into the end zone. I turn back and cut, sliding away from a defensive tight end. He’s nothing to me and I can sense his fear. He wants to take me down. He wants to bask in the glory of beating me. Not on my watch. All it takes is one look from me for Loke, the quarterback, to know that it’s time to throw the ball.

It all happens so fast. That spinning missile shoots into the air and all eyes are suddenly on me. It comes barreling into my arms, fitting perfectly, and I smile to myself as my feet come back down to the ground. Of course, three men tackle me directly after, but it’s already too late for them. I’ve scored the damn touchdown.

I’m the best, baby.

The stadium erupts and I point one middle finger in the air. Tons of fans do the same. It’s beginning to become a trademark for me. Fiona is probably holding her breath right now. I put up another middle finger and the crowd cheers louder. In the center of all those cheers is a parade of boo’s, but I don’t give a damn. It’s the nature of the game.

I walk off the center of the field laughing to myself, and sit on the bench off to the side. I squirt some water in my mouth, pull off my helmet, and take a deep breath. “Good job, kid,” my coach Scott Stern tells me.

I nod, smiling. “Thanks, Coach. There’s more where that came from, believe me.”

“Great,” he claps his hands to keep morale high. He eyes the kick off with intensity. “Cut it out with the middle finger shit. It’s stupid. I don’t want it associated with our team.”

“I can’t help myself sometimes,” I awkwardly look away. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good, good,” he tells me, and goes back to watching the game.

The kickoff is good. It flies direct and center and our defense is strong. They tackle the guy within seconds. We’re going to win this game, easy. I never thought any different. Everyone has their predictions, but it’s not even debatable at this point. We’re hailed to go all the way to the Super Bowl. I’ve got a lot resting on my shoulders.

I think about Fiona again. I don’t know why. I just do. I wonder if she saw my touchdown. Normally, I’d be thinking about my ma right now. She’s probably watching it in her new house right now, on her new TV. It wasn’t that long ago when she was stuck in that shit hole of a trailer, having to listen to my plays on the radio. I’ve tried my best to make her proud of me.

It’s not long before I’m called back in the game. A few plays later and Loke, the QB, hikes it back and hands it off to a friend. Landon holds down the front end of the line and I watch as we get another first down. This shit is honestly easier than it looks. All it takes is some confidence and ability, and of course the necessary discipline.

The third play in, Loke drops back and shoots the pigskin directly at me. It’s nearly intercepted. The ball is clipped by one of the other team’s players and luckily it falls into the right place. I run it into the end zone and the crowd loses it again. This time, things are a little less celebratory. This time I feel the clean blow from another player.

I turn around and throw my helmet off. “What the fuck, man? You coming at me?” I ask, stepping forward.

It’s the player who almost intercepted the ball. His pride is hurt. I get it, but he’s not winning this battle. In fact, the game is just about to be finished. It’s a last ditch effort to save face and it’s going to backfire on him.

“Come at me, pussy,” he smiles. Then he does the unthinkable. He spits at my face. Lucky for me, he misses. Unlucky for him, my fist doesn’t. I get a clean hit across his jaw and then both sides of the field go crazy. I swear, every single player jumps into the damn brawl.

“And they’re at it!” A loudspeaker blares. People love this shit. I think it’s why most of them come to the game. They get good and drunk, and then hope to God something exciting happens. Well, I’ve brought their excitement. I’ve given them their entertainment. And I’m whoopin’ some ass.

I jump on top of the guy and smile back. “You see? I’m a nice guy. I don’t spit in other player’s faces.” I laugh, bearing my teeth. He swings up and I feel his knuckles connect against my mouth. I instantly taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth and I laugh even louder. I punch down again, hitting his cheekbone. My hand hurts but I’m not thinking straight. “I don’t pick fights either.”

“You just provoke people,” he says back. “I’m tired of your shit. We’re all tired of your shit, boy. This is the big leagues. Learn your place.”

I’m pulled off the guy by security and I instantly throw my hands up in the air, as if I didn’t do anything wrong. “I’m good, I’m good,” I tell them. “Just having some fun with the guy.”

He picks himself up, wobbles a little, and falls back on the field. He’s not knocked out or anything, but he’s struggling to keep his balance. “I guess I got what I wanted,” he laughs. I’m wondering, What? A broken face? Sure. “They’ll suspend you a few games for sure. Your whole team is fucked now, boy.”

“Mother fucker,” I growl, pushing out of the security guards’ grasp. I swing another punch and knock him out clean. The whole crowd, I swear to God, cheers louder than when I scored my last touchdown. The security guards tackle me and throw cuffs on me. I flip them off behind my back, as I’m carried off the field.

I can just hear the announcers now. I can imagine what they’re saying. “And Jackson Leeman has been carried off of the field, ladies and gentleman! That’s gotta hurt!”

I just laugh because it’s really all I can do. At this point in the game, I’ve really come to understand that if you just smile and claim that things are okay, they tend to end up okay. Shit, it’s what our politicians do, right? Why can’t I?

It’s all a game, all a show. But I really need to check myself. When I’m brought into the stadium, taken into the locker rooms, the coach screams at me. His face is practically on fire.

“What have I trained you for? Huh?” He even pushes me. I fall to the bench and take it. “You want to waste your career? All that talent is going down the drain and you’re going to take us all down with you. Fuck!”

“Coach, it’ll be okay,” I try and tell him. “It’ll all work out. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” he laughs at those words. “You’re one funny guy, Jackson. I’ve been in this game for 35 fucking years. That’s a lifetime, asshole. I’ve seen players just like you. Maybe they didn’t get as many headlines, or as much media attention, but they were good ball players. And guess what? They threw it all away. One of them fucking works for Best Buy. He does their commercials and gets paid 300 dollars for a shoot. I look at you like I looked at them. Don’t fuck this up for yourself.”

“You mean, don’t fuck this up for you,” I spout back. I shouldn’t talk back. I should just listen, but my arrogance sometimes gets the best of me and I don’t know why. It’s like a nervous tick or something.

“Don’t fuck this up for all of us,” he says, turning a bit calmer. “Seriously, I’ll have you out of the games so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

“Yes, sir,” I finally say. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” he sighs and sits down next to me. He throws his arm around my shoulders and leans in. “Now, look. Here’s the fun part. They’re going to suspend you for a game. I’ve already got the word to let you know.”

“What the fuck!” I yell, even though it was obvious it would happen. “The guy pushed me! You saw it with your own eyes.”

“Yeah, well, they’re going to give it to him too. Just because another guy touches you a little hard, doesn’t mean you have to punch back. After all, this is football. Keep your temper on check,” he says. “But it’s just one game and it’s against Arizona.”

“Come on, Scott,” I protest. “That’s my fucking hometown. I have to play that one.”

“It’s not up to me, son,” he says. “It’s up to the league. So keep your mouth shut, behave a little, and you’ll get to play the next game. And then it’s on to the Super Bowl.”

“You think we’ll get there?” I ask him, feeling defeated, but okay.

“I know we’ll get there if you don’t fuck it up,” he laughs. “Just keep yourself in control. Don’t go crazy. Don’t let your mind race. In fact, stay inside that house of yours and train every single day. It’s not like you need to leave that place anyway. No distractions.”

No distractions? Fine, I’ll stay inside. But there’s no guarantee I won’t get distracted. “Have you met my new PR girl?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Don’t you dare,” he says. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t piss me off, now.”

“I’m just kidding, Coach,” I smile. But I’m not fucking playing around anymore. I’m here to cause a ruckus. I’m aching for some kind of action. “I would never do such a thing.”