Chapter 2 – Wesley
“Very good, Reynolds,” Coach Thompson says, clicking his stopwatch and interrupting my little fantasy about the head cheerleader.
Despite my distraction, I’d managed to finish strong. And now I’m free to look without risking screwing up my tryouts.
I swear I catch her looking back at me before I turn my gaze back to Coach Thompson’s direction.
“But you’ve got a wandering eye.”
He glares at me, as if personally affronted by the fact that I chose to sneak a peek at the hot cheerleader. What’s it to him? As long as I manage to pull it together on the field, which I just did, I don’t see what the big deal is.
“Keep your eye on the prize,” he continues, in a scolding tone of voice. “I can’t have my second-string quarterback distracted by every passing female.”
“Second string quarterback?” I repeat, forgetting all about his chastisement.
I shrug as if it’s no big deal. As if I knew it all along.
And even though I mostly did, it’s always nice to get confirmation.
Because I need this. I would die if I couldn’t play football. The past six months of thinking my career was over just when it had gotten started had been hell.
I need to stay on the straight and narrow now. I know that. But it’s so fucking hard. Just like my cock wants to be, inside that head cheerleader.
“Yes. Second string quarterback. Only if you can prove to me that you can stay focused,” Coach Thompson continues, shaking his head as if he doubts my ability to do that. “Obviously I want you on the team. But you have to show me I’m taking the right risk, putting in a newbie as second string.”
The other guys on the team make rude remarks.
“He wasn’t that fast, Coach.”
“Any one of us could do it better.”
I do my best to block out the negativity. I understand why they’re jealous. I’m intruding on their territory.
And it’s not like I’m even here by choice. This is my last chance freeway, and I have to drive steady on it so that I can get back onto the on ramp of my main career path.
“You sure you can handle the pressure?” asks a calm, quiet voice to my left.
I look over to see someone taking off his helmet while sandy brown hair spills out of it. He’s almost as tall as I am, and in pretty good shape. My competition in the looks department, if not the athletic department.
“Christian Lewis,” says the guy under all the hair, extending his hand for me to shake. “First string running back.”
“Wesley Reynolds,” I tell him. “Newbie intruder.”
“And apparently, second string quarterback,” Christian says, his tone sounding light and refreshing compared to the gruff grumbles of my other new teammates. “That’s impressive.”
“Thanks.” I shrug.
“Just between you and me—” he lowers his voice. “Our first-string quarterback isn’t very good. I think Coach has been looking to replace him, and you’re probably just the guy to fill the slot.”
I nod, even though I already knew as much. Calton hasn’t been known as a good football team in years, and none of its players stand out as being particularly talented. That’s the whole reason I’m even allowed to be here.
But I let Christian continue without interrupting.
“He just has to make it look kosher, you know? Can’t up and put in a brand new player right off the bat. He expects you to prove yourself, and for there to be no doubt that you’re the best player for the position.”
“I see,” I tell him, torn between thanking him for sharing the intel I already knew, and wondering why he’s so eager to help me out.
I say nothing. I could use a friend, and I shouldn’t assume that everyone has bad motives.
I know I’ll be moved up to first string and that I can help pull this team up from the gutter. But I have no intention of over sharing information with this teammate I just met, even though he’s clearly trying to be friendly for some reason.
“I’ll see everyone tomorrow for practice,” Coach Thompson says, dismissing us. “Thanks to those of you who have come to try out. I’ll get you my decisions shortly.”
“Nice, you’re the only one of the candidates who got an automatic yes,” Christian says. “Impressive.”
“My coach back at home was really demanding,” I tell him, as a way to deflect my embarrassment.
Even though I’ve been told I always come off as confident— cocky, even— I can’t take compliments well.
“If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be nearly as…”
“Good,” Christian finishes my sentence for me, nodding as if it’s a given. “That’s great about your old coach. You know, I’ve heard about you.”
“You have?”
I wonder whether what he heard about me was good or bad. I assume it was bad, under the circumstances and just because it was about me. I’m not about to ask him, though.
“Sure, when they said you were transferring here and would be trying out, I knew you’d get the position. You’re all the rage at Huningdale. And you’re from Piedmont, right? Not too far away.”
“Just about an hour,” I nod, ashamed to be returning so close to the home I couldn’t wait to get away from, but not wanting to show it.
Christian might assume I couldn’t hack it in a bigger city, but my problem was that I was doing a little too well. I was a little too popular for my own good.
“Yeah I thought so,” Christian continues. “I’m from here in Calton. Since our high schools played each other sometimes, I knew you were a beast on the field.”
“Oh yeah. Of course,” I say, trying to act as if I’d also heard of him or remember playing against him in high school, even though neither of those are true.
“I don’t know if you remember the homecoming game where afterwards I congratulated you on your winning pass?” he asks.
I squint at him, not knowing what to say.
I finally decide on, “Uh oh. Kind of.”
He smiles, seeming content that I at least semi-remember it, even though I don’t.
“I heard you went on to do great things for Huningdale,” he continues. “And I heard you pull major tail, too.”
I shrug, not wanting to confirm or deny. There’s no doubt I’m known as a bit of a player. At my old school, it was a good thing; chicks lined up to get with me. I had a little fan club wherever I went.
But now, I worry that it’ll be an additional reason for all the other guys on my new team to hate me.
“I guess you could say that. You a sophomore?” I ask him, to change the subject.
I want the spotlight off of me in this conversation. I hate not knowing where one is going.
“Yep. Engineer major. I’m heading to a Biology 201 seminar next.”
“No way. Me too,” I tell him.
“Shouldn’t you be headed to the athletic trainer’s office?” he asks, eyeing my leg.
“Nah,” I say, beginning to walk in the direction of class while hoping I’m not slightly limping. “I’ll go later.”
“Tough guy, huh?” he asks.
I just nod, letting him think what he wants. The truth of the matter is that I can’t afford to miss any classes. I have to keep my grades up as well as keeping my ass out of trouble.
“I have a pretty hardcore math and science curriculum this semester,” Christian says, continuing the light banter as we begin to walk off the field together.
But I’m not listening. Because we’re passing her. The head cheerleader, with the blonde hair and all those fucking curves.
“Holy shit,” I say, out loud this time.
Christian looks in the same direction, and sees what— who— has caught my eye.
“No way, Wesley,” he says, laughing.
“What?”
I’m still staring at her. Can’t take my eyes off of her. And this time I’m sure she returns my glance, before bouncing over to another one of the girls on the team.
“I know you probably think you can have any girl you want, and I’m sure that’s usually true. But not her,” he says. “Not Chelsea. She’s off limits.”
“There’s no such thing.”
I shrug. His warning sounds pretty serious, but I’m thinking this Chelsea chick is probably the leader of the College Virgins until Marriage Club or something. I’ve known chicks like that before. They like to wear cheerleading uniforms and tease and flirt, but not actually give it up.
At least not until they meet me.
She’ll just be one more challenge, like all the rest.
Until I pop her cherry and leave her begging for more.
“That’s Chelsea Thompson,” Christian says, and my ears perk up at the sound of the coach’s last name.
“Oh.”
I get it now.
The coach has a daughter? And it’s her?
“He doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter in college,” is all I say.
“Yeah, well he does. And I know she’s hot stuff, but getting with her would be completely out of bounds. Coach has made it abundantly clear. You’ll never last long if you so much as touch her. Or even look at her too long.”
I think back to the glare that Coach shot me as I was completing the drills. Now I know it’s because he noticed I was looking at his daughter.
Good thing he can’t read minds. Because then he would have known all the dirty things I want to do with his off limits daughter and he never would have let me on the team.
“What a fucking bad hand fate has dealt me,” I mumble.
“Tell me about it,” Christian answers. “You and me, and every other guy on the team. All we can do is look at the forbidden fruit, and never have any of it. Some of us have tried, deciding to take the risk, but she never gives it up. She’s a Daddy’s girl through and through. It’s so cruel.”
But I stare at her one more time, knowing that I’ll do more than look, no matter what kind of warnings I get from Christian or anyone else, and no matter how good and chaste Chelsea’s been before she met me.
They always change their ways for me.
As the players clear off the field, Chelsea leads her flock of cheerleaders on, and begins directing a cheer. I want a big taste of that juicy forbidden fruit, and I know nothing’s going to hold me back.
I’m Wesley Reynolds, star quarterback. I may have been knocked a bit off my game but I’m staging my comeback. And when I want something, I fucking take it.