I never want to leave that bed again. I never want to leave her body, her touch, her fiery eyes again. It’s starting to get out of control. Yet, she doesn’t believe me.

When I leave her house for the first time in days, it’s only because I have to train for the game. Even then, I still don’t see the point. Fuck training. Fuck football. And fuck Landon. Yeah, I said it. The whole thing is a circus that’s gotten too out of hand.

All I think about is her. Even right now, I’m texting her. What are you wearing?

Nothing. My ass is totally, one hundred percent, bare. Why? Do you miss it? Of course she gives me a reply that gets me half-hard in an instant. That’s what this girl does to me.

God yes, I reply back. I do a set of 18 bench presses and place the bar behind me. Normally, this was a favorite past time for Landon and me. It was that, and getting strippers, while downing copious amounts of alcohol. Those days were fun and all, but it’s time to grow up. I’m 28. Fiona is the biggest wake-up call in the world.

So why can’t I just admit what I know to be true: that I love her? Fuck, I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole entire life. When I look at her lips, I see heaven. When I look at the curves on her body, I’m just grateful she’s back in my life. I’ve missed the way she used to look at me, and now I have it again.

I never wanted to admit it, but I thought about her constantly after I left for college. I used to sit in my frat house and dream about her. What would my life be like if I kept her in it? Well, I’ve been given my second chance and I can’t blow it now.

Tell me how much you’ve missed this butt, she texts. I can just see her, standing naked in her bathroom. In my imagination, her tits are hanging free, ass pressed against the couch cushion. It takes a lot for me not to run into the nearest bathroom and jerk off to the thought of it.

I bet it’s so smooth, I text back. I want to kiss it all over. I want to devour you. I need that pussy, more than you know.

I thought we were talking about my ass, she replies with a red emoji face. Uh oh, I’ve angered the woman now.

Can’t a man worship both? I ask her.

So you worship me now? I guess I should feel good about that, huh? she replies.

I’m glued to my phone. I’m obsessed with seeing her text me back. Any word I can get from her feels amazing, so when I see those three dots appear in the text message box, I feel my heart actually skip a beat.

Woman, do not test me, I type out. I’ll fall to my knees for you any day.

* * *

I do the Sports Network show. Everything goes according to plan. “Did you hit him?” the host, Steven Cornish, asks me. I take a deep breath and try not to lose my cool. This is national television we’re talking about, and I know the world at this point is very weary of me.

“No,” I calmly state. “I did not. And it’s a little shocking that there’s so much talk about this. Me and Landon are perfectly fine. We’re friends and teammates. Sometimes things get a little heated, but I would never sock the guy.”

It’s a lie, of course, but I go through with it. There’s no footage, nothing being held over my head. As far as I know, he’s forgotten all about that one incident. What I should tell Steven is that he’s being a huge baby. All over my girl. It’s some weird, deep-seated resentment. Fuck it.

“So, you’re denying the multiple eye-witness accounts?” he grills.

I laugh and try and look as charming as possible. “What eye-witness accounts?” I ask him, pausing for several seconds. “Seriously, give me one. That’s right, they’re all players for the Black Wings, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes. Actually, they are,” he says. His right eyebrow rises with curiosity. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of conspiracy?”

“I never said that. All I’m saying is that some dudes like to talk some crap. It doesn’t mean it’s all true, does it?” I smile and sit back. The rest of the show goes at about the same pace. By the time it’s over, I feel bored and depleted.

You did great. Sorry about the hassle, Fiona texts me right after. I text back some heart-eyed emoji and head to my workout.

When I get to the gym, I see him. Landon. That son of a bitch. I try not to give him the time of day. Only, I’m forced to walk right by him since the weights are in the backside of the gym.

He nods his head at me as I pass by and I can just feel the tension in the room. Some of the guys working out look right at me, as if I’m going to move. “What’s up?” he asks me.

“Just preparing for the big game,” I tell him.

“Oh, they’re letting you play that? I didn’t think they let people like you onto the field,” he laughs. One of his buddies, some trainer from California pats his shoulder and laughs with him.

Ignore him, I keep telling myself. He wants you to rile you up as much as possible.

“What’s the matter, man? You’ve really lost your edge, huh,” he says, after I sit down and grab some weights. I try my best to ignore his words, but he won’t stop and I need to train before the game next week.

“I haven’t lost shit,” I say. “I’m just getting better and better.”

“Better?” he laughs. “Is that what your mom said to you in Arizona? Shit, man. You’re getting too old. You’ve traded in your old self to settle down, haven’t you?”

“Fuck off, Landon,” I mutter under my breath. I do a rep of 24 squats and feel the burn rise in my hamstrings.

“What was that?” he asks me, dropping his weights on the ground. His trainer steps aside as Landon comes up to me. We’re standing face to face now and I feel my blood begin to fucking boil.

“Don’t test me,” I warn him. But, like I knew he would, he pushes on my chest. I don’t move. I stand straight and tall. I’m not going to take his shit anymore. If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.

“Pussy,” he practically spits the words at me. It’s strong, unlike him. Tough guys like me don’t need words to back them up. My actions speak much louder. “You’ve become a shell of your old self. Funny thing is, it’s all for some PR bitch. Some whore from Arizona. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.”

That gets to me. You can talk shit to me all you want, but bring my girl into this and all hell is going to break loose. “Fiona is a fucking queen. As for you… you’re nothing,” I hiss at him. “You hear me? Nothing. You’re an offensive guard. They’ll cycle you through the rotation in about 3 years, tops. Then, you’ll be forced to settle down. I know it’s your biggest fear, so soak up the sun while you can. You’re living through your golden days, boy.”

I add the “boy” at the end for good measure. I’m not going to be the one to back down this time. No, this time, I’m standing my ground. I can just picture the look on Fiona’s face right now. If she were here, it would be pure horror, mixed with a massive migraine.

Yeah, this isn’t the way to go. But as I said earlier, fuck it. I’m over being set aside. I carried this team to victory, over and over again. It’s about time I at least get left alone. It’s time to prove, once and for all, that Landon isn’t worth jack shit.

He stands closer to me, chest touching mine now. There’s only two options right now. Either he kisses me, or he takes the first shot. Though the first option makes me laugh a little inside, I’m willing to bet on the latter.

“Say it again,” he whispers. “I dare you.”

“Your breath is disgusting,” I laugh. “But, sure. I’ll tell you again. You’re small. You’re worthless. And it’s just a fucking game. Honestly, you need to settle down.” I turn around and smile at the people watching us. They give a laugh, which seems to set him off.

Landon doesn’t waste a beat. As soon as I turn my head back around, I see his knuckles come straight at my face. Crack, his fist comes barreling at me, pounding against my jaw. I feel it nearly dislocate. The pain shoots throughout my head, but I instantly shake it off.

Meanwhile, there’s an alarm going off in my head. This is terrible. Abort, abort, abort now! But of course, I can’t back out of a fight once I’m in it. It’s not in my nature. My nature is to destroy the very thing threatening my girl and me.

His fist reconnects with my nose the second time, and I go falling like a ton of bricks. I never start out fighting that strong. Better to weaken the guy a little first, right? I fall across a bed of weights and feel the blow at my core. It hurts, but I manage to pick myself back up.

At this point, everyone and their mom has their phones out. They’re recording the whole thing, but I’m not going to stop now. They’ve already got the footage of him, swinging at me, of me falling across those damn weights, so they better at least have some footage of me defending myself.

I run at Landon and tackle him. His back smashes into the mirror across from the weights. The glass cracks and falls to the floor with both of us. I can feel the shards pressing against my skin, but I can’t bother with that right now. I manage to hold him down. I don’t take any chances. I start swinging.

For the life of me, I can’t keep him down. One punch at his face sends his head back against the floor. Another, and it seems to knock him out. Only, he’s back within a few seconds. Finally, he knocks me in the gut and I’m forced to roll off him.

He jumps on top of me and swings at least three times against my temple. My whole vision gets blurry. I can’t really see too well and I feel like I’m on the verge of blacking out. Shit, who knows? Maybe he’s really done me in.

I manage to get one clean shot at his nose again and I hear a loud snapping noise. When he falls off of me onto the floor, I know I’ve broken it. Blood falls from his face, like a mudslide. He screams and punches at the floor, a futile attempt at redirecting the pain elsewhere.

I pick my aching body up and manage to get a short smile onto my face. “You’ve met your match, son,” I say to him, wiping his blood from my fist. My face aches like hell and my body is sore all over. “Alright, time to go home. There’s nothing to see here anymore,” I tell everyone.

I walk out the building into the bright sunlight. I guess my workout has ended early. Hell, who knows if they’ll play me in the Bowl now. I always imagined myself holding that trophy, or running and pouring ice cold water on my coach’s back. It’s those traditions you dream about continuing. But now there’s all this pressure, and rules, and players who want to fuck up my career out of jealousy.

Now, I’ve got a girl a few blocks from here, most likely on the Internet. She’s probably watching the fight go down. Maybe it was even shared live. It’s a fucked up world we live in these days. All I know is that I’m done for. Every way I try and spin it, it’s bad fucking news. Either way, the love of my life is going to hate my guts.

I leave my car at the gym and instead, I walk taking the long way home.