Very Wicked Beginnings

“Two things about me: I play football—and girls.”

–Cuba

September

Junior Year

I WANTED THE gorgeous girl in the window.

More specifically, I wanted the dark-haired girl dancing inside the Symthe Arts Building as I stood outside on the twenty-yard line at football practice, fixated on her when I should have been focused on the line of scrimmage. I adjusted my helmet and squinted through the afternoon Dallas sun.

Did I know her?

Movement from other players on the field pulled me back. Good thing. As defensive end, it was my job to put the screws to or sack the quarterback as soon as the ball snapped.

Clearly, I was off today. Probably because I had a shit ton of homework waiting on me at home. With my dreams of being a doctor someday, I took each assignment seriously at Briarcrest Academy, planning for the future.

Just like every seventeen-year-old kid out there, I had the usual stresses.

But I did have more than the average. I had a sick mom.

Those thoughts faded when I looked back at the window and watched the girl run and then leap in the air, her body doing some kind of crazy in-the-air-leg-split-thing. Damn. She’d gotten at least four feet off the ground.

Then, after landing on her feet light as a feather, she danced away from my view. I waited for her to come back, wanting to check out her toned muscles again, especially her tight ass. And then I randomly wondered if her tits were small. Weren’t all dancers? Yeah. But still, she looked—

“Pay attention, Hudson!” Coach Howe yelled at me.

Fuck. Caught.

I automatically stiffened and tightened my defensive stance, running my eyes across the offensive line, waiting for the play. But Matt, the quarterback, was pussy-footing around, still undecided if they were gonna run or pass.

I got bored.

Out of my peripheral vision, I caught a flash of pink dashing past the window.

She was back.

And like I was addicted to her, my eyes drifted to the building again, one part baffled by the fascination, the other part wanting to get another glimpse of her long legs. As I watched, she adjusted her ponytail as she laughed up at her ballet partner—who was a dude. Crazzzy. Yeah, you’d think he’d be all feminine and shit, but he wasn’t. Nope. Dude looked buff, like he could bench press a school bus.

Something about the girl had me riveted. It was probably that short skirt she wore. I pictured slipping my hand underneath it to her panties. Her core would be hot, on fire for me, of course, and I’d ease my finger inside her wet—

Bam! I took a hard hit from Tank Carson, an All District offensive guard I routinely ran circles around in practice. He might be big, but I was quick and smart and had more moves than a freaking octopus. So the chance to plant my distracted ass on the turf was an early Christmas present for him. That’s what I get for letting some piece of ass get in my game, even if it was practice.

And so. My unprepared body flew through the air with 290 pounds of Tank on top of it. My head hit the turf, the contact reverberating inside my helmet and then everything went black …

A few minutes later, I blinked up into the hot sun, stretched out on a bench alongside the field. One of the assistant coaches gave me a smirk as he leaned over and peered at my eyes.

“Ah, so you are alive.”

I nodded, wincing as I sat up.

“Any nausea?” he asked, handing me a Gatorade and a bottle of Aleve.

I took both and shook my head. I’d had worse hits.

“Just woozy. Didn’t see him coming is all.” How fucking embarrassing.

He watched me swallow down two pills. “You got mowed down because you weren’t paying attention. Don’t be pulling that shit during a game. You thinking of getting a football scholarship next year?”

I rubbed my temple and sighed. Not really. Being a doctor seemed more important, but I didn’t say that. And sure I loved football, but ultimately, my goal in life was to help people, to make up for all the bad shit I did four years ago.

Still, there was a ton of pressure on the team. And I wanted to be a leader, someone the other players looked up to. Especially since the quarterback was a jerk, all into making himself look good.

“Sorry, Coach. I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”

He slapped me on the back. “Your eyes are good, and there’s no swelling. It’s possible you have a very mild concussion, so the best thing to do is rest up. I called your dad to come check you out.”

I said okay and after he walked away, I glanced over to see if the strange object of my stupidity was still in the window. I didn’t see her, and the studio lights looked dimmed, so I guessed her practice had ended pretty much as soon as I’d taken the hit.

Now, I’d never know who she was.

I hadn’t gotten a good look at the details of her face. Sure, I knew her hair was dark and her body tight, but that was about it. Put her in regular clothes, and she’d fit right in with half the girls at Briarcrest.

I got a pang of disappointment at not knowing her name, and it surprised me.

Why did I care about some girl in the window anyway?

I had plenty of other girls, probably prettier, to keep me occupied. And I didn’t dig chasing girls. I liked immediate gratification when it came to the opposite sex, and if I had to work too hard for it, then it usually wasn’t worth my time.

Yet still my thoughts persisted.

Had she seen me looking? Did she know who I was?

Because face it, everyone did.

Obviously she was a student at BA, but if I didn’t know her, it told me right away she didn’t hang in my social circle. In other words, she wasn’t popular. Meh. Everyone here thinks I’m the king of the school, even calling me Hollywood because they think my life is golden and perfect.