ERIC

My jersey, shoulder pads and helmet sit on the bench next to me, covered in sweat and victory. Shirtless I rake emboldened fingers through my hair and tell the reporter, “We’re feeling good about the upcoming season. The rookies are impressive. Veterans ready to go. We just want to make the fans proud.”

Mott shouts over the reporter’s pretty head as he passes us for the showers, “Ready to get that pretty face dirty in Miami next week, Cocker?”

Chuckling I focus back on the woman and her CNN labeled microphone while the cameraman behind her adjusts his weight under the live camera perched on his shoulder. “Eric, after losing the Super Bowl last season, do the Falcons think they’ll take it all the way this year?”

“Not only do we think it, we’ll do it. That loss just made us hungry. We could taste how close we were. This year we’ll be ready for anything. Either that or eat too many burgers and just give up.” As they laugh, I grin and shrug, “Ya never know. We’re a bunch of slackers.”

“Sure you are,” the cameraman mutters.

She gives him a look—he’s supposed to stay silent—and returns to ask me, “Are there any women in your life?”

Tony shouts, “Are there ever not any women in his life? You think he’s not named Cocker for a reason?”

I crack up, covering my mouth as I try to control it and get serious to add, “Not right now. And I plan to keep it that way, ladies, if you’re watching. We’ve started the season, and it’s open season on me. Have to hit the showers.” Straight into camera I ask, “Care to join me?”

The cameraman and reporter are pleased as they head off, him saying under his breath, “I bet his social media is going to blow up after that invite.”

“So will ours,” she greedily replies.

Stripping out of my pants, thigh and knee pads sandwiched as they fall to the floor, I walk naked to the showers, a little disturbed because when she asked me about women, Wren came to mind. The girl who won’t talk to me unless I make her. I’m starting to feel like a stalker instead of just interested, showing up at her work all the time. Used to love going to that bar on the weekend days after the games, but now that I know she works nights, I’m there way too fuckin’ often. I keep writing it off as she’s amusing, makes me laugh. But there’s an itch that needs scratching. And it’s not just in my cock anymore. She’s haunting my thoughts more each day.

“You ready to make this real?” Mott asks with shampoo in his hair as he soaps up his balls.

I glance down and cock an eyebrow. “You comin’ onto me finally?”

The naked teammates around us laugh.

Mott mutters, “Very funny. We’re startin’ off strong but the Dolphins are a good team. I say we throw ‘em to the sharks.”

“Can’t fuckin’ wait,” I tell him as the hot streams and his talk of our competition, wash thoughts of Wren away. “Hey, Sooks, you rocked it out there. Bring that to Miami?!”

“I plan on it!” he says, soaping his pectoral muscles and under his arms. “You think the coach saw?”

We all eyeball the rookie. Nobody gives him an answer. Just that look.

He throws up his hands, “Okay! I get it!” The bar of soap goes flying and skitters across the wet tile. “Coach sees all.”

Tony jokes, “And we’re about to see all when you pick that up!”

Everyone cracks up, and keeps showering. Mott eerily hums, “Better watch out, Sooks. Be verrrrrrrry careful.”

The rookie chuckles but takes no chances, bending with his back to the wall, an act that makes us laugh harder.

Dion mutters out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Who the fuck brings their own bar of soap anyway?”

“I don’t like the bath wash,” Sooks shrugs. “Been using this since I was a kid.”

Sticking my head under the stream, suds sliding down my naked body and feeling so good. “Don’t shower much, eh?”

“Not the same bar! This is a new bar!”

“Sure it is.”

“I bought this a month ago.”

“I smelled your stink, Sooks. Don’t feel bad.”

“Hey, I smell good! All the time!”

We eyeball him, before exchanging amused looks all around.

Mott smirks and announces to the team, “I think we found our boy’s weakness.”

Sooks’ eyes get real wide. “Nah, I don’t care about cleanliness.”

“Cleanliness!?” Tony shouts, “Oh dayum, someone’s getting dunked in a steaming pile of shit by the end of the season!”

Sooks freezes, head pivoting to check every face in eyesight. “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?”

Nobody says a word.

One after the other we turn off the faucets and take our dripping bodies to the stacks of freshly bleached towels.

“You guys are messin’ with me, right? Right??!”

One after the other, we file out and leave him wondering.