BENCHED (20 page)

"She's already drunk," Dee says.

"So are you, point being?" Jason says.

"I don't know if she can hold her liquor."

"I can hold your liquor," I shout. I drop into the booth, and Dee crowds in next to me. A waitress brings our drinks.

"What is this?" I ask, flicking the glass with my finger. It's orange. That's all I can tell.

"Orange juice and vodka. It's a drink for people who don't fuck around," Jason says.

"Then you should skip it," Dee says, acid in her voice.

I sit up straighter. "So you do not think I fuck around."

"I hope you do."

I blink. "Did you just make a pass at me?"

"I sure did, Princess. Take those glasses off. I want another look at those eyes."

I look at Jason Powell coolly and drain my drink. He does the same. Dee gulps hers down, and I slap my glass on the table.

"More."

"Ana," Dee says, her voice rising.

I look at her. The world only wobbles a little. "Do you think I'm a child? I need four drinks before I'm ready to even finger dance."

"I have no idea what that is, but I think I want to try it," Jason says with a grin.

"No you don't, little man. Are we here to drink or talk?"

"Another round," he yells.

The second drink goes down a bit harder. The third goes down a bit easier.

"So," Jason says, obviously trying to keep his voice from drunken wavering, "What's the whole princess thing like. Do you have a castle and shit?"

I turn up my chin.

"Stop doing the chin thing," Dee sighs, leaning over the table.

"I don't want to talk about castles. I want to dance."

I half shove Dee out of the way and stride back out onto the floor, my hips swaying heavily from side to side. Jason comes up right up behind me, his back pressed to mine. I wiggle my hips and glance over my shoulder at him, grinning.

He is very handsome. When he touches my shoulders, a shiver goes down my spine.

Dee watches us the entire time, paying little attention to her dance partners. Jason seems a gentleman to me; I do not know why she is so worried. Besides, I can handle myself. I am not that kind of princess.

I turn around and face him. The song is not a slow song, but our dance becomes a slow dance.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, grasping my hips.

I rest my arms on his massive shoulders.

"You mean, can you ask me something else."

"Yeah."

"No. Just dance."

"If I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

"Do you think I'm a…." I search for the word. "A bimbo?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Because you think I will fall for a dumb pickup line. I am not going to sleep with you, Jason Powell."

"I wasn't thinking of sleeping."

"What were you thinking of?"

I turn around and grind back against him. I know exactly what he was thinking of. I can feel the evidence pressed against my rump.

Very hard, thick evidence. Heat floods my body, the first stirrings of desire. No, not the first, they're too strong to be the first. Something in my mind wakes up and wants me to bend over in front of him. I stop myself and push my back into his chest instead. I can still feel him throbbing against my butt. I want to turn around and leap on him and knock him to the floor. I've never felt this way before. It's intoxicating, gripping. I feel like my blood is on fire.

"I was thinking of how great you'd look on my bed while I rock your world."

"Hmm, good. You can think about that while you are alone with your hand tonight."

I turn around and give him a playful shove with one hand. He doesn't scowl or frown; he grins and steps closer, pulling me into him as we dance.

"Oh, so you're going to play hard to get."

"I'm impossible to 'get.' I am a princess. You should address me as
your grace
. That is my proper royal style."

"I think your proper style is your birthday suit," he says, running his hands up my sides.

How dare he! I should slap him, but I burst out laughing instead.

"Oh you think you're such a big man. Too much for little old me, right? I'd eat you for breakfast."

"If you let me try eating you, you won't want to."

"Oh, and if I let you take me to bed now, what would you do to me?"

"I'd read you poetry and we'd make s'mores."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Trust me, after I'm done with you, we'll need s'mores. Baby, you'll be on fire."

"That was a little better than the 'hold it against me' line. You're improving. Perhaps in fifty years a girl might actually kiss you."

"I think you're going to kiss me right now."

I look up at him looking down at me. He does have inviting lips, and a hint of stubble on his chin that I think would feel very good scratching my neck. My pulse quickens at the thought. I find myself staring at him again, and he stares back. He's going to do it. We're going to kiss.

J
ason

Y
eah
. I need to kiss her. Badly.

This close, I can smell her. Anastasia's scent is exactly what I would expect it to be—sweet and light, like berries and salt, if salt has a smell. She smells like a warm day on the beach, like cake, like a dozen pleasant memories all wrapped up in one. I can't help it, I duck my chin down and sniff her hair and the scent floods my lungs like a drug, burning hot. I fucking need her.

Anastasia looks at me with mismatched bedroom eyes and flexes her body, grinding against me, her lips parted in a sinful suggestion. I see a hint of her little pink tongue as she grinds against my cock, and I want to shove inside her and explode right now. I lean down to kiss her and just take a taste of her lips, but she turns aside, and I brush her cheek with my chin instead. It makes me even harder. Her lips tremble in a tight, playful smirk, like she's laughing at some secret joke.

As the music changes tempo, we sway together. Her eyes grow lidded, going half-closed, and she leans up, lips open and ready as her hands grip my sides, her nails raking down my flanks over my shirt like she's going to claw it open.

Her eyes widen as I grab a double handful of her firm ass, and she digs her nails in harder, in challenge. My hands slide up her back and catch her top for a moment, and I feel a hint of silky-smooth skin against my fingers before it falls back down. Her hands spread wide across my chest, and she digs her fingertips into my muscle, and her hot breath washes over my chin.

We writhe together, wrapped up in the heat of the music. I almost kiss her once, twice, but she pulls away, mischief sparkling in her otherworldly eyes. She spins in my grip and grinds her ass on my dick, and I take her hips and pull her to me, driving against her. Fuck, even her back is sexy.

My hands almost reach her chest before she pushes my wrists down and holds my palms against her stomach. Her body flexes under my grip as she undulates against me, her back rubbing against my chest as her rump rubs against my throbbing cock, and it's like I swallowed the sun and it's burning through my veins all around my body.

I have to have this girl. I have to.

"Let's get out of here."

She turns me around, suddenly holding me at arm's length with her hands on my chest. I rest my forearms on her shoulders as she gropes me. I flex my muscles under her grip, and I swear I can
hear
her getting wet as she gasps a soft breath through her pursed lips.

"Get out of here and go where?"

"All the way," I say with a smirk.

Her head snaps back. She laughs a little, but there's a sadness to it. Her expression changes, like she just remembered something she was trying to forget.

"I can't," she says, suddenly and sharply.

"Princess," I murmur, pulling her close to me again. "I think you can."

She grinds against me in a shuddering motion like she can barely control herself.

"You do not understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I'm not allowed…."

"Come with me."

Anastasia's eyelids flutter and a red flush creeps up her face until she's a bright pink. She licks her lips, and they start to press into the opening sound of a yes.

Then the door to the bar bangs open, just as "I Will Survive"
starts up on the jukebox.

You have to be fucking kidding me.

A
na

T
he music machine
stops and starts a new song. Jason freezes, turning me aside, putting his body between me and the door. Dee rushes over and grabs my arm, but Jason stops her.

He yanks up my hood and shoves my glasses at me.

"Get her out the back," he tells Dee. "Go, now."

Standing in the doorway is a tall, lean man in athletic warmup pants and a tight brown t-shirt. As he strides into the bar, several large men pile in behind him, all wearing brown.

The tall man has jet-black hair in a ponytail, dark eyes, and a smashed-in nose that looks like it's been broken more than once.

"Hey, Powell. Thought I'd find you here."

"Leave, Ransom. People are trying to have a good time."

Dee tugs my arm, stating to pull me toward bar.

"You have a back door?" she says to the bartender.

He looks at her. "It's in the back," he says, exasperated.

Then he ducks under the bar.

I think this is going to be bad.

This newcomer—Ransom—looks over Jason's shoulder.

At me. He smirks, and his face reminds me of a wolf prowling back and forth, sizing up prey. He looks like he's found a weak spot.

"Oh, look who it is, Princess Cunterella. Good job, Powell. Tell me something, do princesses suck dick harder than mere mortals?"

The entire room goes dead silent. Jason… changes. It's like his muscles harden under his clothes. They were very hard to begin with, but they get much harder. His face goes red.

"Let it go, Jason," Dee pleads.

Akele, the booming giant, stands up from his barstool and bellows at the top of his lungs, "Valhalla!"

Then it starts.

The impact of the two teams hitting each other is just as loud in here as it was on the field, but there are no pads and no ball. Jason punches Ransom in the face. Akele and his twin brother—I presume; they look exactly the same—slam into two equally giant members of the Honey Badgers, and the room erupts into chaos.

Dee yanks at my arm, yelling at me that we have to leave. As Jason relentlessly pummels his opponent, another Badger rises behind him, hefting a barstool high to smash it over Jason’s head.

I do the only thing that seems reasonable. I scream at the top of my lungs, sprint across the room, and jump on his back before he can land the blow with the stool. The giant man drops the improvised weapon and pulls at my arms, trying to pry me loose. I lock them around his throat, choking him, but only briefly before he seizes my arms and pries them easily away from his neck. Suddenly this seems like it was a very poor idea.

Jason grapples with him and somehow pries me loose and drops me on my feet, pushing me at Dee.

"Dee, what the hell are you doing," Jason roars, "Get her out!"

"You get her out," Dee shouts back.

"Get that bitch," Ransom snarls.

Two of the Badgers are about to grab me when Akele bowls into them full tilt, screaming a battle cry in a language I don't know, and all three of them plow into the wall so hard that the deer's head that gives the place its name drops and flips over one of the tables.

Sirens cut through the din.

The other giant twin looks up from dragging a Honey Badger to the door.

"It's the cops," he roars, "Everybody out of the pool!"

J
ason

T
he princess runs at me
, screaming, "You shitty goat herder! Your father was a walrus! Your dick is Trou du Cru! Your head is stuffed with straw! Your mother sucks narwhal cock! Fuck you and fuck your tea!"

I actually hear someone laughing. Dee looks like she's about to shit a chicken as she pulls at Anastasia's arm, trying valiantly to stop her and being dragged across the room for her efforts.

Except it's not me she's running at. It's Ransom, who is about six times her size. Hopping on one foot, she rips off her shoe and hurls it at his head.

It bounces off the fucker's skull, and on pure instinct, I catch it.

"Cops," Akele bellows. "Are you all fucking deaf? Cops!"

I catch Princess Anastasia around the waist and yank her off her feet and up onto my shoulder. She tries to wriggle out of my grasp to crawl right over my back and savage Ransom with her delicate, little fists.

"This isn't over, Hayseed," Ransom shouts, pointing.

"Just run, you fucking jackass," I shout back.

I run for the back of the bar.

Akele and Aheahe, my twin halfback and running back, run with astonishing speed for men of their size, shoving through the back of the bar.

As she tries desperately to free myself from her grasp, Anastasia keeps shoving her ass against the side of my head. If I wasn't busy escaping a night in jail for trashing the bar, I might be enjoying this.

"Let me go! I must give battle!"

"Shut up," I snap. "And what the hell is a Trou du Cru?"

"It's a cheese! His dick smells like cheese! His mother fornicates with cod! I'll punch his ass! I'll kick his dick! Let me go, I command you!"

Is she out of her mind?

"No! Now be quiet. Dee!"

Anastasia continues to wriggle on my shoulder, hitting me with her fists. "I have to fight!"

"Please stop that," I tell her. I spot Dee running along with the rest of the team. "Everybody back to the house, fucking run!"

An alleyway runs behind the bar down to Cleveland Avenue. From there we run across the tracks and up West Main, toward the house. It stands at the top of a sloping hill, and we better fucking make it or I'm going to see the inside of a jail cell.

"Run, run, run," Dee chants. "Not far!"

Akele slams into the back gate so hard he rips it right off the hinges, and the rest of us pile in behind him, leaving a muddy track up the back steps to the door.

Inside, I deposit the princess on the floor, crouching and bending to drop her on her butt.

She lets out a little "oof" and glares at me. "How dare you lay your hands on my royal person!"

"You didn't mind when I laid my hands on your royal ass."

"She's drunk," Dee says, stumbling between us to sit with her friend. "Lay off, Jace."

"Lay off? Are you fucking insane, Princess? You almost got your skull caved in. One little flick from one of those savages would put you in the ER."

"I have to fight!"

"Why?" I ask.

"Because they insulted… my friends…." Her voice goes small. "Friend."

She sways from side to side and starts to look a little green.

"Okay, Xena. Just calm down." I turn to Dee. "Get her something to eat. I think she's had too much."

"I think I need your help with that," Dee says, her voice wavering. "I think I've been drinking."

Dee takes two steps into the living room and flops on the floor.

Sighing, I grab Princess Ana under the shoulders and lift her into a chair at the kitchen table.

"You're really strong," she says, staring at me.

Those mismatched eyes of hers could drown a man. Good God, she's gorgeous. She smiles at me.

Then she heaves forward and pukes on my shoes.

"Dee, get up," I shout. "Help me here."

I manage to get ahold of the princess's hair and hold it back to save it from the torrent of nachos, chili dog, and what appears to be some form of fermented fish, which is now in a puddle on the kitchen floor.

Also, my feet.

"I feel not so good," the princess moans.

"Help her up,” I sigh.

"Aww man, she barfed on my hoodie," Dee moans.

"Fuck your hoodie, she puked all over my legs." I shout, trying not to jump back and drop her.

"Take your pants off." Dee slurs out.

"What?"

"Just do it."

"Are you serious?"

"You're going to track puke all over the house, man."

In the world of vodka, it makes perfect sense, so I shove my pants down and kick out of my shoes, and step gingerly over the barf puddle.

Anastasia sits there with a dull look on her face as Dee wipes her down, then pulls her ruined hoodie over her head, gently to make sure she doesn't throw up again, I lift the princess in my arms, step over the wet spot on the floor, and carry her up the stairs.

"Where?" I say.

"Your bedroom," Dee says.

I give her a look.

"Just do it."

I turn to get the princess through the door, then lay her on my bed.

"She puked on her pants too. I have to get them off."

"You made me bring her in my room and now we're taking her pants off. You realize that an hour ago you were trying to prevent this."

"Shut up, Jason," Dee snaps.

I step to the closet and grab my jacket. "Get them off her before she soils my bed. Here, put this on her, she's shivering. And get her covered with something. I'll be back in five minutes. We might need to take her to the hospital."

Dee nods, grateful.

I slip out of the room and pull the door shut, then walk down to join the rest of my team in the living room.

Most of us scattered. Akele and Aheahe stand in the middle of the room, huge arms folded. Izzy Duquesne and Curtis Linkletter followed us from the bar, probably for no particular reason.

"That went well," Akele declares.

"Went well?" Curtis shouts. "Are you crazy? We got our asses kicked and we'll probably all get booted off the team for this."

Curtis is our wide receiver, and he's a little twitchy. One of the lightest players on the team, he's more of a sprinter than anything. He gets up and circles the room, walking behind the ring of couches.

"This is bad," he mutters, "bad, bad, bad, bad…."

"Curtis, go home," I tell him. "You too, Izzy. Go with him."

"He's had a little much," Izzy agrees, leading Curtis out by the arm.

"Run, run, run, gotta run," Curtis mumbles.

I look at Akele and Aheahe.

They shrug. The motion makes the floor shake under my feet. We're probably going to lose our security deposit.

"The girls okay?" Akele asks.

"I'll check," I sigh.

I trudge up the stairs, knock, and then swing open the door to my room. Dee is sitting up—barely—and swaying as she tucks the princess into my bed like a little kid after a rough day at school.

Princess Anastasia lifts her head and looks at me.

"You are having the nice legs," she says.

Then her head falls on the pillow and she spaces out, her eyes drifting shut.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

"She just needs to sleep it off," Dee says.

"Yeah. You two stay in here. I'll be downstairs."

"You might want to put on some pants."

I glance down, remember that I stripped them off, and grab a pair of sweats from the closet.

"Let me know if you need anything, Dee."

When I get back to the kitchen, I find the brothers cleaning up the mess and join in. We're no stranger to people tossing their cookies on our floor. With the three of us working on it, it takes about ten minutes. Aheahe carries the garbage can outside for the night. We'll need to hose it off.

That fish she ate
stinks
.

"I'm sleeping down here," I announce.

"Right, cousin. Who takes first watch?" Aheahe asks.

"Just go to bed," I snap.

I flop down on the longest couch, the one that faces the television, and take a deep breath. I hate sleeping down here. The light cuts in through the curtains. After futzing with them for a bit, it gets dark enough for me to sleep.

Then Aheahe opens the fridge and the light wakes me up.

Of course brothers have to go to the bathroom. It sounds like a herd of elephants walking around upstairs. Then the girls go. At some point, Dee pukes in the toilet. Back when she was dating Akele, I learned to recognize the unique sonic signature of her vomiting.

By about six o'clock in the morning, I've mostly given up on sleep. I drag my aching body in circles around the living room, replaying last night's game in my head. Trying to, anyway. It turns into a replay of the bar fight. Nothing is so satisfying as the sensation of my fist hitting Ransom Kaye's nose. I smile a little inside every time I look at his face. He never quite healed right after I broke it the last time.

We're not finished.

As I pace, my thoughts go back to Ana grinding on me on the dance floor. She's a nimble little one, she is. Well, not little. She's tall for a girl. Doesn't matter, everybody but the brothers is little to me.

Knowing I shouldn't, I walk softly up the stairs, stopping to skip the step that always creaks. I check my bedroom door and find it unlocked.

The princess is curled up in my bed, hugging my pillow. Her hair is a mess, thick locks pulling free from her thick braid to form a wild tangle around her head. Also she's drooling. On my pillow.

She's fucking gorgeous.

I step into the room and crouch by the bed. She sniffles and pulls at a lock of hair with her lip, trying to get it out of her face. I gently slip my finger under the hair and tuck it back behind her ear. She shifts, and I freeze until she relaxes again, her eyes darting back and forth under their lids.

I wonder what she's dreaming about.

Shit, if she wakes up now she'll see me, hovering about two inches from her face. I’d leaned down even more as I watched her. Until I was within kissing range. I shouldn't be in here anyway.

As I slip out, I take one last look. It turns into a last stare. I could stare at her a long time. She draws the eye that way. I couldn't stop looking at her from the field either.

It's those eyes of hers. I've never seen eyes like that. Different colors. Moss and sky. Leaf and water. It suits her.

Listen to you, Jason. It suits her. You have a couple of drinks and grind on her butt and suddenly you're losing your head.

I take the stairs slow, skipping the one that always creaks. I consider going for a run but change my mind when I hear the sounds of the brothers rising from their slumber. First the snoring stops, then the floor groans as they stand. Little streams of dust fall from the ceiling when they walk around.

Akele comes downstairs first, and without a word he arranges a half dozen big plastic tubs on the countertop. He's a growing boy and needs his protein. We all do, although I drink my shakes by the quart rather than the gallon. The shaker bottles they both use are big enough for a regular person to drink from them all day.

When Aheahe shows up, he puts on, I shit you not, a chef's toque. It barely fits his head, and the Velcro at the back holds on by maybe a squire millimeter. Then he straps on his XXXL apron and starts getting the skillets and oven hot.

Yes, skillets. Plural.

I walk over, grab my morning shake, and head to the couch. I should be hungover, but "wake up the next day" usually requires "sleep" to take place first.

Once the food gets going, pancakes and French toast and waffles and Texas toast and regular toast and turkey sausage and regular sausage and regular bacon and turkey bacon and… right. Once that gets going, I think the smell wakes out guests. I hear them moving around and jog up the stairs to meet them.

I knock once and Dee opens the door.

Princess Ana is sitting in my bed, swaddled in my hoodie, hugging herself. She has that vacant look that comes from trying to piece together what happened last night, until she looks up at me.

"I puked on you."

"Good morning, gorgeous," I reply. "Get up."

"My head."

"I know, get up. Don't just sit there, it'll make it worse."

I walk over and take her by the arm, and gently bring her to her feet.

I forgot she wasn't wearing pants. My hoodie comes down just enough to cover her butt, but not enough to keep me from seeing that she wears cotton underwear with little blue hearts on them.

"You need pants." I say.

"Where are mine?"

"Downstairs. I need to wash them. Here, you can put mine on until they're done."

"Okay," she says, her voice a little vacant.

I grab a pair of lounge pants from the dresser and hand them to her, awkwardly trying not to stare at her legs, and her ass. She has an incredible ass. I want to use her butt as a pillow forever. She steps into them. I watch her pull them up her long legs, and when she ties them around her waist, baggy as they are, I get a glimpse of her pale, smooth belly.

She gives me a little shove and walks past me.

In the living room, she flops on one of the couches and stares straight ahead. I bring her a glass of cranberry juice and shake it in front of her eyes.

"Here. Drink."

"What is it?"

"Cranberry juice. Headache medicine. Best thing for a hangover. Then you need food and water. Come on."

She takes the glass in both hands and drains it, then shivers.

"Too sweet," she grumbles.

I had her another one. "This one too. Drink it down. Then come on."

Dee has already migrated to the kitchen table, where she points her thousand-yard stare at the kitchen. I walk Ana into the room and sit her down. Then I help the brothers carry the feast out and set the table.

Ana looks over our board of fare and asks, "Where's the fish?"

"You don't eat fish for breakfast."

"Yeah you do," Akele says, "just not around here. Here, pretty princess, try this."

He stabs a slab of Spam and drops it on her plate.

Ana pokes it with her fork. Then she examines her fork, flicking at the bent tine. She turns the cheap plastic handle in her fingers.