#Score (6 page)

R
amona

I
won't lie
to myself. I had a good time with Benji. A really good time. Even before all the kissing and touching . . .

I lie back on my bed, staring up at the bright, warm strings of light that decorate my room. They remind me of the light from the Ferris wheel on the pier earlier. And that only leads me to the way Benji kissed me in a way I've never been kissed before, wholly, completely, with everything he had.

I should be tired, but I'm not. In fact, I've never felt more awake. His sexy grin keeps popping up behind my eyelids, his full lips forever stuck in my memories. And those eyes . . . just as I suspected. Blue, the kind of blue that I could try all day and night to paint and would never get quite right.

I sigh to myself. Brie and Michael were still out doing God knows what, so I was able to sneak back into our apartment without answering any weird questions, thankfully. I'm not exactly the type to kiss and tell, whereas Brie and Michael would do anything to get the juicy details about my evening from me.

And now I'm back on Benji's face, trying to remember just how the angles of his jaw line came together. His face is like a neatly tied-up package, everything completely symmetrical, perfect in its own way. It's something I am obsessive over as an artist, seeing lines and colors and shapes and what they’re made of, what they do when put together. And his face? Undoubtedly a masterpiece.

I only had a glimpse of his upper body without the shirt on, but I was so glad to have that moment in time because now I can call back to it whenever I want.

I slide my feet out of my shoes and pull the covers up over me, letting myself easily back down into the company of my own bed. But my skin is still on fire, my nerves still remembering how it felt to be touched by Benji.

I swallow hard as I slip my hand under the waistband of my pants, letting my hand rest right over my mound while I debate on whether I want to, no, whether I
need
to touch myself. Maybe it will help me get the images of Benji's mouth out of my head and I can actually get some sleep. It's worth a try.

My fingertips dive under all the way until I'm opening my thighs and spreading my warm outer lips apart. I suck in another breath and explore my warm wetness, imagining that it's Benji's hand and not my own . . .

The hand grazes lightly over my lips, tapping them quickly and sending jolts up my spine. Fingers splay me open, my core already soaking wet from earlier. One finger . . . then two slide up inside me, twisting around and stroking the upper walls of my pussy, sending my hips into a frantic motion. They rock back and forth against the hand that is steadily pumping the fingers in and out of me.

I'm feeling his lips biting down gently in my ear . . .

I'm spread back out, and now there's the lightest featherweight touch trailing widely around the inside of my slit, getting closer and closer to my aching spot. My nerves are twitching with anticipation.

I'm seeing his tongue flick out at my dark, small nipple. . .

A thumb grazes quickly over my swollen clit and I cry out, moaning into my other hand loudly as fingers begin to rub slowly around it, exposing it for a better sensation.

I'm imagining his huge cock sliding inside of me as deep as he can go . . .

Tension builds up from deep inside me, pulling behind my navel as the fingers pick up their pace. Now they're openly rubbing my clit, faster and faster still, my legs shaking and my eyes finally shutting . . .

I come hard, I breathe hard, I shake hard. Everything is spasming and frantic as I cover my hand in my own juices.

Oh wow. Oh
wow
. . .

* * *

W
hen I wake up
six hours later, somehow my hand is still down my pants and I'm in desperate need of a shower.

I
jolt up
, embarrassed, even though I know I shouldn't be. Tons of girls do it, right? Just because I don't normally masturbate doesn't make me weird for trying something new.

I
take
in a deep breath and let it out, desperately not wanting to think about how much of an effect the hours spent with Benji had on me last night. But he was different, so it has me feeling all sorts of different. No, I'm not a fool enough to believe that it extends past needing to get laid badly. Except . . .

If I'm being truthful, I was having almost as much fun before all the touchy-feely stuff. Most guys don't like having to keep up with my sarcasm, or how I'm not your average bubbly girl, easy to speak with and of average intelligence. I know I'm smart, I know I'm good at what I do. Well, kind of, anyway. And I refuse to hold a meaningful conversation with anyone who has any kind of preconceived ignorance. I don't have time for that, so I don't make time for that.

I can understand why I'm hard to approach, and I sort of hide behind it. I laugh when people look my way and decide ‘no’ before walking away. But that's not how it went down with Benji last night. He challenged what I thought I knew about him. Maybe that's what I'm finding so damn attractive about him, not just his unfairly sexy face and body.

I think back to the last thing I said to him, about bad timing. You always hear about these kinds of meetings, briefly finding someone who feeds your curiosity, send some kind of crazy feeling through your gut, makes you want more from them — more touching, more talking, more all of it. But I never thought I would bump into someone quite literally, like Benji. Those kinds of things just don't happen for me, never have. I've always been wrapped up tightly in my little bubble world, going from work at the coffee shop to work at my parents’ Laundromat, back home until I'm holding a paintbrush in my hand. No one's ever really seen me with the exception of my incredibly small group of friends, and it's never bothered me. But Benji seeing me was everything. Everything I didn't realize I wanted.

My heart squeezes as if I'm coming to some sort of deadly realization, stuttering hard in my chest.

I've got to stop this. Bad timing is a very real sad thing to say, and with Benji leaving California in a matter of days and me having no way to reach him . . . I need to just let this go. Chalk it up to a very interesting experience I once had with a pretty cool guy.

It had been a very inopportune moment, and sometimes that's all you get.

I debate on whether I should bring it up when I talked to my best friend Jasmine later, but decided against it. Benji will be a small portion of my heart that's for good, never moving, never growing. He'll be that secret like that old lady had on the Titanic. Whether that's me being overdramatic or not, I'm not sure yet, but until I figure it out, that's where he'll stay.

There's a soft knock at my bedroom door and I hear Brie mumbling something on the other side of it. Back to real life again.

B
enji

W
hen the lights
go down in the decked-out conference room, I close my eyes for just a second, letting it all sink in.

I
'm here
. I'm finally fucking here.

A
big screen
blazes to life to our left. Nicholas Fratelli walks out onto the stage and goes to stand at the podium. I adjust my tie for the millionth time, getting a weird, nervous grin from Joshua, whose feet are bouncing a few seats over. Cal nudges my arm hard, pointing to the man in front of the giant wall with "SuperDraft 2017 - Los Angeles" covering it. I swallow and pay attention so hard that I'm sure my brain is turning into mush.

"
I
'd like
to take a moment to welcome everyone to the 2017 SLA SuperDraft. Thank you, to the lovely city of Los Angeles for hosting us this year, and a big thanks to all of our sponsors for their continued support," Fratelli says, leaning into the microphone.

T
he small group
of Universe superfans roar from the back of the room, wearing their blue and yellow everywhere.

"We will start the clock for four minutes, and at the end of the four minutes, we will have our first draft pick of the evening. Clocks going . . . now."

The screen turns into a giant digital countdown, and a quiet murmur goes across the crowd. The agents and officials over to the right of us are going through their little computers, whispering to one another. It's kind of a weird sight in the middle of everything going on and I look away, trying to get some perspective. People always say that in moments like these, you should remember every single detail about it. I don't know if I’ll always remember everything, but I know I'll remember the way my heart beats with every ticking of the clock.

Someone taps me from behind and I turn around, ending up looking straight at EZ's face. He lets the stoic look on his face melt away for just a moment, giving me a quick smile and thumbs up before it's gone again. I didn't expect to see him here today, and the fact that he showed up in the middle of his last playoff game week really means something to me. It probably helps that he was already in San Francisco, but still. Knowing that he's here helps settle my nerves somewhat.

The clock hits zero and someone rushes up from the LA Universe's team to hand a slip of paper to Fratelli. Maybe I'm just imagining things, but I see a small smile on his face when he turns back to the podium.

"Our first pick for the 2017 SLA season comes to us now from Clemson University . . . "

I don't know how but I'm standing up, unable to control myself, ready to go straightaway to the podium and shake this man's hand. It's happening. This is really happening, and my brain is only just now catching up with it.

The fans are already roaring behind us, drowning out half of what he says, but my picture and list of stats show up on the big screen where the clock used to be, and I know I'm not standing up prematurely. Cal’s got his arm wrapped around my shoulder, EZ's ruffling my hair from behind, and Joshua’s turned around to face me, a huge ass grin on his face.

Time slows down, each little second passing slower than the last. I'm walking up to the podium, hand outstretched to give Fratelli a firm handshake just like I was always taught by Aunt Melissa, ready to face the crowd with the signature smile I give out to everyone. I'm here. This is fucking
happening
.

The owner of the LA Universe, Marcus Bennett, comes to stand up beside me, also shaking my hand, while a weird thing is being placed around my shoulders, a scarf emblazoned with L.A. Universe's colors and emblem on it. They both point to the cameras in front of us, and I only get a split second to look and smile before bright bulbs are going off in my eyes. I'm being given my very first team jersey and I hold it up for everyone to see, still not sure how this is my life right now.

It hits me just then that I'm actually going to be playing for the Universe, my favorite SLA team of all time. It's not West Turkey United, but it's pretty damn close. And since I can't play in the IFL league, this is the best thing that could've happened for me.

I know I’ll need a few moments to myself tonight just to cry and do whatever the hell people do when they're fucking stoked like me. I worked too damn hard to get this far and not be excited, the way I see it.

When I'm sitting back down with my family I let out a long sigh of relief, glad to finally know what's up and what to expect. I know I should be looking for Dennis, my agent, but I just want to chill out for a moment and watch the rest of the draft play out. Besides, Joshua still hasn't been picked yet and I'm anxious to see just where they will be placing him. I try to recall which team needed what players and realize that the Universe probably doesn't need a mid-fielder, but I keep this to myself. Joshua tracks this kind of shit, and I'm pretty damn sure he already knows it.

The fifth pick of the evening is up and finally they call out another Clemson University player. It’s Joshua by default because we’re the only two here tonight, and I start shaking him around, cheering him on as he goes up to the podium and accepts his scarf from the Portland Timbers. Portland . . . wonder how far away that is from L.A.? They’re on the same coast, so maybe it's not too bad.

Joshua and I have been friends since freshman year, so it's hard to think of what life would be like without sharing a dorm apartment with him. We’ll both get over it, make new friends and really get into our new teams I'm sure, but I know I'm going to miss the guy, and let's face it, I know he’s going to miss me too.

As if he could read my mind, Joshua runs straight at me, pulling me into what I refer to as our manly hug before letting go, beaming at me. "The fucking Universe, man. Can you even believe it?"

I shrug because yeah, I can believe it, I kind of called it. "Maybe. But hey, Portland is an awesome team too. We'll both be on the West Coast finally, like we always wanted."

His parents, who have flown out from Illinois, pull him away from me minutes later, and he’s swallowed up by the craziness that is the Espinoza family.

A
fter the photos
have all been taken and everybody starts packing up for the evening, EZ claps me hard on the back, nearly taking out my whole shoulder in the process. "For fuck's sake, Big Ease, I know I don't play soccer with my arms, but damn." I laugh, rubbing my sore shoulder after he pulls his hand away.

EZ just laughs it off, shaking his head. It's rare to see him in such a good mood these days, so I'll take all the shoulder shots if it means he cracks a smile every now and then.

"Hey man, I'm proud of you. You worked your motherfucking ass off to get here, no lie. That's the kind of shit it takes to get where you want to go. Now you’re there, just like that. Can you imagine what the headlines will say tomorrow?"

Cal joins in, holding his hands up to emphasize. "
Breaking: incredibly talented, smart and sexy Dirty Trinity at it again. Youngest member, Benji Lundgren, drafted to L.A. Universe.
I think it's time for us to talk world domination, guys."

All three of us laugh, standing in the small circle that we’ve stood in our whole lives together.

"Have you called Aunt Mel yet? I'm sure she's been watching." EZ is always the first to check in with her, and I'm usually the last unfortunately. I don't mean to be a total asshat because I love the hell out of our aunt, our second mother really. I run my hand through my hair, sheepishly looking away.

EZ frowns at me and Cal just rolls his eyes as usual. "Come on. Have you talked to her at all since you been here?"

"I'm a grown-ass man. I don't need to check in with her all the time, EZ. I'll call her when we get back to the hotel room. No harm no foul."

I can tell that he's wanting to say more but he keeps quiet, looming over me and my brother.

To see us altogether is quite a spectacle I'm sure, at least that's what I've been told. I'm not exactly tall, but I’m happy with my pretty average 5’11” height. Cal is barely an inch taller than me, but EZ? He's like a fucking totem pole, that guy. Checking in at a crazy six foot six, you’d think by his stature and size he'd be one of the best linebackers in the FLA, but surprisingly enough, he’s incredibly agile on his feet and actually plays quarterback for the Carolina Cougars.

J
oshua checks
in one more time with me before going out to a celebratory dinner with his parents and the rest of the clan, and me and Cal and EZ decide to do the same. Cal knows more about L.A., having played against the Dodgers several times, and suggests a hoity-toity restaurant on the main boulevard. The drive there is quick, but my thoughts are going wild and I'm trying to roll them all together into something that I can manage.

L.A. freaking Universe. I'll have to get Bennett and Dennis to help out with the details of moving my ass all the way out here. I can't believe I'll get to enjoy more of the city, whenever I want. Maybe do a little sightseeing, definitely hit up the beach more . . .

S
tanding on the pier
, pieces of dark hair blowing past her face. Freckles. Those big brown eyes.

S
hit
, I'm not supposed to be thinking about her still. I bow my head for a moment, squeezing my eyes tightly shut until everything goes black and blotchy. When I open them again, we finally reach the restaurant and I focus on the rest of our week ahead. It'll be great. As long as I can keep Ramona and the mind-blowing sex that never was out of my mind.