Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Sports Romance

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Published by Salted Pen Publications, Minnesota.

Stadium of Lights: A Second Chance Sports Romance

Edited by: Dawn Thompson & Donna Rich

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“
N
othing I like better
than this,” Jared said, settling into his seat. He tossed a few bottles of ice cold Gatorade around to those of us who raised our hands to say we wanted one. I did, and I caught the bottle with one hand. Orange. Not my favorite flavor, but I’d take it.

“Okay, what’d I miss?” he asked, taking a long swig. About a dozen voices all started speaking over each other. But he looked at me. Even if I weren't quarterback for the team, I would still be the leader. I’d been the leader since my first day of kindergarten.

“They just finished warmups, which was meh. Not much bouncing around when they’re warming up.” I wished my Gatorade was a cold beer, but it would have to do as long as we were at the stadium and under the watchful eye of the coaches. No way they’d let us drink the way we wanted to when we were about to start the regular season. Especially if they knew we were only hanging around to watch the cheerleader practice.

Mo, one of our linebackers, elbowed me. “So where do we stand with the count, bro?”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I ran a hand through my shaggy brown hair—the head coach wanted me to cut it, but he could kiss my ass—and ran through the list which I kept on my cell phone for convenience. “Let’s see. Mo, you’re up to four. Fuckin’ sad. Chad, Jared, Trey, and Randy have five. Garrett only has three, so at least you’re not last. Brent and Joe have six, and I have—ten.”

“What the fuck? Ten? Oh, come on.” Mo waved a hand, dismissing my figures.

“Ten outta twelve? Yeah, remind me not to go golfing with you when you’re keeping score,” Garrett laughed.

“Dude, I can look out over those girls and tell you exactly which ones you screwed.” I pointed them out. “Layla, Eve, and Tricia. Right?”

He looked, too, then turned crimson red when he realized I was right. He got a lot of shit for that, all of us laughing at him. He was probably one of the best-looking guys on the team, too—all the girls were nuts about him—but he had a fiancée at home who sometimes liked to go on the road with him so that he couldn’t get as “busy” as the rest of us single guys.

“Besides, I don’t need to cheat.” I shrugged, getting more laughs. “I’m just that good.”

Trey grumbled from behind me. “Yeah, but you did cheat that one time we played mini golf. No way you won when you couldn’t even hit par on most of the holes.”

“Well, I was never good at adding all those numbers together,” I said with a smirk. Then I settled back in to watch the girls go through their routines, all of them bouncing and kicking. We talked about their skimpy practice uniforms, just as small as the ones they wore on the field. It was a hot day, for sure—I knew I’d sweated my ass off out there—but the girls didn’t seem to let it bother them. They tossed and twirled around like nothing bothered them.

“Check out the thighs on Layla. Nice and thick,” I heard Randy mutter. He was right, her thighs were incredible. And they felt amazing when they were wrapped around my waist, too. We’d hooked up after a game in San Fran, one of the team’s biggest wins that season. It had to be two years since that night—the fact that I remembered it told me how good in bed she had been.

“What about Brianne? God, I think she gets hotter every fucking year,” Jared said, shaking his head. “It just ain’t fair. She’s one of them good girls, too.” Yeah, good all right. Good in bed. She pretended to have strict Christian values. All I knew was she gave the best head I’d ever gotten. Sloppy and wet just how I like it.

“Yo, do you think her tits are real?” Garrett asked.

“I don’t care either way, as long as they keep looking good the way they do.”

“Exactly. Fake or not they’re still tits,” I chuckled, not taking my eyes off them. Firm, perky, and soft. They actually moved back and forth like natural tits, and they felt natural, too. Brianne chilled with me after a game in Pittsburgh in the back of my car. We’d flirted all night at a party held by the team owners, and both of us were unbelievably horny, and we couldn’t wait to get to a hotel. She rode me like a cowgirl that night, and those tits bounced like crazy. They were real, for sure.

“I guess we should just ask you all these sorts of questions huh, Max?” I heard a little envy in Mo’s voice, but I was used to that. I’d been hearing it for years since I was a kid. It wasn’t easy being the best at everything. People usually got pissed off when they fell short. Mo didn’t like being my backup, especially since there was no reason for him to be the starter. Not with my record. I already had two Super Bowl rings collected over five seasons of play, and there was no reason I couldn’t add a third after the upcoming season.

“Yeah, I guess you should.” I shoved him a little, keeping it lighthearted. One of the things I had to remember was to play nice with the guys. They couldn’t help that I was better than them. I was an asshole, but I wasn’t that much of an asshole that I would rub it in.

It was always interesting, being at the stadium when it was empty except for us. Well, us and the local news crews. They’d been taking footage of our last practice before our season opener on Sunday, which was also our home opener. Last-minute cleaning was going on, too, and the maintenance guys were inspecting the seats to be sure they were all in good shape. Otherwise, it was just us, the coaches, and the cheerleaders. I only had eyes for them, of course, but in the back of my mind, I imagined the roar of the crowd when we came out on the field in two days.

I crossed one ankle over the other knee, spreading my thighs a little to give myself more room. I couldn’t control the way my cock was stirring around when I watched Layla. She was sort of my on-again, off-again squeeze. I wasn’t committed to her in any way, which I made a point to hint at once or twice every time we were together. If it made me a prick to do that, she didn’t seem to mind. All I cared about was being sure she didn’t get the wrong idea about us. The last thing I wanted was to weigh myself down with a woman—a cheerleader, too. Funny how they were good enough to fuck but not good enough to be serious about. I couldn’t think about that. It always made me feel weird.

I focused on her. It was like she felt me looking because she turned her attention to me. Our eyes locked as she kicked her legs into the air once, twice, her short little skirt flipping up to show me what was between her legs. Sure, it was all covered up with her panties or whatever the hell it was they wore under those skirts, but I had been between those thighs enough times to know what she looked like. Smelled like. Tasted like. From the look in her eyes, from my seat to the sidelines, I could tell what was on her mind. It was on mine, too—then again, it was almost never off my mind. Pinning her to my bed and holding her hands above her head just the way we both liked it.

“Hey, Max, didn’t you hear me?” I had to shake myself a little to pay attention to Jared, who was looking at me. I shifted in my seat, hoping my growing erection wasn’t visible under my cargo shorts.

“What is it?”

“I said, are you hanging out with Layla tonight? If not, you could come to the bar with us. One last night of freedom before shit gets real, man.”

“Come on,” Garrett joked. “Like we don’t party during the season.”

“You know how important it is for us to be sharp this Sunday.” My word was law, and I wasn’t fucking around. I didn’t want a member of my team at any less than his best when we stepped out on-field. If they wanted to let loose in the middle of the week, that was one thing. But we had to make a strong showing. We had to strike first and strike hard against Philly’s defense.

“I know, I know.” Garrett sounded a little pissed, and I didn’t try to play it off that time.

“To answer, yeah, I was supposed to hang out with Layla tonight. But you know my rule.”

“No overnights.” My teammates said it in unison—I guessed I’d repeated it enough times, then.

“Right. So I’ll get done with Layla pretty early on and will meet up with you guys. Text me when you decide where you’re going.” My eyes were on her again. Yeah, we would hang out. At my place, since her place was a dumpy little apartment with two roommates. At my house, she could scream the walls down, and there was nobody there to know.

I would hold her down, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. With the other, I would stroke the curves of her body. I’d feel the way goosebumps rose in the wake of my touch, the way her dark nipples would get darker as they tightened. I bit my lower lip thinking about it, watching her move. She turned, bending at the waist to show off her ass. My cock ached to be free, to bury itself between her firm ass as I fucked her from behind. I loved slapping her ass, watching it jiggle. She would always moan and grunt, pushing back against me until we slammed together. That would make her ass jiggle too. Sometimes, I would take a handful of her thick, black hair and pull it back until she moaned.

“Hey, who is that?” I couldn’t pay attention to Garrett’s question. I was too busy imagining what I would do to Layla later. How good it would feel to slide into her. Maybe I’d have her suck me off first, then get me hard again so it would last longer. I loved seeing how many positions I could get her to orgasm before I came again. I would have her ride me, watch her tits bounce and all that luscious hair swing from side to side. It always smelled so good, too.

“Guys! Does anybody know her?” Garrett shouted,

Her? That got my attention. I pried my eyes away from Layla—who was doing everything but flashing me to keep me interested—and looked to where Garrett pointed. Sure enough, our head coach was standing on the opposite sideline, talking to a girl in a polo shirt and a khaki skirt.

“Man, I don’t know, but she’s mine. I call it!” Jared said. As the running back—one of the best in the country—he had his pick of women. But he was greedy, too.

“What are we in middle school? This isn’t the playground, dickhead. We don’t call dibs.” Trey sat behind him and shoved the back of his head.

“Whatever. I’ve heard you do it before.”

“That was at a bar, man. If she’s working for the team, it’s out.”

“The cheerleaders work for the team, Max,” Mo pointed out.

“Not the same.” We all nodded. He was right.

“She’s just a chick. It’s not like she’s a coach or anything,” Jared snorted.

“Hey, you’d be surprised what they let women do these days,” Garrett joked.

“Yeah, I hear they can even vote.” It was a toss-off joke, one I didn’t pay much attention to as it came out of my mouth. The guys laughed like it was one of the funniest things I’d ever said. I didn’t notice. I was too busy sizing up the new girl across the field. Tight body, long legs. A redhead—I loved redheads. I wondered what her face looked like. She was too far away for me to see her.

Trey might have been right. We didn’t call dibs. But if I wanted her, I’d have her. They could take my sloppy seconds if they wanted to.