Taking A Risk by Karen Monroe

Analise

Analise

“So…you just left him with his dick hanging out?”

I nod. “That’s exactly what happened. I walked out and went back to work.”

Tildee’s mouth hangs open so wide I’m afraid an insect might fly in. We’re in the break room at Kroeger’s. She has a full shift today, but I’m only working from six to eleven in the morning.

“Did you see him when he left?”

I shrug. “Nope, I told you. I had to shelve books, so I went back to work.”

“Were you working before you fucked him?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, then I took a lunch break.”

“So… you took a lunch break and fucked him in the library?” Tildee shakes her head. “I don’t know if I should be proud of you, or really disappointed in your work ethic.”

“If you saw how big his dick was, you’d be proud and jealous.”

She shakes her head again. “Oh shit! Like that?”

I nod. Two days later and I was still dreaming about the size of that dick.

“And just so we’re clear. You didn’t get this guy’s name and/or any other identifying information?”

In hindsight, considering how good the sex was, that may have been a misstep. But I was pretty satisfied with the way things turned out.

I shake my head again. “Nope.”

Tildee stands and braces her hands on her hips as she leans her head back, then she runs a hand over her face. I’m afraid she’s preparing to give me a tongue lashing when she walks over and gives me a hug instead.

“I’m so proud of you,” she beams, her voice theatrically emotional.

My sister from another mister.

* * *

Will

I’min a foul mood and knocking people on their ass is just what I need.

Football is a brutal sport. My job is literally to smash into members of the opposing offense. I’ve had one diagnosed concussion in my brief career, but considering my goals I expect a couple more before I hang up my cleats.

CTE is a real thing. No one takes it lightly, and even though we’re playing a game, the health risks aren’t.

No one wants to injure another person, but… there were sometimes when knocking someone on their ass felt very satisfying.

We’re playing Georgia Tech at Bobby Dodd stadium. I’ve always enjoyed playing here. The stadium is nicer than most and they have natural turf, which for me is a plus.

Grass is slippery and uneven. It’s harder for offensive linemen to set their stance. The divots in the grass from cleats and grooves inevitably slow the offense down.

The lineman in front of me is sweating like a sinner in church. He’s huffing and puffing, clearly out of shape at the beginning of the season. The humid weather has worn him down faster than I ever could.

I smile at him and wink because I want to fuck with his mind. “Nice weather today.”

“Fuck you! I’m about to lay yo’ big ass out,” he huffs through his dark-colored face mask.

“Yo’ mama wishes she could lay me out!”

The line judge blows a sharp whistle blast before setting the ball. “Stop the chirping.”

I don’t see a flag, but I keep my mouth shut.

The quarterback sets up under center. I can’t see anything beyond the limited vision in front of me. My helmet blocks my peripheral and I have to rely on Dean, the nose tackle on my right, and Brown, the outside linebacker on my left, for support. That means this asshole in front of me is all mine.

The quarterback yells his audible, “Ultimate Warrior, six-two-six! 5-right! Ultimate Warrior!”

I laugh loudly, then the rest of the D-line laughs. Whoever came up with that must think they’re the second-coming of Peyton Manning.

Maybe it’s the fact we’re laughing, but the entire O-line stands up, clearly jumping offsides. The line judge blows his whistle and tosses his weighted, yellow flag in the air, then he confers with the head referee who’s miked up.

“False start. Offense. Number sixty-two. Defense. Number ninety-four. Five-yard penalty for both teams cancel out. It’s still first down.”

I got a fucking penalty for laughing? This must be a joke and I glare at the line judge furiously. “What’s that all about? You throw a flag because I think his audible is shit!”

“I can throw a flag for anything I want, ninety-four. Keep talking!”

Cameron Brown, the starting OLB for the team, pulls me back. “Rein it in Gilly!”

He’s right. I’m lucky the penalty didn’t give the Yellow Jackets the first down, but now I’m in an even fouler mood, especially since the little prick in front of me is laughing.

“What’s the matter? Not enjoying the weather anymore?”

I don’t think this guy knows how pissed I am. He can’t know, but I’m about to smash his ass.

Ignoring the audible, I watch what my vision allows. I can see the tips of Brown’s cleats and Dean’s fingers twitching in the grass. The ball is off to my right. It’s close, but I still can’t see it.

The asshole in front of me has his right foot too far forward and his left foot too far back. I’ll blow past him like a breeze. If Brown does his job and contains the fullback, I’ll be at the QB’s throat before the rest of the O-line realize I’ve penetrated their back field.

I’m waiting for the snap and counting numbers in my head. The countdown helps me stay focused. It also helps me determine the quarterback’s cadence.

I reach the number seven when I see movement. Reacting instantaneously, I push, pull, and steer the asshole in front of me until his feet trip him up and he falls down. Side-stepping. The quarterback is in my sights. I yell like a Viking marauder and his eyes widen to the size of half-dollars. He looks scared enough to shit his pants and freezes, the ball still in his hands—which means he’s fair game.

Immediately, he tries to throw it out of bounds, but I jump in front of him like a basketball player. There’s nowhere for him to go but down, and he folds and falls before I can even put a hand on him.

Fucker!

I wanted to smash his ass. Now I’m even more determined to lay hands on him. I’m hoping to make him my bitch by the end of the game.

Losing yardage is costly. The offense now has to go sixteen yards to achieve a first down.

JG, the mike linebacker, calls a huddle. We only huddle when the coaches call a play from the skybox. They’re like the eyes in the sky.

“Full out blitz. Brown, you shadow the fullback. Gilly, hit’em where it hurts.”

Fuck yeah!They have set me free.

When we line up for the play, there’s anticipation on both sides of the line. The tension on the field is thick as the quarterback calls an audible from the backfield. The running back and fullback are standing on either side of him about a half a yard back.

“52-front! 52 front! I-right warrior!”

I know what’s coming next. I don’t need to understand the audible to figure it out. They’re set up for a pass to either the fullback or the tight end, and the line is set heavy on my side.

Julio calls out orders from his spot in the middle of the field. “Brown! Take the C!”

He’s telling Cam to wrap up the center. He’ll provide extra coverage and support for Dean, the nose tackle.

The center snaps the ball. It takes a moment before the rest of the D-line reacts. They’re too busy trying to remember their assignments. I’m not worried. My moment is brief, but as soon as a gap of space opens, I vault through it, hoping I land on my feet. My blocker doesn’t even have time to lay a hand on me before I grab the QB’s arm, wrenching him to the ground as we both fall backwards.

THISwill definitely count as a sack!

It’s now third and twenty-four. There are four wide-receivers on the field. They’re going to throw it.

We line up for another blitz. I’m hoping to pad my stats. I got to the QB easily last time. Unfortunately, the asshole in front of me has a new face. His jersey is clean, which means he just came off the bench. I was playing off my tiredness earlier, but now I’m feeling the heat.

My opponent has one of those shiny face protectors. I can’t get a beat on him, which means I’ll have to fight harder. Still… he just came off the bench. He can’t be that good!

“Must be nice riding the pine. You look all cool and fresh. Your jersey’s not even dirty,” I say, hoping to get under his skin.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Clever.

“Fuck you too. But you’ll be back on the bench before you know it. Don’t worry.”

I lower into my stance, my eyes trained on his face mask. I can’t see his eyes, but there’s a buzz around him—fear.

Yeah! You betta’ fear me, muthafucka!

The next second, the play begins, and we lock horns like two rutting beasts. He’s strong, but I’m stronger; though, before I can claim genuine victory, the whistle blows, calling the play dead. Brown has both arms raised while the quarterback rolls around by his feet.

Sack number two!

It’s not mine, but I’m looking forward to taking a breather. “Sorry newb. It’s about time for my offense to play.”

“Asshole,” he mutters, but I’m already jogging off the field as the special teams for both squads run out for the punt.

Mack has his helmet on, ready to go. He’s in a deep discussion with Coach Mone and Coach Skip on the sidelines. I don’t know what they’re talking about. The defense did what we’re supposed to do.

As I walk by, I tap Griff on the shoulder. He doesn’t look at me, but I don’t really care. I’m eager to sit my ass on the Dragon Seats emblazoned with our team’s name and logo. They’re designed to keep us cool on hot days.

I sit down and let the cooling mist settle over me. Five seconds later, I already feel five degrees cooler.

Finally, Mack and the rest of the offense take the field. I’m barely paying attention as I take a cooling sip of iced water from my Gatorade bottle.

Coach Gary sits in front of me with a Surface tablet, no doubt wanting to go over strategies.

My eyes close briefly to block out the rays from the sun, but the noise from the crowd causes them to snap open wide.

“Goddammit!” Coach Gary spits.

What. The. Fuck.

Griff just threw an interception. His first of the game. But now I need to get my ass up and take the field again.

Bastard!

I snatch up my helmet and run out onto the field. Mackenzie walks by with his head lowered. I don’t even look at him. This fucking guy! He deserves an ass-whooping for the losing the great field position the defense just handed him. It’s a good thing we’re up 14-0, or he might catch a stray fist in the locker room.

I’m draggingass after the game. We won 24-7 and I’m sure on paper it looks like the offense played great, but the scoreboard doesn’t tell the total story.

Georgia Tech’s defense shut down our offense for two straight quarters and Griff threw two interceptions. He’s lucky none were returned for a touchdown, or the scoreboard would look a lot different.

A fluke interception in the fourth quarter by our standout cornerback, Devon Vandelinde, added seven more points. Then the offense cobbled together a decent drive for a field goal.

I played every down on defense and I’m exhausted. It also doesn’t help I’m still in a pissy mood, and the cause of my foul demeanor appears in my mind like a specter.

Why wouldn’t she tell me her name?

I’d been so amused by her boldness I didn’t think to ask questions. I know nothing about my mystery redhead aside from one thing—I want her again.

“Great game today, man,” Julio says, interrupting my thoughts as he sits next to me in the visiting locker room.

I snort loudly. “Three tackles and one sack? That’s not really great game play, man.”

“Whatever! You kept the line motivated. I’m gonna miss yo’ big ass next year.”

“I thought you were going to declare for the draft,” I say, stuffing my pads and helmet into a gear bag.

“Naw, I promised my mom I’d get my degree. Next year though, it’s on.”

Some players might not take that risk, but the average career span for an NFL player was three years. Having your degree to fall back on wasn’t a bad idea.

“Smart choice.”

Garcia shrugs. “I guess. So, what was up with your boy today?”

Griff and I are roommates, but it doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip. “You need to ask him.”

JG grunts, but before he can say anything further, Brad, the head trainer for the team, calls out, “Hey guys! The buses are ready to go. Make sure you pack up your gear. And try not to leave anything behind this time.”

I zip up my gear bag and leave it in front of the locker for the support staff to pick up later, then I grab my personal bag and head for the coaches.

Why wouldn’t she tell me her name? I kept asking myself that question on the bus and plane ride home.

The sex had been great. Fantastic! I remembered the feel of her tight cunt squeezing my cock as she came. She enjoyed it. I was sure of it, but she left me hanging—literally.

I had tried to find her, but she and her cart had disappeared. The worse part was it was three days later, and I still couldn’t get her out of my head. I was dreaming about her. If it hadn’t been for the away game this week, I would have taken up residence at the library.

The irony was like a smack to the face as I recalled a conversation I had with Griff a few weeks ago. I’d been bellyaching about finding someone uncomplicated to have sex with. I think my exact words were, “I need to get laid.” Like it was some sort of itch I needed to scratch. The joke’s on me now. My itch has turned into a full-blown rash.

Why wouldn’t she tell me her name?

Did she have a boyfriend? The thought makes my jaw clench.

There’s only one solution to this problem. I need to find her.