On a Wednesday by Whitney G.

Courtney: Then

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

Iscooped Julia into my arms Saturday night and stormed out of my apartment.

I’d begged Judy-April not to leave tulips out in the kitchen since they could literally kill my cat, and I’d come home to find three huge bouquets of them on our coffee table. Right next to where Julia liked to play.

I can’t take this shit anymore.

I made it halfway to Panther Central before realizing that they would probably set up an emergency counseling session between us. They’d probably tell me that I was in the wrong for having a kitten in university housing anyway.

Pulling out my phone, I called Kyle.

“Yeah, Court?” He answered on the first ring.

“Can I come over to your place and stay the night?”

The line went silent.

“Hello?” I asked. “Kyle?”

“What did you just ask me?”

“I said, can I come over?” I let out a sigh. “My roommate is—It’s a long story. Please.”

“Of course, you can come over.”

“Can I bring my friend to stay the night, too?”

“You’re sending me some very mixed signals right now,” he said. “I just got out of the shower—where I spent the entire time thinking about you, so I need you to tone it down.”

I held back a laugh. “I’m five minutes away. I’ll be wearing shades and in all black.”

“Why do I need to know that?”

I hung up without giving him an explanation.

A few minutes later, I stepped onto the walkway at Bouquet Gardens.

Kyle was standing next to his front door to let me in, but I motioned for him to meet me on the side of the building—right next to his bedroom window.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure that no one else was around, and then I tapped on the glass.

Laughing, Kyle pushed the window open and pulled me inside.

I flopped onto his bed, amazed at how clean his room was. With the exception of the tower of empty liquor bottles in the corner, everything was immaculate.

“Is there any reason why you can’t use the front door like a normal person?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “The girls who live above you run a blog called The Skanks of Pitt. They keep track of all the girls you and your teammates have in and out of this building.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever,” I said. “They take pictures of the walk of shame and include short stories about how they think the night went.”

“Interesting.” He smiled. “I had no idea. Where’s your friend?”

I opened my bag and Julia stepped out.

Unimpressed with her surroundings, she returned to the bag and curled into a ball.

“Hmmm.” He walked over to his mini-fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Then he poured it into a small bowl and set it onto the floor.

“Why does it look like you’re about to cry, Court?” he asked.

“Because my roommate is literally the devil, and I hate her.” My voice cracked. “I didn’t do anything to her—ever, and she treats me and Julia like trash for no reason. I just want to sleep it off.”

“So, are you planning to let her ruin the rest of your night, or are you interested in a distraction?”

“Depends,” I said. “What type of distraction did you have in mind?”

“It’s one I’ve been wanting to give you for a while. Something that you’d probably enjoy with me.”

“So, it’s something like a board game?”

“Sure.” He kissed my lips. “Like a board game.” He pushed me back against his mattress before I could ask another question.

Moving on top of me, he pressed his lips against mine and rendered me thoughtless and speechless all at once. Trailing his mouth down my neck, he kept his eyes on me, and he unbuttoned my shirt between kisses.

“Unzip your pants for me,” he whispered.

I didn’t move.

All I could do was stare at him.

He laughed softly and slid his hands against my jeans, unzipping them for me. Then he gently pulled them down.

Still staring at me, he slid his thumb through the lace of my panties and yanked them off, tossing them to the floor.

Grabbing my ankles, he slowly moved my legs apart and took his time kissing his way between my thighs.

Without saying another word, he buried his head against my pussy and slid his tongue against my swollen clit.

“Ahhh.” I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he devoured me with wild abandon, making my hips move off the mattress.

He blew a warm kiss against my clit, looking up at me. “Are you distracted yet?”

“Yes …” I moaned.

“Then why are you trying to push me away with your hands?”

I let go of his hair and he smiled.

“Good choice.”

He flipped me over and positioned me on all fours, placing his mouth against me again. His fingers slid deep inside of me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

I gripped the sheets as my pussy throbbed in anticipation, as he darted his tongue against me even harder.

I shut my eyes as he said my name, as he whispered, “You taste so fucking good, Court…”

I collapsed onto my stomach, my breathing ragged as ever, and I felt him slowly turning me onto my back again.

He ran his hands against my thighs until I stopped shaking, until I opened my eyes.

“Let’s go somewhere for another distraction,” he whispered.

“Now?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Now.”

Snow flurries danced atop the windshield as Kyle pulled his car into the parking lot at Heinz Field.

Ever the gentleman, he took off his coat and handed it to me.

“I want to show you something,” he said, stepping out of the car.

After he helped me out, I thought we would go through one of the formal entrances or the ticket turnstiles, but he walked me over to an exposed section of the chainlink fence.

A bright yellow sign hung right above the breakage.

Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law!

“I can’t risk getting expelled.” I shook my head. “What if we get caught?”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens.” He picked me up and lifted me over the fence.

He climbed over next and clasped my hand, walking me through the endless rows of yellow seats and onto the field.

Walking past the fifty yard line, he pointed over to a gray food truck.

“One of my neighbors used to work for the Steelers,” he said. “He was the gourmet delivery guy for the rich people who could afford to buy the sideline seats.”

I shivered, and he pulled me closer.

“When I seven years old, I used to sneak into his car on Sundays because I knew he was coming here. I wanted to see how the professionals played up close.” He paused. “When he found out what I was doing, he paid me ten dollars to help him out in the back—as long as I could break down all the top plays for him at the end,” he said. “He was the first person who believed in me.”

“Is this story on or off the record?”

“On.” He kissed me. “I’ve never been good at anything else in my life, Court. Football is all I’ve ever had.”

“You’re a good writer, Kyle,” I said. “I’m sure that you could have made good grades in English, if you wanted.”

“Maybe if they mattered.” He smiled, but it didn’t stay long. “Most of the teachers in my hometown deemed me dumb as hell by the time I hit first grade. So, I didn’t bother caring for schoolwork after that.”

“What about your parents? Didn’t they believe in you?”

“At first, but now they only care about themselves.” He winced, looking like he always did whenever his family came up in our interview conversations—like he was about to shut everything down.

“They’ve become extreme hoarders since my younger brother died,” he said. “It wasn’t so bad at first because they were still supportive, but they’re the main reason I clung to football fiercely—so I wouldn’t have to come home and climb through all their shit every day. But even when I started to do really well in high school, they made it very clear that we didn’t have shit, that I wasn’t shit, and that if I wanted what the other kids had, I’d have to find it for myself.”

“I’m sorry, Kyle.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled me closer. “It means less people to worry about when I’m drafted.”

“If you’re drafted.”

“I’ve always appreciated your sense of humor.” He pressed a kiss against my lips. “Did your parents believe in you?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I mean, my dad always thought that I would become a professional writer, but he’ll never get to see if it ever comes true.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was murdered my freshman year, during the spring semester,” I said, feeling an ache in my chest. “Two weeks before finals. The police still haven’t figured out who did it.”

He stopped walking and pressed his sleeve against my cheeks.

“I can’t remember much of anything that happened before that moment,” I said. “All I remember is getting the phone call about him being gone from my mom…And the group project you stood me up for, of course.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, Court.”

“My mom is still in denial, so I’ve never told anyone else. I pretend like he’s still alive.” I looked into his eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”

“I would never.” He wiped my face until the tears stopped falling, and then he wrapped his arm around my waist and walked me down the field in silence again.

“I really did have a crush on you freshman year,” he said softly. “And I understand now why you don’t remember it, but I definitely offered and gave you a real ride back then.”

“You know, if football doesn’t work out for you, please promise me that you’ll write fiction.”

“The first thing I’ll publish is a remake of Pretty Woman with a better plot.”

I laughed. “Anything else you want to show me before I freeze out here?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let me show you one of the private beds in the locker room. I think it’s time for me to give you another distraction.”