Blue 42 by C.A. Rene
Chapter nine
Sebastian
Last night was a write off and I’m happy we have today off. I know I had way too much to drink and that getting behind the wheel to get home was stupid, but I’m home in one piece. Or somewhat one piece.
I feel a hand skim across my chest and turn my head to look into a pair of bright green eyes. The girl from the club. Her leg is wrapped across my waist and I can feel her wet pussy begin to rub along my thigh. I might’ve been into fucking her last night but I sure as fuck don’t remember it, and I’m not even feeling it this morning. I want her out of my house and right now preferably.
“I’m gonna need you to call someone to come get you or I can call an Uber,” my voice sounds like grating sandpaper, “but I need you gone like ten minutes ago.”
She gasps at the harshness of my words but I really don’t give a shit about her feelings, she’s nobody to me. She pulls away from me and hops out of the bed, her tits bouncing with the motion. Again, nothing, my dick is soft and that’s saying something since it’s morning and all.
“You couldn’t fucking get it up last night anyways,” she huffs as she pulls up her red lace panties and tucks herself into her black dress, “this was a waste of my time.”
“You and me both, sweetheart.” I say as I sit up and search the floor for my boxers, “but I’m happy my dick won’t fall off at least.”
She flips me the finger and storms out of my bedroom, her heels clicking against the wooden stairs. I hear the front door open and slam shut, cursing my drunk self for the stupidity. I shouldn’t be bringing anyone back here with me and I wonder where the fuck Ortiz and Jameson were. They know what’s the deal and how I get when I drink, I want pussy and I don’t think beyond that. They’re supposed to be the ones that stop me from bringing these hoes back to my crib.
My body reeks of cheap perfume and alcohol, making me think I might’ve dropped a drink or had a drink dropped on me. Either is a possibility. When I’m drinking liquor, I lose all common sense, and act purely instinctual. Those instincts though aren’t always appropriate and in certain circumstances, they’re fine, but out here, I need to watch myself. It was the anger I felt after Rookie spat in my face and it wasn’t solely focused on him, no, I was fucking pissed off at myself, too. That part inside of me that I bury so deep, the dark little spec that fucks with my head, that part actually enjoyed it and I get why I hate him so much. He toys with that part of me and I find myself forgetting to hold it down. After that, I remember hitting the bar and the liquor hard.
My bathroom is another mess and I groan when I see the shattered Grey Goose bottle on the floor; dropped while someone was taking a piss, which they didn’t flush. Looks like probably me since the seat is up but who knows? Those two fucks let me leave the club with a whole ass bottle of vodka and let me drive home with it. Fucking idiots.
I start the shower and step inside, letting the water cascade down over my head. I feel out of sorts and my body is beginning to protest this lifestyle. The covered-up injuries, concussions swept under the rug, and the people paid to care for you, seeing you as a huge motherfucking dollar sign instead. I get it, it’s a business, and I am an asset, worked over until I am of no use. That’s why I don’t give them everything, I live the life I want, and I suck just as much out of this industry.
Once I’m done showering, I head downstairs; leaving the mess for when the maid comes by later and throw myself on the couch to watch TV. I order in some food and then scroll through my phone, trying to see what the hell happened last night. Nothing hurts, so I know I didn’t fight, except that hit I took from Rookie, but he’s a bitch and I hardly felt it. No videos, no pictures, and no text messages. All good signs that I still had my head somewhat together through the drunken haze but doesn’t explain where the hell my boys were.
I send them both texts telling them to get the fuck to my house when they get up. I need to find out every little thing. After I came out of that bathroom last night, North was gone, and Zeal and his crew left soon after. The rest of the night is a blackened blur.
With nothing else to do, I lie on my couch, and think over all the shit I want to do to mess with North. I’d never admit to anyone, but the fucker’s stats are good, and yes, he’s also an asset. But that doesn’t mean I have to make his life easy, seems like the little bitch has had too much easy, and for the money he’ll be pulling, he could stand to have a bit of trouble. I could turn some more of the guys on him, making him feel unwanted, and the locker room would be his personal hell. I could get him tackled hard on the field and have him looking like the weak bitch he is. I could also corner him in that shower stall again.
My dick hardens at the memory and I curse with how it pulses with the images in my mind. How he felt excessively tight and how badly I wanted to shoot my load up his ass. I slip my hand under my track pants and groan when my cock jerks in my palm. I remember the feel of him struggling and his asshole squeezing my dick as I forced my way inside. I begin to slowly jerk myself off to the thought of fucking North into that shower stall, pounding into him, and both of our moans loud over the spray of the water. I cum long and hard all over my lower belly, shock coursing through my body. It doesn’t really mean anything, it was a tight hole, and I’m not a fucking fag.
I get up and clean myself off, just as the doorbell rings announcing the delivery. My stomach rumbles with the thought of food and I shove down everything I was feeling about what I did to North. It all just means I need to get laid and I need to do it soon. With camp and training, I haven’t had time to do shit. Last night was our first night out and no wonder I latched onto the first chick that noticed me.
I pay for my pizza and wings, giving the guy a tip that makes him smile wide. I love doing that stuff, helping people who are in mundane everyday jobs, and somehow making it worth their while. It’s not easy dealing with customers, most of the time they tip you so little you want to spit in their food, and other times they’re complaining about you being a minute late, making you still want to spit in their food. When I was a young teen, I tried my hand at the food delivery position, and using my bike, I went all over Rochester. It was especially stressful, people yell at you when the food is bad, and they blame you for everything. None of them ever understood I was just the delivery kid and I quickly learned that my temperament wasn’t suitable for customer service.
As soon as I’m sitting on the couch, my doorbell rings again. I get up, expecting to see the delivery guy again; but when I open the door, I am faced with a scowling Jameson, and Ortiz who’s sporting a black eye. Neither look very happy.
“What happened to you two?” I ask and Jameson pushes himself inside.
“You.” He snarls and Ortiz is right behind him, “you happened to us.”
“What?” I look at them with a raised brow, “what are you talking about?”
I shut the door and follow them as they stalk into my house. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I’m about to lose it and then they’ll regret pissing me off today. My head is not in the right mind space to deal with them like a normal person would.
“I need you to start talking.” I can hear the threat in my tone, the underlying anger laced in, and my body becomes rigid. “I’m about to shoot you both in the fucking head and worry about the consequences later.”
“Yeah, sounds exactly like what you said to us last night, only you pointed the fucking gun at our heads.” Jameson snarls and I try to wrack my brain for that instance, trying to remember it. Regardless, it is something I would say and something I would do. That’s just facts.
“What did you do to deserve it?” I ask and Ortiz scoffs.
“I was trying to get you into a cab with me,” he points to his blackened eye, “you hit me for it.”
“Then when I pulled on your arm to get you away from the girl, you pulled a gun on me.” Jameson adds, “right there in the middle of the parking lot, you pulled a gun and pointed it in my fucking face.”
I breathe through the want to pound their disrespect back down their throats and I try harder to remember anything of last night. It’s not that I don’t believe them, these are most definitely things I would do, and only when provoked. I can sense that these things did happen, I just don’t know why, and I’m having a hard time believing I’m the only one to blame.
“All because you were trying to get me in a cab and away from some bitch?” I give them a disbelieving look.
“You told us we were jealous you were getting pussy and we were to either hop in your Hummer with your bottle of Grey Goose or leave. When I tried to pull you away, you pulled the gun, and I was staring down that barrel.” Jameson looks at me with disappointment.
Again, all these things sound like me but I can’t understand why I went to those extremes and I can’t see how them trying to make me see reason had me threatening them with my piece. Speaking of, if I had my gun on me last night, where the fuck is it now? I run my fingers along my short, shaved hair and try to remember, my head thumping harder in the process.
“You got into the car with it,” Ortiz reads my thoughts, “and the bitch, with the vodka.”
I turn on my heel and even though I have no shirt on, I head outside. My neighbors can be the nosy type but I pay enough for my house to warrant me the much needed privacy and if I want to walk to my vehicle with my dick swinging in my track pants, I fucking will. I open the door and look into the front seat, my heart pounding thinking about having a chick in here as I was swinging a gun around. I open the glove compartment and the center console and find nothing, my heart now jammed up into my throat. Did the bitch take it with her? She couldn’t have because after the shit I pulled on her this morning, I’d bet she’d want to kill me, and I’d be bled out by now.
Just as I begin to back out, I see the glint of metal on the passenger side floor, and I groan as I reach in. Why would I just toss it to the floor like that? Was I really that crazy reckless? If I were pulled over and the cop saw alcohol, it would be a search. This piece has the serial number removed and that alone is jail time. I grip the gun in my hand, the cool, smooth surface a contrast to the hot skin of my palm, and I look behind me to the street. It’s quiet so I take the chance and tuck it into my waistband, closing the vehicle door. I sprint to the house and hurry inside, once again face to face with Ortiz and Jameson.
I feel bad for the shit that I pulled, I don’t like that I threatened them in such a way, and I wish it were possible to apologize. But I can’t do that. It’s not something I will ever do, apologizing admits you were wrong, and I can never be wrong. I sound like a piece of shit but that’s just the way it is when you’re a leader. Apologies are weaknesses.
“Listen,” I begin, “I appreciate you having my back last night.”
They look at each other and then back at me wearily, I know it’s hard to determine where I’m going sometimes. That’s life though, you never know how the people around you are going to be in the future, how the relationships you make will weather storms, and what their true personalities are until it’s too late.
“I ordered food after I kicked the bitch out of my bed this morning,” I chuckle and they join in with a few shakes of their heads.
“I can’t believe you let her stay that long.” Jameson says and I grin at him.
“I apparently had too much to drink because my dick refused to work, probably a good thing.” I muse.
“Yeah, considering you were nearly fucking her in the club.” Ortiz snorts.
“Nah, that was just my fingers.” I wiggle them and they both laugh. “Let’s go eat.”
As I follow them through the house, my mind wanders back to last night, having that girl’s legs spread on my lap, and watching North watching us. I can’t explain how primal my reaction was, like my body disconnected from my mind, and I was consumed with giving him a show. I wanted to see if he was just as into it because it was me or if he wanted a piece of the pussy I had on display for him.
I scrub my hand down my face and growl into it, I need to really stop with these thoughts. I don’t want anything to do with the rookie bitch and it’s back to regular programming next week. I won’t stop until I’ve broken him and then he can suck my long dick to make it up to me. You don’t become a part of my team and act like you actually own it, my dick needs a good deep throating.
“Rookie left really early last night,” Ortiz snickers, “he’s such a little bitch.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle as we all settle in and turn on the TV, “he really fucking is.”
We get halfway through the movie we’re watching, when my phone rings and startles me out of my food induced coma. I let out a pained groan when I see the name that’s flashing on the screen.
“Fuck,” I get up and hold up my phone, “I gotta take this.”
Both snicker like the assholes they are.
“Tell her I say sup,” Jameson calls out and then laughs when I flip him the finger. I swipe open the call and huff as I bring the phone to my ear.
“Hey you.”
