you were there, I was feeling it out on the field.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Sounds like you’re still on fire.”
Hedging, he says, “Yeah, I guess so. I got in a few more good reps when we scrimmaged. I even ran in some touchdowns.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic.” I’m excited to hear practice went well, and I twist in my chair so I can face Lars more fully. “So why don’t you sound more thrilled? More importantly, why are you keeping all this to yourself?”
“I’m not,” he counters. “I’m telling you now.”
“Yeah, but you should’ve told me all this good news sooner.”
Lars shakes his head humbly. “Nah. It wasn’t just me out there making the good plays. I can’t take all the credit. Graham threw some amazing passes.”
I nod. “Yeah, he did look really good yesterday.”
“He was the same today,” Lars replies.
Huh.
Even though he’s telling me all these positive things, Lars seems bothered by something.
So I press. “Did something bad happen that you’re leaving out? You don’t sound all that enthused about today’s practice.”
“Ah, hell…” He runs his hand down his chiseled face, and I get the feeling I’m about to find out what’s really going on.
Sure enough, he says, “I wasn’t going to say anything to cause you any unnecessary worry. But I have to be honest.”
“Uh oh.” I cringe. “Honest about what?”
“I heard something today that has me worried.”
“What did you hear?”
Leaning back in his chair, Lars peers up at the planked porch ceiling, mouth set in a grim line.
“Okay, this can’t be good.”
“No, it’s not. I was talking with one of the other wide receivers, Zane, and he told me he heard the Comets are planning to make some key trades.”
That sense of dread I had in the past returns with a vengeance.
Getting straight to the point, I ask, “They wouldn’t trade you, though, would they?”
Lars shrugs, which is not reassuring at all. “I don’t know, Becca. I kind of get the feeling from what Zane said that no one is safe.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “But you’re their best wide receiver. You’re better than Zane. Maybe he should be the one worrying?”
Lars shrugs. “Maybe, but I have the bigger contract.” He glances over at me. “That makes me a liability of sorts, especially when trading me could free up money to sign a good quarterback. One like Graham.”
I feel dizzy. “B-b-but then the Comets would be down a receiver.”
“Not if they traded for one who’s cheaper than me.”
“I can’t sit.” I jump up. “I’m about to go crazy here.” Frustrated, I start pacing the length of the porch. Back and forth, back and forth, until I cry out, “Lars, they can’t do this!”
Remaining seated and looking resigned, he says, “Ah, but they can, sweetheart. It’s their team. We’re merely pieces on their chessboard.”
“It’s not right,” I insist, sniffling as I lean my black leggings-clad butt against the wooden railing, the night air feeling far colder than it did ten minutes ago.
Lars gets up and comes over to me.
Encircling me in his strong, comforting arms, he says, “Let’s just see what happens, okay? All of this worrying could be for nothing.”
“I hope you’re right,” I mumble into his shoulder. “God, I hope you’re right.”
And then I start to cry.
A Devastating Blow
I hold Becca in my arms until she calms down.
When she leans back, sniffling, I ask her, “Do you want to go inside?”
“Yes.” She nods. “I do.”
Her lips then find mine.
I kiss her back desperately with a sudden unquenched need.
It’s a new urgency we clearly both feel, a sense that this could all end.
Or at least be derailed from the track we’ve been on.
It’s been such a great track too, a damn good ride.
I don’t want our relationship to change in any way, shape, or form.
I see a future with Becca, one I never imagined with any other woman.
Only with her.
That’s why I need to lose myself inside of her as soon as possible.
Thank God she’s just as needy.
With both of us desperate, we don’t even make it up the stairs. Bedroom be damned; the floor serves our needs.
Good thing this part of her house is covered in plush carpeting.
Clothes are but a hindrance and they’re quickly removed.
I can finally have her.
And I do.
Becca cries out when I first pump into her, but she’s soon begging, “Harder, Lars, harder.”
I comply, as I need it like this too.
Frenzied, she meets my every thrust, sometimes even more forcefully than how hard I’m plunging into her.
Her warmth comforts me.
This isn’t