Broken Play

It was almost noon.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling as still as possible, wondering if the blonde chick on my arm would wake up soon and leave. My shoulder was falling asleep under her head, and the pressure from her body made my hand tingle. I cleared my throat and shifted slightly, hoping to wake her, but she didn’t even stir.

Outside my apartment window, the soccer team practiced on the field. Their coach blew the whistle in frustration, the sharp shriek echoing through the air, but I wasn’t surprised. The school’s soccer team sucked.

It was the kind of day in September that boasted crackling leaves beneath your feet as the scent of oncoming frost lingered in the air. The leaves outside the window had already turned to an ugly burnt orange color. I hated autumn because autumn was opening the door to winter, and I hated the cold more than anything. Well, almost anything. I wasn’t a huge fan of onions and mushrooms either, but that was neither here nor there.

The blonde asleep on my arm finally stirred, and I looked down just in time to see her open her eyes. She smiled at me and yawned, stretching, and I forced myself to smile back. All I wanted to do, though, was shower and meet my team for practice out on the field. I knew what would happen if I let her stay; she’d assume this meant something. I needed to clarify that this was where the fun stopped. College girls constantly prowl for something more than just a one-night stand. Me? I was too young for that.

“How’d you sleep?” the girl asked.

I shrugged. Neither of us did much sleeping last night. Wrapped in the sheet, butt-naked, her breasts rose and fell as she caressed my chest with teasing fingertips. She was trying to seduce me again, but I wasn’t in the mood. That was undoubtedly saying something because I was always in the mood. Unless, of course, football was the competition for my attention. I was always in the mood for football.

“Listen,” I said.

My tone must have caught her off guard because she stopped touching me and pulled her hand away. Her eyes narrowed. She knew what was coming, and I almost reconsidered kicking her out for a moment. I was still human; letting a girl down was never easy. But that thought flew by as quickly as it came because football practice was still waiting, and she was holding me up.

“Last night was a good time,” I said, smiling an uncomfortable grimace. “But I have some things to get done today.”

I might as well have pushed her completely nude out my door while I pointed and laughed, given the look she shot my way.

“Yeah, okay.” She sat up and ripped the sheet out from under me with a vengeance. Partially out of respect but mostly impatience, I turned my head away so she could get dressed. As soon as she had her jeans zipped and her tank top pulled on, I stood to walk her to the door. Since she’d already claimed the sheet in the bedroom, I didn’t bother putting on clothes for the task.

“I had fun last night,” I said, leaning casually against the door frame so I wouldn’t seem too eager to get rid of her. The girl nodded. I couldn’t remember her name. Brandi, maybe. Or Bernice. Yeah, Bernice.

“Amanda,” the girl said. “My name’s Amanda.”

“I know.” I leaned in to give Amanda a quick hug. Linger too long, and they always assumed it was something more. I held Amanda for what seemed like the right amount of time, then released her. She opened her mouth as if to say something else but then closed it again and sighed.

“Bye, Jaxon.”

“See ya.” I didn’t watch her go but shut the door with a casual flick of my wrist, slipping the bolt lock into place. Last year a girl got so angry at me for kicking her out of bed that she broke in while I was in the shower and destroyed my bedroom. She’d been careful not to leave any piece of furniture unturned but had also left a pair of her panties on my bed so I would never forget her face.

I still had the panties, but only because I was too lazy to toss them out. But, every time I saw them, it sure as hell wasn’t her face I remembered. The underwear had been a nice touch; destroying my house, not so much. Since then, locking the door has become a habit.

I moseyed into the bathroom and cranked the shower on hot. The perk of being star quarterback was my own apartment, so wearing clothes around my place was optional. Not that a roommate would hinder that, I suppose. I had nothing to hide.

The hot water felt good on my skin, a warm embrace. I’d missed this place, the little campus apartment I lived in during school the last three years. When I wasn’t at school during summer breaks, I stayed with my folks in my childhood home on the outskirts of Denver, in Eagle River. My father, a former gunslinger quarterback from his high school glory days, had been forced out of the game his senior year due to an injury. He never got over it. Now, he coached football at the local high school, still as bitter as hell.

My mom, an ex-kindergarten teacher, had retired early to stay home and take care of my dad, but she claimed she enjoyed my company. She wasn’t very vocal about it one way or the other. She rarely was about anything.

Honestly, my parents were a huge reason I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. Not only had their marriage not worked out, but they were both miserable, trapped in it by some legal obligation they didn’t have the energy to fight. I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t.

Three summer months being trapped inside my parent’s house under my father's controlling, berating rules and comments was enough to send any person over the edge. My mom, I feared, was already there. The school was my breath of fresh air, a haven, and after graduation, I planned to get as far away from Denver as possible.

I lifted my face to the water spray and closed my eyes, thinking about the start of the football season. This was it; this was my last year as a college football player. Whatever happened this season would influence the rest of my life. As I blinked into the steam, I knew I was ready for whatever came my way.

Or so I thought.