Her First Kiss_Londons story Read online

  “He’s been running three mornings a week,” Jamie tells him.

  Lucas laughs. “He’s what?”

  “He and Elle, five in the morning, three days a week. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Lucas looks down at me, and I nod.

  “He’s supposed to lift no more than three days a week. Cardio is to shed the bulk after the season ends.”

  “Well, don’t tell his coach.” Jamie teases. “But I’d say, it’s probably helping him out today.”

  “I agree.” Tessa takes Lucas’s hand. “He’s good, Lucas.”

  Two minutes left, Pitt has possession. At the snap, Logan doesn’t move, and two men take after him. Logan dodges their tackle then sprints toward the quarterback.

  He strips the ball from his hand and fumbles around, trying to keep possession. It almost looks like he’s juggling.

  All of us are on our feet. It’s as if we are watching in slow motion when he finally gains control and starts to run. He’s fast. Really fast.

  Lucas and Jamie are screaming, “Go, go, go!” Matthew and CJ are doing the same. Lisa is still leaning forward, watching intently. Tessa and I are holding hands.

  When he gets to the end zone, he slows down, turns around, holds the ball up, and falls backward, making a touchdown.

  “Fuck yes! That’s my boy!”

  15

  On Top

  Logan

  I look up to see Mitch diving on me, then so does half the team. I don’t give a shit. I’m on top of the world.

  When they all get the fuck off me, Mitch reaches down and pulls me up, yanking me into a bro hug. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Just closing the gap, man, just closing the gap.” I smile and look up at the stands.

  My eyes stop on her, London. She and Tessa are hugging. She looks happy, good. She looks like mi-

  Fuck, I think, stopping the thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I look at Dad, hit my chest, and point up. He does it back, then cups his hands around his mouth. I can’t hear him, but I know what he’s saying. “That’s my boy!”

  I can’t help it. I look up at my grandfather’s box to see who’s in it this week, but it’s empty. No Mom, not like I should care. She’s never around anymore.

  I look back at Dad and notice my stepbrothers, Matthew and CJ. I give them a nod.

  CJ stands and holds up a Pitt hoodie. Then he throws it down and stomps on it. I nod, and he raises his beer.

  Coach Brown motions for me. He looks pissed. I know better.

  “What the fuck was that?” he yells, but doesn’t give me time to reply. “I’ll tell you what that was.” He hits my helmet. “That was my boy. That was you. That was motherfucking Logan Links!” He grabs me and gives me a quick hug, which is very unlike him. Then he pushes me away.

  I laugh, and his eyes crinkle a bit in the corners.

  He shakes his head in disbelief then looks away. “Bring it in, team!”

  With twenty seconds left to the game, we are up by one, and they have possession. I’m double covered, and we are at their thirty-yard line.

  Fuuuck!

  At the snap, I can’t hold back. 57 comes at me from the right and 49 is straight ahead, doing the same. I shove him with everything I have as 57 comes in low, intending to take me out. I fake left then jump right, leaving them both behind. Pitts QB is in my sights.

  I see Jones coming in from the right. I should let the fucker have this, but I won’t. I increase my speed.

  The QB’s arm is pulled back to riffle the ball, when I jump, lunging at him and knocking the ball from his hand.

  After taking him down., I quickly get up and see Jones going after the ball as it bounces on the ground. I could easily get it, so fucking easily.

  “Get that fucker!” I scream as loud and clearly as I can with a mouth piece in.

  Without hesitation, he does. Then he begins to run toward our end zone. He’s fast, but not that fast.

  I get ahead of him and block as many Pitt players as I can from coming at him.

  The horn sounds when he’s at the ten.

  I turn in enough time to see him spike the ball. I run up, and we smash into each other as the rest of the team rushes out to join us at the ten.

  * * *

  After dinner with Dad, Tessa, Mitch, CJ, and Matthew, Mitch and I haul ass back to our place to make sure everything is ready for tonight. Not only is it ready, but the party has started early, no doubt because of the upset today at the Dome. We weren’t supposed to win, but we sure as fuck did!

  As soon as I walk in, I’m handed a red solo cup and at least two dozen congratulatory fist bumps.

  I scan the room, and it’s got a dozen or so of “my type.” Most are dressed in easy access short skirts, looking eager and ready.

  I take a drink as I scrutinize each one. She has to be a girl with a good face, but more importantly, a hot body. She has to come looking to get fucked, not like she’s on a date. Short skirt, tight shirt, maybe a pair of heels. Her hair needs to be done, not pulled back in a ponytail or a knot on top of her head. Makeup spot on, and no, I don’t care if she has that winged eyeliner or blush on. I just need to know she made an attempt to catch my attention.

  Jewelry is somewhat telling. Is she wearing some costume pieces to add bling to her look, or does she have on her grandmother’s ring and a pearl necklace, the kind she got when she was sixteen from her parents, not the kind I’m going to give her later? The girl with sentimental jewelry, she’s not a one-night stand kind of girl, no matter how much she tries to portray she is.

  And the final decision is always based on tits. Fake tits are always smiling at you. They scream a nonverbal, objectify me, I objectified myself. A girl with fake tits in her twenties is definitely not thinking of becoming a mom anytime soon, which means she’s not trying to get wife’d. And let’s be really fucking honest here; no man in their twenties goes out determined to find the woman he wants to marry. He’s driven by becoming something, building a life, finding himself. He’s looking for a warm place to put his cock, attached to something hot, ready, eager, and looking for the same things

  Why? Because she needs to know the drill. Fucking can be fucking, and if you want more, I’m not your guy, but I am one hell of a good time.

  Fucking hate that both men and women are so delusional that, one, they think marriage works. Look at the fucking odds! And two, they think dicks and pussies have got shit to do with love and marriage. A good fuck doesn’t mean a good relationship. It means a good fuck.

  “You narrow it down yet?” Mitch asks, hiding his question behind his cup before he takes a drink.

  “Blue shirt, green shirt, and the two black shirts on the far right.”

  “Did you see the red shirt? She’s hot.”

  “Did you see her ring? She’s apt to be a stage five clinger.”

  “I’ll get more intel,” he says as he walks away.

  More intel? I don’t want tonight’s trophy to be a chick who’s attending here. Intelligence is a huge turn-on, but for me, I’m not looking that deep. Tits work, legs work, a girl who doesn’t want to talk my ear off, well, that works, too.

  I finish my beer then head to the bathroom to take a piss. When I walk out, there are twice as many people here.

  Mitch raises his hand, and I start walking through the crowd. It’s a twenty foot walk that takes far too damn long to get to a beer. The guys give fist bumps, way to goes, you killed it, that’s our man, which are all appreciated. I give them a nod and a smile. The girls grip my forearm, pat my abs, rub my back, and are given...nothing.

  When I finally get to Mitch, he hands me a full beer and delivers the intel.

  “Green shirt, black shirt, gold O necklace, students here. Blue shirt and black V-neck shirt, not students here. Both Le Moyne juniors,” he reports.

  I hold my glass up, and he hits his against mine.

  “Which one will it be?” Mitch asks, and I give him a sigh. “I know they need to come
to you.”

  “Then why do you keep asking the same damn question every time?” I laugh, gripping his shoulder.

  Mitch pats my back. “Bro, it’s been eight months.”

  Fuck, he’s right. How the hell did I lose track of time? Oh yeah, life, family, a reality that is all too real, one I will avoid at all costs until they are all set and I’m ready to settle.

  “Jesus, man, have you gotten fucked in the past eight months?”

  I laugh. “I was in the city; what do you think?”

  “Without a wing man?” He puts his hand on his chest.

  “A city full of women and power. Women who are too smart and too damn busy to want more than a release. Not hard to pick them out there.”

  “When you say women, do you mean—”

  “Definitely older.” I nod. “Fuck of a lot less needy in bed, too. Clear and precise objective: to get off. Worked out great.”

  He laughs. “Take me to this city you speak of.”

  “Next time, man, next time.” I take a drink and look around.

  Mitch nudges me. “Beer pong in the backyard?”

  “Great place to start,” I agree.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I’m feeling good, really fucking good. Not only did we win the game, but we won the first ten games of beer pong. I didn’t drink a drop of beer. I did, however, do a shot or ten to make sure I didn’t get dehydrated.

  “Who will it be?” Mitch grins. He’s as fucked up as I am.

  “Fuck, I don’t know.” I scratch my head, trying to remember. “Blue shirt kept walking by; rubbed against me a few times.”

  “But black shirt suggested strip beer pong,” Mitch reminds me.

  “And had I agreed, she’d not only be shit-faced, but naked and shit-faced.”

  “She is fucking loaded, but man, she seems like a hell of a lot of fun,” Mitch slurs.

  “I’ll take blue. You seem vested in black.”

  He holds his hand to his heart. “You sure, man?”

  “You need to get fucked just as badly as I do.”

  “Don’t fucking remind me. I invited her tonight, too,” he groans. “I’d have licked that all night long.”

  Arms around each other, we walk inside.

  “Maybe your down field games off, man,” I tell him.

  “Oh, hell no. I can lick the hell out of a pussy. You don’t get to judge my game. You never fucking go down.”

  I chuckle. “Maybe I will tonight?”

  The crowd parts as we walk through, guys still looking for fists bumps and giving congratulations, while the chicks still cop a feel.

  When I see blue shirt in front of me, I look at her, not saying a word. It’s part of my game. One that doesn’t require a down field visit to gain access to snatch.

  “Heard you played a great game today.”

  I nod. “Heard that a few times myself.”

  She steps closer. “You as good in bed as you are on the field?”

  I shrug. “Heard talk I was better.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “No time for a relationship. It’s football season.”

  She smiles.

  “Done with school in a few months. Won’t be coming back.”

  “No?” She shakes her head slowly from side to side.

  “Joining the Peace Corps.” I almost laugh, and Mitch does fucking laugh.

  She smiles a scandalous smile. “Is that so?”

  “Probably not, but sounded good.”

  Now Mitch loses his shit.

  She looks at him and smiles. “You a package deal?”

  He and I look at one another. Never fucking been asked that before.

  “You think it would take two of us to satisfy you?”

  “Bro.” Mitch grabs my elbow. “A minute please.”

  “Not even gonna entertain the idea,” I tell him without looking away from her.

  “Never been into it myself.” She flattens her hand against my chest. “But I really want to fuck you, so I would have worked it out.”

  She’s fucking perfect. I mean, day-um, talk about no strings.

  Fucking perfect.

  “Bro,” Mitch says again, this time with more urgency.

  “Not happening, man.” I step back and look her up and down.

  “Where shall we start?” she asks.

  “Blowjob in the bathroom sounds really fucking good right now. You down for that?”

  “As long as I get mine later, I’m down for pretty much anything.” She leans in to kiss me, and I give her the cheek.

  “I’m a private guy, Blue,” I tell her.

  “Well, I’d like to get a look at those privates.”

  I take her hand and turn to walk toward the bathroom.

  I hear Mitch again. “Links, hold up!”

  I smile. “Fuck that.”

  16

  Unreal

  London

  Thirty Minutes Ago...

  I should have waited until he messaged me back to tell me it was okay to come, but the girls were all excited about the invitation Mitch extended when he ran up to us after the game.

  Christy was on top of the world from the attention she received from CJ. She knew he was too old for her, but the fact that he took interest seemed to instill a little bit of the lost confidence she suffered when Mitch’s game became obvious.

  In his defense, he didn’t try to hide it. In my defense, it still pissed me off.

  Standing at the door, in a line of people going in, I wonder what the hell is taking so long. When we get to the door, Tank, one of Logan’s teammates, is standing next to a basket half full of cell phones, a roll of masking tape, and a sharpie.

  “Gotta leave them here, ladies. What happens at Casa Links stays at Casa Links.”

  The girls go ahead of me and start writing their names on a piece of tape.

  When he hands me a piece, I ask, “How do I know no one’s gonna take it?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Because I said so.”

  “What happens when you’ve had too much to drink?” I ask, taking the piece of tape from him.

  “Don’t stress it, shorty. I’m the sober guy tonight.” He winks.

  After depositing my cell, I follow them in and look around. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. It’s supposed to be part of SU housing, but you could fit four of our quads in here.

  The walls are a light grayish-blue, adorned with what you would expect in a guy’s place—sports and movie posters. I expect to see naked cheerleaders, but as I scan the room, my eyes fall on two huge poster-sized canvas pieces. Although it makes me a little sad, I smile at the miracles that are Chance and Hope.

  Hope looks like her father Thomas with her blonde hair and blue very soulful eyes. Thomas, who for all intents and purposes, has been a brother to me for almost as long as Maddox has. I still can’t believe he’s gone. And Chance, he’s all Ava, with his dark hair and bright blue eyes that scream life.

  “This place is huge,” I comment as I take a beer from one of the guys. Downs, I think, who is filling glasses from the keg.

  The kitchen isn’t big, but it’s very modern, with stainless steel appliances and a bar with eight stools that separates the wide-open space.

  “Bedrooms are show boxes,” he murmurs. “Links wanted bathrooms in them, and since he’s the man, that’s what we got.”

  “Perk of being an SU footballer.” Schooler winks.

  “Perk of alumni underbidding the competition so his kid has a killer pad,” Downs corrects him.

  “Let’s grab a place to sit,” I suggest, again feeling weird about possibly running into Logan, but hey, he could have answered his messages.

  Sitting on one of the three overstuffed brown leather couches, warm beer in my hand, because I have no intention of drinking, we try to blend in.

  “Are we underdressed?” Jamie whispers.

  I laugh. “No.”

  “But those girls.” She points t
o the blondes.

  “Those girls look like they’re supposed to be at a club or on a stripper pole, not a house party after a college football game.” I roll my eyes. I would add that they are Logan’s type, but I’m not supposed to know. So, here I sit, using every tool I have in my arsenal of how to mask my feelings of utter disgust by the women, and I use that term as loosely as I assume their lady parts are, that Logan hangs with.

  “Hey.”

  I look up at the sound of female voices and see plastic smiles.

  I give them my very own plastic smile. “Hey.”

  “Are you the girl Logan Links has been spotted spending all his time with?” one asks.

  “What?” I force a laugh.

  The girl holds out her phone out. There’s a picture collage of him and I at Sound, with the caption, “The Missing Links has been spotted.”

  I immediately worry I will be recognized, but thankfully, my hair is in my face in all of them.

  “We’re friends,” I tell them, trying to sound dismissive.

  Three of them sit down on a couch opposite us. The coffee table between us is littered with half full red cups.

  Blonde one leans over and says, “Logan Links doesn’t do friends.”

  “No, just one-night stands,” I reply sarcastically.

  “So, you’re saying that when he carried you out of Sound, you didn’t fuck him?” Blonde two laughs.

  “I was a little more concerned with breathing,” I inform them.

  “See? She’s into him,” the other says.

  “No, I was in near anaphylactic shock, caused by a peanut allergy.”

  When they just look confused, a million blonde jokes run through my head.

  “He took her to the hospital,” Lisa clarifies.

  “You were at the game with his family today,” the one with lipstick on her teeth seethes.

  “His dad, number 12, Lucas Links, he invited us,” Jamie says proudly.

  “Because she’s fucking him.” She points at me.

  I laugh. “Sweetie, I wouldn’t fuck him with your vagina.”