Page 55 of The First Play

Her trust.

Her honesty.

Turns out she’s not afraid to tell me what she does and doesn’t like. I’m getting to know the spots that make her moan the loudest and exactly what I need to do with my tongue and fingers. Damn, it’s fire.

She keeps asking me what works for me, but I’m pretty much an “anything” kinda guy. Because just her sweet smell can get me going. Her touch on any part of my body is heaven. And being inside her… it’s the best feeling in the whole fucking world. I love the way she’ll stare up at me, smile at me, tell me she loves me.

The girl adores me, and that’s a pretty fucking phenomenal feeling.

Better than the vibes I’m getting from everyone else in my life. My dad seems to be permanently pissed no matter what I do. The fact that we got eliminated from the playoffs after round one hasn’t helped much. Even I was bummed out about that, but then Sienna was waiting for me after the game and made it all better.

And now that football season is over, I’ve got a little more time on my hands, and it’s made being with my girl that much easier.

Dad just needs to chill out. So I’m an hour later for dinner every now and then. He treats it like a fucking crime against humanity. And my mom’s jumping on board with all the bullshit, putting curfews on me, which I’ve never had before.

It’s like they missed the memo that the football season is over. They’re still riding me about workouts and conditioning and study. They won’t shut the fuck up about college and have already started freaking out that no letter of intent is coming. Why can’t they have a little faith in me? It’s Brighton or nothing. I don’t need to be hitting up a bunch of other schools. Coach Watkins from Brighton thinks I’m great. He told me so last year, and he’s been to three games this season. He made it clear last time we spoke that I was his first pick, and come signing day, I’ll be scribbling my name on a piece of paper with a Brighton College letterhead.

Why the fuck do they keep doubting that’s gonna happen?

I’m sick of everybody ragging on me. My teachers have even joined the party, telling me I’m not focused enough in class, warning me that my work isn’t up to standard.

What the hell?

I’m doing it, aren’t I?

I’m handing that shit in like they want me to.

I don’t know what the hell everyone’s problem is.

The only bright spot in every day is Sienna. As soon as I wake up, I’m texting her… or if I’m lucky, I wake up with her in my arms. The only sucky thing about that is having to set the alarm for four in the morning so I can get back home in time and no one will know what we’ve been up to. But I love sleeping beside her. I love falling asleep together, whispering to her under the covers, talking about how epic our life is going to be and how awesome it’ll be when we can get our own place.

Once she graduates from high school, she’s going to join me at Brighton, and then after college, we’re going to travel for a while the way her parents did before coming back here to settle down. We’re not sure what state we want to live in yet, but there’s plenty of time to work out all those details.

For now, we’re having fun thinking about prom and my graduation, dreaming about what we’ll get up to over the summer. We have enough plans to keep us busy until her first day back at school… and my first day of college.

I love mapping out my life with her.

I love the way we seem to see everything the same way… be on the same page.

“Mr. Donohue!” The teacher snaps me back to the present, and I jerk up in my seat and then have to suffer a lengthy lecture on how important the rest of my year is and how I shouldn’t be wasting it daydreaming.

The students around me snicker while I shift uncomfortably in my seat and start counting down the minutes until I get to be with Sienna again.

Time drags on at a snail’s pace, my last class before PE mind-numbingly boring. Now I just have to get through basketball skills and the final bell will serenade my freedom.

I dribble the ball, my shoes squeaking on the gym floor as we run through the drills our PE teacher is making us do.

Sweat is dribbling down the back of my neck, and I swipe some off my forehead before passing the ball to Jamie. He catches it and does a spin, throwing it toward the hoop for a sweet three-pointer. Too bad we’re not playing an actual game.

I clap my hands and run back to position, eyeing the door to the workout room and getting distracted by memories of being in the utility closet with Sienna. Damn, that was so freaking hot.

“Heads up!”

A ball comes firing toward me, and I only just dodge it.

“Focus, Donohue!” Mr. Henley yells at me while I sheepishly run after the ball, gathering it up and dribbling it back to half court.

Glancing at the clock, I thank God there’s only five minutes left before firing a shot at the hoop and totally missing it.

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