Page 77 of Fair Catch
“Sit,” she said with a snap of her fingers, and then pointed to my vacated chair. “And write.”
I stomped my feet and flopped down in the chair. “But I don’t wanna.”
She managed a laugh at my tantrum, sliding up behind me with her hands finding my shoulders. She massaged the muscles, sore from a hard week of practice, and I hummed my approval, sinking back in the chair.
“Need some motivation?”
Another hmmm was my only response.
“I have an assignment I have to work on, then I’m getting in the shower and heading out to class. I’ve got a full day after that — practice and tape and meetings.” Each word was a lullaby on her lips, slow and sexy. “Plus, I’m meeting with my group for our project after. So,” she said, leaning down to speak low in my ear. The feel of her sweet mouth sent another jolt right to my cock. “You’ve got two hours to get this paper done and join me in the shower, or it’s going to be a long…” Her hands dove down my chest and over my abdomen. “Cold…” She ran those hands along my erection as I groaned and flexed into the touch. “Hard night.”
She kissed my cheek with that, removing her hands and every other part of her warmth as she sashayed away from me and toward her bedroom.
“That’s just cruel,” I called after her.
She chuckled, pausing in her doorway. “It’s not that bad. I had Professor Marks over the summer, and as long as you show effort and a general understanding of supply and demand, inflation, and recession — he’ll pass you.”
I blinked at her like she’d just spoken in German.
With a roll of her eyes, she popped back over long enough to turn my laptop toward her and pull up a Google Drive account. A few clicks later, and she had a full economics essay on the screen.
“Here. This is mine from last semester. Read it over and see if it gets the juice flowing.”
I sighed heavy again, but before she could walk away, I caught her by the wrist and pulled her down for a long, heavy kiss.
“Thank you,” I murmured against her lips when she was thoroughly winded.
She smiled. “Get your paper done. I really don’t want to shower alone…”
She tiptoed her fingers down my chest, tugging at the band of my sweatpants with a swipe of her tongue over her lips before she was off my lap and in her bedroom, the door firmly shut behind her.
Another long huff left me as I turned my attention to the essay staring back at me on the screen. Every molecule in my body resisted reading it, resisted working on my own, resisted anything that had to do with homework. I wished so badly that I could skip this part and just be an athlete without the student part attached.
But this was part of the process, and if I wanted to play pro, I had to make a name for myself in college, first.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there angry and annoyed before I put my headphones on and finally started reading. It took far too long, as it always did, and I had to battle my frustration every step of the way as the letters and words blurred and blended like they were dancing and I was trying to keep up.
But I read it, slowly but surely, and then, by some miracle, I managed to start writing my own paper.
I went over the notes Riley had helped me with throughout the semester to outline my main points before I started the actual essay, bullet pointing what was most important so I didn’t forget or gloss over it. The opening was the hardest part, and then I had those bullet points to guide me.
Time passed faster than I realized, because I had only two-and-a-half of the five pages done when Riley opened her bedroom door, smiling at me wickedly as she stripped my t-shirt overhead and trotted into the bathroom in just her boy shorts. She looked over her shoulder at me when she slowly stripped those off, too — closing the door behind her.
A moment later, the shower kicked on.
“Fuck me,” I groaned, cracking my neck before I turned back to my laptop.
I wrote like a man possessed after that, cross-referencing Riley’s paper and my outline as my fingers flew over the keyboard. Letters and words continued that dance as I worked, transitioning from a slow two-step to a frantic foxtrot. I felt like that GIF of Jim Carrey from Bruce Almighty, and I had no concept of how much time had passed before I wrote the last sentence and slammed my laptop shut.
“DONE!”
I yelled loud enough that I was met with a low belly laugh from the shower. In ten seconds flat, I had my own clothes littering the floor, and I peeled back the shower curtain long enough to slip inside and feel the warm water raining down on my cool skin.
