Page 27 of Comfort Me, Daddy

“No. I’m a tackle. I just beat the shit out of people and keep them away from Walker. He’s the quarterback, he throws it, mostly.”

“Did you want to be a quarterback? If you were doing all that target practice?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. When I was a kid. Everybody wants to be quarterback. I’m not really built for that kind of pressure though.” Walker wasn’t really built for it these days either, but I kept that to myself. “They put me at receiver awhile,” I told him, thinking back to middle school. “Catching the ball. Like Ellis. But I’m not really built for that either. Knocking people out though, I’m good at that. Seeing two steps ahead, knowing who’s coming at me before they come at me, I’ve got good instincts for that. I’m kinda light for tackle, really, but I’m fast and mean and crazy. Donovan likes my chaos. Funny getting recruited for all the shit I always got yelled at for.”

“Your chaosispretty irresistible.”

I smiled, probably more excited by that than I was about the whole stupid scholarship. “Oh yeah? You’re doing a pretty good job resisting me.”

“Yes, I am,” he agreed, that serious way he did sometimes when I thought he was going to tease me.

I tossed the ball a little high the next time, and he reached out and batted it down to himself, pulling it into his chest like a goddamn natural. Didn’t even want to know what else the guy thought he wasn’t good at.

Then he dropped it on the ground and spread his arms out, curling his fingers at himself. “Show me.”

I hesitated, not sure what he was asking, not surehe knewwhat he was asking. “What do you mean?”

“Show me some of this fast, mean, crazy shit you’re so good at. Tackle me.”

God, he was such a pretty target. Fucked up or not, I’d imagined taking him down like a million times over the past week. It was just an obsessive thing I did anyway, but I did it a lot with people who were built different than what I usually saw on the field, wondering where I’d hit them and how they’d fall.

I shook my head. “No way.”

He looked surprised. “Why not?”

“Because I’d fucking flatten you, break your bones and shit.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. If I come at you, you’re gonna go flat on your back, hard, with no pads. You’ll be bruised all up and down for a week.”

He smirked. “Kinky.” He called me toward him again. “Come on. I doubt you could even move me.”

“Look who learned to catch and’s all cocky now. It’s not about size, it’s about knowing where to hit. I can take out a three-hundred-pound Ollie without even thinking about it. I can take you down. But I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” he teased me, and my insides started to burn as he lit that competitive edge on fire.

“Okay, fine,” I agreed, because I was just that easy to manipulate. “But you can’t just stand there, you really will get hurt. Try to get around me, that’s the goal.” I left out thego through meoption, so he didn’t really get beat up. “But I’m not gonna let you. I’m gonna take you out.”

I kind of haunched and dodged side-to-side to show him what I meant until he mirrored me. He did go all in trying, but it was awkward as hell. I stood back up. “How about I just come at you slow and show you how tackling works,” I offered.

“Just do it. I’m not scared of getting knocked over. I wanna see. I wanna get the whole Logan Prescott experience.”

“Freak,” I muttered, but he was a big boy— a very big boy— and if that’s what he wanted, I could deliver. I pulled my mesh and my pads and my tshirt off over my head, dumping them into a pile.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna hit you in shoulder pads when you’re standing there in street clothes.”

“But—”

“Dude. If I’m gonna throw you on the ground, I’m gonna do it my way.”

His mouth twitched and finally he smiled, looking around, licking his lips and nodding. “Okay. Your house your rules. Go for it. I’m ready.”

I bent low, and when he came at me half-ass I exploded, rushing and slamming him at about eighty percent, taking him out around mid-thigh, just high enough to slaughter his balance and buckle his knees. He soldiered back just like I told him he would— ass bouncing the grass first, and then flat on his back, grunting as the fall knocked the air from his lungs and I landed on top of him with my chin in his stomach.

I scrambled up onto my knees, climbing off, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back down while I watched him blink, looking a little dazed. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered, feeling kind of sick.

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