Page 8 of Defining Us

Laughing and putting my head back on the head rest, the tiredness is starting to hit now that the adrenaline rush is subsiding.

“It trumpseverything…?” I say, dragging it out and raising my eyebrows.

“Well, almost everything… but yeah, sometimes it even trumps that too!” Rhett starts messaging on his phone, I’m guessing to his wife.

“Fuck that, I’m never having kids then,” I say, just as a vision of Nat with a rounded belly flashes before me. No, no, no, I shouldn’t be imagining her pregnant. I’m a married man, and it’s not Nat I should be thinking about.

Rhett smacks me in the arm and laughs.

“Never say never, man. You and Sasha will change your mind soon enough, I’m sure.”

I doubt it, but I can’t tell him that.

* * *

The morning after a tough game is always fun, but when you add getting sacked, then everything aches just that little bit more.

Rolling over, I can see the sunlight peeking in through the side of the curtain. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but it’s got to be close to eight o’clock. Even though I’m staying on a few extra days, I’m still in the team hotel until checkout this morning.

I drew the short straw again and got roomed with Tarek. He might be my closest buddy on the team, but he snores the fucking loudest out of all the squad. No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend. No woman would be able to sleep next to what sounds like a freight train at full speed.

Lying flat on my back, arms stretching above my head, my toes are hanging off the end of the bed. Same old problem in nearly every hotel bed I sleep in, and I’ve been in a lot of different ones over the years. Being six-foot-four, they never seem to accommodate for us big boys.

The loudest fart comes from the other side of the room.

“Oh man, really? That’s the way you say good morning.” I look across at the ugly sight greeting me. Tarek’s long hair is a mess all over the place and scruff on his chin. But the biggest tell-tale sign of what he got up to before he made it back to the room last night are the nice few lipstick kisses that are smudged on his chest and the dirty hickey on his neck where the chick wanted to make sure she left evidence she’d laid her claim on him.

“Stop complaining. At least it doesn’t smell,” Tarek mumbles from his half-awake state.

“Seriously, how old are you? I feel like I’m still in the first-year dorm room at college.” Sitting up and throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I’m not hanging around for a repeat performance.

Besides, I need to hit the shower before Tarek is awake enough to see the morning wood I’m trying to hide, which would just start an awkward conversation I’d rather not have right now. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I hear the next rumble of air through the door and can’t help but laugh. No matter what age we are, guys are always gross. It’s a fact of life.

The hot water beating down on my shoulder blades is helping to loosen the muscles—well, some of them anyway.

Leaning with my head resting on my arm against the tiles, I could stand here for while, just trying to think about how I’ll get through tomorrow night. Dinner at Xavier’s should be relaxing and no pressure, but it will be far from it. Then again, I shouldn’t worry too much. Every time Nat promises she’ll be there, somethingunexpectedcomes up and she doesn’t show. Surely by now we can just not go through this stupid shit every single time we’re in the same room—or same city, for that matter.

Thinking about her now is not a good start, though. When I’m naked and in the shower. My hand edges down to try to relieve some pressure. I feel all kinds of wrong that it’s her I’m thinking about when it shouldn’t be.

But fuck, I can’t get her out of my head. No matter how hard I try.

My hand stroking faster, I can feel the relief is building.

Bash, bash, bash!

“Hurry up, man, I need to piss! What’s taking so long?” Tarek’s raspy morning voice bellows at me.

“Shit.” My hand stills for a split second, as I try to decide if I can get myself there quick enough before he loses his shit. The hesitation is long enough to ruin the moment.

“If you don’t get out of there in the next five seconds, I’m coming in and you’ll just have to watch.”

“You aren’t coming in here, dickhead. Hold on.” And I’m obviously not coming in here either.

Great.

A full day of aching balls and then trying to control that all night while I dine with Mom and Dad.

Why the hell do I put myself through this?

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