Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... I've said it before, but this is a different world from playing in highschool. The dog-and-pony show is now a whole-ass Barnum&Bailey production. Someone like me, I'm sure you're thinking I'd eat it the fuck up. Who doesn't love a pedestal? Who'd turn their nose up at blind adoration?

I don't play because it comes with prestige, or I want my fucking name written in lights. I play because I'mgood at it, and itfeels good to be better than everyone else at something physical. I play because this was my one and only ticket to California, where Sam is. If Sam was the only person sitting on my side of the stadium, I'd be beyond content with that. I'dprefer that. But, that's not how it works, and if I want to be worth something for him, I have to keep coloring in the lines. Shake the hands, kiss the babies, play well with others.

Minutes before we're meant to rush the field, I check his location and squeeze in a few last minute messages to him. I know where he is, but he doesn't know that. Ire starts to spike when I realize he doesn't intend to hang around. I get where he's coming from. It'll be chaotic, cause for either rowdy celebration or an ass-reaming from Nelson should we lose, but he'smy reward. The game is almost like...foreplay. Some ancestral, lizard-brain display of strength and competency. 'Look, Sam, I just slaughtered this mammoth with my bare hands! Let me fuck you senseless on this nice, new pelt.'

It's all I care about. That he's watching me. That ...

... he'simpressed with me. If he fuckingleaves, it's all for nothing. When his last text comes through, my heart leapfrogs into my throat. Those little hairs lift like lightning's about to strike me dead. I can't help but laugh, dragging my hand down my face.

1:53 PM: Good luck, I love you.

"Ha..."

If he thinks a throwaway 'I love you' is enough for a clean getaway, he'ssorely fucking mistaken.

"Line the fuck up, boys! Let's go! Saunders, so help me God—!"

Before Nelson rescinds my phone privileges, I make a quick call. The recipient answers on the second ring.

"Hey, man, I need a favor."

—

The Bruins are either the shittiest team in the state, or I've ascended to collegiate divinity.

In the heat of the moment, it's hard to tell if the opposing defense is lumbering and clumsy, or if I'm moving at fucking warp. My teammates seem to think it's the latter, because they're knocking helmets with me roughly between point conversions, safeties, and touchdowns. My receivers and RB's are all but weeping over those passes that require no effort to catch, sliding through their hands like there's a spotter in my ear feeding pinpoint coordinates. I've never seen a bigger smile on Coach Nelson's face. I didn't think his mouth had the ability to stretch further than a grimace, honestly.

The Bruins use upevery timeout they have available. One midway through the first quarter, another at the end of the first quarter, and their third three minutes into the second. Their coach ...