Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(4)
We call it "campus," but the town of Newark and De La Warr are so intertwined with one another that they may as well be the same place. When people say "campus" it's usually the old campus they're referring to, a cluster of buildings and the "quad"; the rest is spread out through town over such a distance it can take half an hour to walk from one end to the other.
"We're going to the Deerhead," Dee announces.
"What's that?"
"The bar on the corner up by the railroad tracks?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"You're hopeless," Dee sighs.
"Aren't we too young to drink?"
"I'm twenty-one, and they're more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' kind of place, especially on game night. Come on, live a little. I won't let you get plastered. Just have a couple of beers. They do have beer on your planet, right?"
"Of course." I turn up my chin. "I have had beer before. I enjoy beer."
"Sure you have. Let's go."
We walk briskly, fading into the flow of students. I feel a little more comfortable with the sunglasses covering my eyes. I can look around without worrying about avoiding eye contact.
It takes almost half an hour to reach Main Street with all the foot and vehicle traffic. Dee veers left, heading toward the bar.
It's an aged building, one of the oldest on the block, all brick with big windows. Inside, the floors and furniture and bar are all worn smooth by feet and hands, though the floor is covered in sawdust. Dee and I weave through clusters of students to the bar.
"Barkeep," Dee shouts, slapping the bar. "Bring me two of your finest cheapest beer."
The aging bartender doesn't even spare me a glance as he sets bottles in front of us.
"Run me a tab," Dee says.
"Pay now."
Dee fumbles in her pocket until I slip out a twenty and slap it on the counter. I turn my back to the bar and sip the beer.
It's bitter and watery. I glance at Dee, wondering why she's downed half the bottle already.
Jason
I don't think I'm going to feel dry again for a long time. The mist soaked me to the bone, and my joints are achy and stiff.
After I shower up and dress, I find a cluster of players waiting for me. Aheahe and Akele, my offensive linemen, stand a head taller than everyone else. Even people who know the Thunder Brothers do a double take when they see them. Almost seven feet tall and completely identical—they are twins, after all—the brothers weigh almost a half a ton when you put them both together. Despite their rotund appearance, they're solid masses of muscle and move with a fluid grace made almost eerie by their sheer size.
They both grin when they see me.
"Deerhead!" Akele shouts.
I roll my eyes. Last thing I'm in the mood for is booze. I need a long, hot soak to get the ache out of my joints. The curious fire I felt from seeing the princess on the sidelines has turned into a weight in my chest, like I swallowed a bag of lead and it's working its way down.
I can't deny them though. For one thing, I have to live with these two. Maybe seeing their drunken escapades will cheer me up. They have a massive appetite for alcohol—and everything else, really—and Akele turns into a philosopher when you get the booze in him. Last week he gave the other drunks at the Deerhead a three hour lecture on deindustrialization in the American South and how it relates to… something. He makes it funny somehow.
The players aren't the only ones heading our way. The cheerleading squad has changed into a colorful array of crop tops and booty shorts and is sequining their way down the sidewalk behind us. Gabriel and the color guard are behind them, mingling with a press of students. Quincy is a senior, and he's been the De La Warr Knight, our mascot, for two years. He takes it deadly seriously, especially when he's hammered.
I have a suspicion we'll all be in dire straits tonight. Sure we won, but the Badgers almost clawed our throats out on the field. I feel like half the hits I took should have gotten a penalty flag, and that's just me. Maybe I'm just being a sore winner.
I don't feel like I won anything today.
By the time we get to the bar, I'm ready for a drink after all. I need to loosen up. Maybe this week I'll actually take one of the cleat chasers home with me for the night. For some reason, the thought of that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I don't know why. It's not like I have a shot at my dream girl. I'm sure princesses don't frequent dives next to railroad tracks.
Akele and Aheahe stomp into the bar, pressing through the narrow, little doors, and I walk inside behind them.
The world freezes over like someone hit a giant Pause button. I stop in my tracks, because Princess Anastasia herself is sitting in a booth with Dee, holding a beer in her slender fingers.
She looks at me, and it's like a physical blow, all the air shoved out of my lungs at once. I can feel the heat of her gaze on my skin. Her hood is down and her thick, blonde braid hangs over her shoulder down her chest, shining like pale gold in the dim lighting of the bar. The big goofy shades she picked up somewhere make her mysterious, like a femme fatale.
She looks cold, but she must be warm. Warm, soft lips, pale pink like frozen berries. Her jeans cling to the lush, curvy lines of her long legs, and even in a baggy sweatshirt I can tell she's curvaceous and soft in all the right places, begging to be held, caressed, squeezed, licked. My dick starts to harden just from looking at her, and then her eyes lock on mine.