I fold my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling while the guys gear up. Once the shit show gets started, though, it’s impossible to stop. If I got claustrophobic, I would freak out. “Masters here thinks he wants to mess with a good thing.”Įight men, all weighing over two hundred pounds, crowd into my small apartment. This better be good.” The last comment comes from Hammer. The rush of shoes on the stairs thunders into the apartment before half the team bursts through. Sure enough, I see a group message for the entire defensive line to get the hell up to my apartment for an emergency meeting. The damage is already done by the time I wrestle the phone from him. “What the fuck are you doing?” I grab for the phone but he holds out one hand and presses send with the other. “Matty, you don’t get a say in when I have sex.” I pick up the remote and switch to the NFC preseason game. We got the national championship on the line. I’m sorry to be a cock-blocking son of a bitch, but you can’t. Then he stops abruptly, hand hanging in mid-air.
“Holy fuck,” he shouts and starts to high five me. I don’t answer, but I can’t help the shit grin that spreads. “Dude, wait, does this mean you’re going to have sex?” “I did, but she’s not jumping at the chance to go out with me.” Having a jersey hanging in the closet was all some girls needed. Actually that’s all it did take most of the time.
Did you ask me when to text a girl?” Matty rouses from his football induced stupor. “And a decent quarterback, offensive line, and secondary.”
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