Football Fight Night
Contains bad words and sex-y scenarios. For mature (18+) readers.
The referee ducked, barely missing a fist to the jaw.
“Is that why you’re trying to fuck my wife?” Austin yelled over the crowd noise. “Think if she lets you eat her pussy you’ll get that taste of my dick you’re dying for?”
Matt swung again. Two of his teammates’ arms stretched across his midsection, dragging him toward the Houston sideline. Cason Allen, Dallas’ top wide-receiver, pushed Austin back with two hands against his chest pads. Yellow beanbag flags flew overhead like missiles. Whistles blew.
“Austin, chill out.” Cason punched Austin’s shoulder pads. “Austin, chill the fuck out.”
Tank, the largest man on their offensive line, placed his body between Matt and Austin as Cason continued to push him back into a huddle.
The referees announced the fouls—unsportsmanlike conduct on both teams—to the Dallas crowd which booed with bias. Austin paced, air bursting from his lungs. It was bad enough Eli, Olivia, and Sommer were being blamed for their team’s current losing streak—as opposed to their poor defense, an offensive line that crumbled like saltine crackers, a new offensive coordinator who didn’t know shit about calling plays, and his lackluster performance.
He ignored the voice in his helmet and relayed the next play options to the team. The OC wanted to run; they lined up to pass. The coach yelled in his ear. He tuned it out.
They ran down the snap count. He dropped back to pass. The ball sailed toward Cason…and landed right in Matt’s hands.
Cason tackled Matt, stopping him from gaining any additional yards after the interception. Matt hopped to his feet, flipped the ball, and looked in Austin’s direction. He spread his fingers and flicked his tongue between the V.
Austin unhooked the straps on his helmet and glanced up at the large screen above the field as he made his way back to the sideline. There was no arguing it; he’d forced the pass. The offensive line had given him seconds to make a decision and his head already hadn’t been in the right place.
* * * * *
“So…you handled it, I see.”
Austin blew against Sommer’s neck. “We still won the game.”
“Yes you did, baby.” She patted his thigh. “You sure did.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t patronize me.”
They’d already watched the SportsCenter highlights several times. He wanted her to change the channel. She wanted to keep watching.
“What’d you say to him right there?” She leaned back against his chest and pointed to the TV. Eli and Olivia were with his mother, giving them the evening to themselves. They were in bed. She was pressed back against him, in his arms. The house was empty. But, for some reason, they weren’t naked.
“Does it matter?” He moved a curl aside and trailed his tongue along the curve of her neck.
“Amelia called me. She said Case is still pissed at you.”
“She told me.”
He kissed the ball of her shoulder, trailed his hand up her ribcage to her breasts, and cupped their weight in his palms. She was self-conscious about them after breastfeeding two babies. He loved everything about her even more because she’d given him two of the greatest gifts he’d ever known.
His fingers found a nipple and tweaked.
“Do you think I’d take Matt up on his offer? Is that why this pisses you off so much?”
“Baby, that doesn’t even cross my mind. I just don’t like when what’s mine—”
“Like your property?”
“Well, uh, my woman—”
“So I’m just your woman?”
“Stop.” He swatted the side of her thigh. She giggled. “You know what I mean. And yes, I know you can handle yourself and I don’t feel threatened that you’d waste your time with another man when I’m perfect for you.”
She rolled her eyes. He kissed the top of her head.
“But the most basic, primal instinct inside me wants to rip out his trachea for coming to you, at your office, like that. You’re not some side-chick or some woman I’m having sex with. You’re my wife. The mother of my children.”
She pushed onto her knees and faced him. All she wore was a thin tank top, and because he’d been playing with them, her nipples were hard and in his face. He could already feel them on his tongue, pebbling as he sucked and flicked. Then, her breath would catch and she’d toss her head back, shoving her breasts further into his face while he slid a finger along the slit of her—
A loud crash pulled him out of his descent between the depths of her legs.
He pulled Sommer against him.
She grabbed onto his shirt. “What the hell was that?”
Another crash sounded, this one clearer—broken glass. The first he now recognized as exploding wood. They were in Texas. People walked into department stores with assault rifles strapped over their shoulders in some counties. His own father had been a gun connoisseur. He knew that sound well.
“Som, get on the floor.”
She scrambled to the floor. He covered her with his body as more shots rang out. Nothing else mattered at that moment but her safety. The kids weren’t anywhere nearby, which was a blessing. Even though their rooms were upstairs, he didn’t play when it came to his family.
When the shots stopped, he pushed up off Sommer and started to the front room. “Stay here, baby. Call the police.”
“Austin,” she grabbed the hem of his shirt, “Austin, wait.”
“I’m going to check—”
“Babe, this is a mixed-couple moment.” She pulled him down to his knees. “Stay here. I’ll call the police. Let them give the all-clear before we go check.”
“Baby.” She grabbed his face between her hands. “Wait.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Somebody shot at our home. You stay your ass right here.”
Everyone said God didn’t give you more than you could handle, but Austin could see his breaking point drawing nearer like an Olympic track-and-field finish line.
…He’d assumed that would have been the worst thing to happen in the last week. Hell, the year. But as he arrived at the ESPN channel and the ticker at the bottom flashed the latest news—Houston linebacker, Matt Wilson, traded to Dallas just days after a major scuffle with Austin Riley—he knew the entire month would be a shit-show.