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Giselle
“What are you wearing?”
That text came in Friday night from Ty and I actually laughed out loud to myself. I answered with a quick, “Sweatpants and a facemask.”
He shot back with, “So hot.”
I didn't answer him back and he didn't send anymore. If I had known he wasn't going to call Saturday, and I wouldn’t talk to him again until after the game Sunday, I probably would have bantered with him a little more.
As it turned out, I kind of missed him. He had this way about him that made me relax and smile more than I had in a long time. He made me feel like my entire life didn't have to be a show. I wanted more of it and was scared of it all at the same time.
Halfway through my day on Saturday, I decided I would just let what was going to happen happen. Tyson Black and I were not a love match but there was not a doubt that our bodies enjoyed one another. Why not take all I could?
That was why my hair was up tight in a bun and I had no panties on below my jeans. I smiled to myself wondering what Ty would think when he saw me after the game. He would know by looking at me what I had in mind and a small thrill of the game made its way down my spine.
I had met Sam and Mrs. Watson at the gate and we all made our way in, taking our seats in the front row on the fifty yard line. The seats were like first class recliners, with TV’s in front of every seat and a waitress walking around asking if we needed anything.
This was not my first time at a game like this, but it was my first time being a part of the finer side of things. Ty had told us these seats were for player friends and families, VIPs, and anyone of that nature. When they put this stadium together, they put a lot of thought into this area.
I was in awe.
As if that wasn't enough, this was my first time seeing the Jets play and the hype around the entire stadium was exhilarating. Almost more so than being on stage.
The fans were louder, crazier, wilder. And the fact that this was a preseason game had me especially in awe. What was the real season like?
After sitting down, Sam and I had fallen into a normal conversation discussing school, friends, and all his favorite things. I kept myself in check and didn't dare start pressing on him about dancing. Ty had set this up as a time to connect with Sam and that was all I really wanted to do. I knew it wasn't the same as having friends his own age, but I wanted him to know he had at least one friend that supported his love of dancing.
About thirty minutes before the game was to start, I got a text on my phone that I intended to ignore. But after a few more follow up texts, I let it interrupt our conversation in case something was terribly wrong.
Ty: About to head out and warm up.
Ty: I'm #82.
Ty: Are you wearing panties?
Ty: If I end up in the end zone, watch the way I dance.
I smiled and stuffed the phone back into my bag, not even answering.
The grin on my face must have been sillier than I anticipated, though, because Sam was looking at me with a weird expression.
"Oh um," I played with my fingers as I spoke to Sam. "That was Mr. Black, he wanted to let me know he was headed out soon."
Sam yelled and jumped for joy. He stood between his mother and I and clapped, looking in all the different directions for the Jets to come out.
It wasn't long before the lights dimmed and the announcer started his introduction of the Jets. Fire flew from cannons and considering we were in a dome, it was quite impressive. I got goosebumps as I looked up at the screen and saw several different videos of the players.
The crowd started screaming and I looked around for what had set them off. Sam started pointing to our left and I caught sight of the team exiting at the tunnel just as his little screams peaked. He was definitely a fan and this environment was definitely appealing to him.
As the team made their way onto the field, they lined up on the lines much like they did when I went to their practice. They started moving in sync, stretching and flexing at the same time in the same way. A coach was on the side of the field counting and making sure they all stayed on task.
Scouring the lines of players, I searched hard for #82. My eyes went up and down the lines, back and forth until finally I saw him. He was stretched into a lunge and bouncing before switching legs. His hands were on his hips to keep his balance and his helmet was on his head.
I wasn't very close, but from the first row I was in, I could see his forearms flexing and his calf muscles straining. He was in all white—jersey, pants, and cleats—and it made the dark ink of his tattoos stand out even more.
While everyone else in that stadium was excited to see the team play, I was excited for after the game, when I got to take #82 back to my place and make him do things to me that he wasn't yet aware I would allow.
"I see Ty!" Sam yelled, popping me out of my lust filled thoughts.
