"Have you always been passionate about football?"
He keeps his eyes fixed on the starry sky, but I don't miss his grimace, "I’ve never been passionate about football."
"What? But..."
"I do what my father expects of me, that's all," he cuts me off with a bitter tone. His fingers have tightened around mine, squeezing harder. "He wants me to play, so that's what I do."
He falls silent and his jaw tightens. Player isn't naturally expressive when it comes to emotions. He's capable of spouting plenty of obscenities, yes, but I've never heard him talk about his past.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know," I stammer.
This time, he turns his attention to me. For a moment, he seems distant, then his gaze softens slightly. "We think we know people and their motivations, but in reality, do they even know themselves what drives them? Whether we try to please our parents or react to our own fears, what difference does it make?"
"Did you choose OMU to please your father?" I ask, curious. In reality, I don't know him well enough to understand what motivates him, and I realize I want to know more.
"No," he answers sharply. He lets out an annoyed sigh, and I think I've touched on a sensitive subject. "He forced me to attend this fucking college," he finally states. "If it had been up to me, I would have gone far away from here."
Player has never been a diligent student, often sitting in class simply because I know that if he skipped, he could lose his football eligibility.
"What would you have done if you'd had the choice?" I ask him.
He keeps his eyes fixed on the sky, and I have the impression he hasn't heard me, but he eventually says:
"I'd probably be in South America, surfing. Maybe Australia or Hawaii. I love the feeling of freedom I get on my board when I'm alone facing the ocean. It's only there that I feel truly free to be myself."
The idea that he might not live on campus anymore turns my stomach, but I pull myself together. Player does what he wants, even if that includes leaving OMU.
I don't know what to say, so I keep quiet. This part of him is foreign to me, but I can understand his frustration at having to take courses that don't interest him. Player turns to me, and with his fingertips, he pushes back a strand of my hair that was brushing against my cheek.
The familiar sensual tension starts crackling between us again, at least that's how it feels. He moves closer to me before placing a kiss on my lips. It's the first time he's kissed me tenderly, I could almost believe I matter to him. But I'm not that naive. I know very well that I'm nothing more than amusement.
I don't know if he really intended to show me the stars or if he wanted to fulfill a fantasy by fucking in the stadium bleachers, but Player's kiss intensifies. His hands unbutton my coat to better slip under my shirt. I shiver without knowing if it's because of his caresses or the effect of the autumn cold that has settled over the campus.
Player's intentions become perfectly clear the moment he slides his hand into my panties. I respond to his kisses without any restraint, letting desire engulf me from head to toe, forgetting any distracting thoughts and especially the prospect that he might leave OMU… and me.
Player has a gift for disconnecting me from reality by taking me into this alternative reality where there are only the two of us and our desire for each other. The tension builds in my body and I tense when his fingers find their way inside me.
I moan and Player growls in response when I open hisfly to grasp his erection. His caresses become stronger, even more possessive, as if he's demanding my orgasm.
His fingers slide into me before coming out to circle around my clitoris. Player kisses me savagely while my movements match the same rhythm he sets on my intimacy.
My eyelids open the moment a burning, devastating wave spreads rapidly through my body. Strands of light streak across the sky accompanying the intense orgasm he's giving me. Shooting stars are joining the party.
Player drinks in my pleasure, his thrusts guiding my caresses until they lead him to explosion too.
He falls back beside me, his face buried in my neck. Our rapid breathing gradually calms down. With his fingertips, Player traces small circles on the skin of my stomach. Suddenly, a wave overwhelms me, blooming in my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. Some people talk about butterflies taking flight, I have the sensation of a warm, luminous current carrying me far away before bringing me back to my body. All this in a fraction of a second.
Player props himself up on one elbow and his gaze searches mine. I place my hand against his cheek, and he doesn't pull away from my tender gesture.
"The show is up there, you know?" I say in a low voice.
His expression is so serious that I suddenly fear he's about to tell me everything is over between us. My heart skips a beat before starting a frantic race.
"You're wrong, Dixie."
He doesn't say more, and I don't ask him to explain his thoughts for fear of ruining this moment. Intuitively, I sense that this moment is precious. Probably because it's the first of its kind between us.
A part of me begins to fear it might also be the last.
