I don’t have a game to play tomorrow.
It probably doesn’t mean anything, but the thought that this could be more than the superstition hook up I suggested has me sleeping like a baby for the rest of the night.
17
HER OTHER DADDY, DUH
Elliot
“Alright gentleman. This is the most important day of the season. When you go out on to that field, I want you to remember that you’re not just representing yourselves. You’re representing the Redwoods, the entire organization, and the city of San Francisco.” Coach Mancini paces in front of us in the tunnel, arms tucked behind his back, his red and gold cap flipped backwards on his head. At six feet tall and forty-something years old, the man has total Daddy vibes. Like if you fuck with him, he’d put you over his knee and spank you and then kiss it better.
Not that I make it a habit of thinking of my coach that way. I may have harbored a tiny celebrity crush on Giovanni Mancini when he was the youngassistant coach out of Houston a few years back, but once he becamemycoach?
That’s not Daddy, that’s a father figure.
“And most importantly, you’re representing me,” James says from his spot behind Coach, wearing his best “don’t piss me off” look on his face and his baby daughter in a sling on his chest. “And I swear to fuck, if any of you embarrass me out there today, I’m sticking you in a room with my twin five-year-olds and letting them force you to watch videos of spoiled brats unbox loud-ass toys for an entire weekend. Don’t screw this up, boys.”
With a chorus of agreements from the team, Coach steps out of the way and we start our jog out onto the field. Usually our arrival from the tunnel is met with the screams and chants of a roaring crowd and the sound of our team song,Don’t Stop Believin’thundering through the hundreds of strategically placed speakers. But today’s visiting team requires a gentler sort of approach.
Today, the Redwoods’ entrance to the field at Twin Peaks Stadium is met by soft applause and the excited, nervous sounds of adoptable animals we hope to find homes for by the end of the day. Adopt-A-Pet is my favorite event of the holiday season. Every year, we team up with one of the big-box stores in downtown San Francisco and have arotating team of volunteers who raise money and try to adopt out dogs, cats, bunnies, and all sorts of rescue animals. The stores donate their window space, where the cutest little animals spend their days luring people in while players and members of the Redwoods organization work the streets outside the store, getting people to open their wallets and their homes to our furry friends. Last year, I was personally responsible for the adoptions of seven dogs, four kittens, two senior cats and the world’s sweetest yellow cockatiel.
This year, we’ve hosting an extra Adopt-A-Pet event here at the stadium, allowing people to visit and tour Twin Peaks Field and meet the animals. With the help of our fellow SF athletes, we hope to smash our previous years’ adoption and fundraising records.
The party is already in full-swing, with different areas set up with adoptable pets, play areas, information stations, and an area for the few members of the media allowed in. Since we have the entirety of the field to work with instead of just a Macy’s store window, the animal rescue expanded and there’s even a section of farm animals looking for new homes. I spy a row of mats set up and a woman in leggings and a sports bra talking to a pen full of goats, and I know that I’m definitely going to have toget in on the goat yoga I’m sure she’ll be teaching today. I’m ready to make my way over and volunteer as her assistant when I noticemyGoat rolling around on the turf while a pack of adorable mutts paw at his pant legs and lick at his face.
I totally get them, too. Since Sunday, I’ve thought of little else than getting Alex’s pants off and my tongue all over him.
I am no better than a dog, and I’m fine with that.
“Look at you, hogging all the puppies,” I call out as I jog over to him, scooping up a particularly lovable looking chihuahua mix and snuggling him up to my face. Alex beams up at me from the ground.
“It’s not my fault! They recognize me as a kindred spirit. I’m not going to correct them.”
Fuck me, but he is so damn adorable. A black and white, fur-covered headband topped with kitten ears pushes back his messy, dark curls, held in place on the side with two barrettes, the same shade of green as Franny on his waist. A spray of purple glitter freckles decorate the apples of his cheeks and bridge of his nose, and around his neck, he wears a lilac collar with a bow that sits right on top of his Adam’s apple.
I don’tthinkhe intends the collar that he likely pulled out of storage from an old Halloween costumeto be so alluring, but it definitely has my mind going in some dirty directions.
I expected him to be wearing the Thunder branded, football style jersey like the rest of his teammates, but instead he has on a Redwoods home game jersey. Red, gold, and white, with the number 09 plastered across the front.
Fuck me sideways…
“Alex Goat Holmes, are you wearing my jersey?”
He grins, softly shooing away the corgi on his chest so that he can roll over and present his back to me. Yup, there it is. Another number 09 with BAKER spelled out across the top of the jersey in big bold letters. I mean, fuck. It's like he wants me to go all caveman, club him over the head and declare to the whole village that he’s mine, all mine. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Alex. The team owners had special clothes made. I know you have your own Thunder football jersey that you’re supposed to be wearing.”
He pushes to his feet, wiping off his knees that makes me want to drop to mine and clean them off for him, then crosses his arms over his chest.
“Did you know this is my first time at Twin Peaks Stadium? And for my inaugural visit, I wanted to represent my favorite Redwood. Is that a crime? Do you not like it?”
“Alex, baby,” I murmur under my breath, taking a step closer to him. He leans in too, and I can practically feel the hum in his chest at our proximity. “I like it too much. You know as well as I do what it means when the person you like wears your name on their back.”
“I know exactly what it means, El. You remember what I told you the other night, don’t you? I like feeling claimed by you,” he whispers back, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. I want to reach out and run my thumb across it, push past his lips and feel him suck on it the way I want him sucking on my cock. He’s so close, his eyes dark and swirling with lusty mischief, the smell of coffee and peppermint wafting off him and invading my senses. The temptation to reach out and touch him is unbearable. But there are cameras all around us, and we agreed that we’d keep this superstition thing low key, though I don’t think my name on Alex’s back is helping that cause.
Despite the burning in my chest screaming at me to get closer, to touch, to claim him, I tuck my hands in my pockets and rock back on to my heels.
“So, we get to be roaming salesmen today, huh?”
