But she still makes time for me. For sex.
Sex in our bed. Sex bent over the terrace. Sex on the kitchen counter. The kitchen table. In the pantry—the site of the first place we ever had any sort of intimacy outside of a kiss.
It’s a lot of sex as we make up for lost time, and each new experience we share feels better than the ones that came before it as we bond over this new transition in our relationship.
But as we slide into Wild Card Weekend, I know I need to take my foot off the gas just a little even though I don’t want to.
I’m loving this new side to our relationship. But I need rest. I need focus. And I have neither when I’m staying up all hours of the night focusing on my wife’s cunt instead of studying the film my coach gave me.
I need to be prepared, maybe especially because we’re the underdogs. We’re playing in Detroit this weekend, and it’s going to be one of the toughest matchups of the season. But everyone loves a good underdog story, and the Beasts are ready to put up a fight.
If we lose this game, that means our season is over. If we win, we advance to the divisional round, where we’ll face another tough opponent.
I don’t want it to be over.
I want to fight.
But at the same time, I’m ready to have time to focus on Tatum. I’ve never really had this sort of conflict before.
“I hate to even say this, but I need to work tonight,” Tatum says over dinner on Thursday night. “We’re closing in on Lindsay and Devon’s wedding date, and I have so much to do still.”
“Can I help?” I ask before I really think it through. The truth is that I have a lot to do, too.
“I’m sure I can find stuff for you to do, but don’t you have film to review?”
“I do,” I say, shooting her a bit of a guilty look. “I have a lot to review, to be honest. I’ve been focusing on my wife instead of on football.” I pull a face. “I’d rather focus on you, but wehaveto beat the Lions this weekend or we’re out.”
She reaches over and grabs my hand in hers. “I know. So go beat the hell out of them.”
“I wantyou there.”
She looks surprised. “Me?”
“Yeah. I can get you tickets, and I want you there. In my jersey.”
“Won’t it be cold?” she asks, wrinkling her nose at the thought of sitting at the game.
“It’s a climate-controlled dome.”
She laughs. “Oh! Great. Then I’m totally in.”
I chuckle as I text our player engagement staff member that I need a single ticket in the best seat possible for Sunday.
Seeing her there in the stands cheering me on will give me everything I need.
I fly with the team the day before our game, and she flies out later the same evening. I’m busy running through drills and plays, so we don’t get much time to talk. But I did manage to find time to leave a gift in her hotel room just so she’ll know I’m thinking of her.
I know the moment she finds it because I get a text.
Tatum:FORD! This is so perfect.
Me:I’m glad you like it. Can’t wait to see it on.
Tatum:Can I see you?
Me:It’s curfew. I have to stay in my room.
Tatum:I can come to you…
