Charles "Chip" Conway
Sometimes They Come Back
I sat down with a small smile, clapping my hands and nudging a pal of mine as the football team ran out onto the field. I kept an eye out for number 72, only nudging my friend when he appeared. I stood up with the rest of the kids in our grade, stomping and clapping and shouting. Chip ran out, fingers clasping his helmet as he held it up, ruining his voice before the game even began. The game hype was, as usual, insane throughout the two hour time span. When the game ended, Chip hopped over the fence to the crowd, hoisting me up in his arms and kissing me, getting loud cheers from our fellow students, and disgusted glances from the older members of the audience. He set me down and I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his curly hair, moving it from his forehead.
He exchanged handshakes and hugs with his team mates, getting congratulations from their parents on winning the last football game they needed to go to state. After shaking hands with Bill's mom, he looked to me, "You ready to go, hot stuff?"
"Yeah, let's get out of here."
He smiled a little, saying goodbye to his friends and whatnot. He wrapped an arm around the back of my shoulders lazily, and I wrapped mine around his waist, putting my other hand on his chest as we walked to the parking lot. Most everyone was gone now except for the football players and their groups of friends. Most adults had left by now, and the parking lot was occupied with people rather than vehicles. I sat on the hood of his car and he stood in front of me with his back turned. He pulled his jersey over his head and I helped him take his shoulder pads off.
I held them up and he ducked, tucking his arms in and turning around, fluffing his white t-shirt out from his sweat-stained body. I held his shoulder pads and he stood over me, pushing his lips to mine. I put a hand on his chest before shoving him back, "You need a shower. Talk about Sweat City."
He laughed, taking the shoulder pads from my hand and opening the passenger door before throwing the plastic piece in the trunk with his helmet. I sat down and slammed the door. He opened it again, crawling over my lap and into the driver seat. I laughed, slapping his rear, "You're ridiculous!"
He only smiled proudly. Once sitting in his seat properly, he kicked the engine up, roaring it a little before stomping on the gas. Without slowing down, he swerved onto the main road, looking to me with raised brows, "You know I made half of those touchdowns tonight! Scored 23 points all by my lonesome!"
I laughed a little, rolling down the window, and setting my arm on the sill. He continued talking about his game, and I merely watched him. His eyes darted to me, then back to the road, "You know, I think we should have some celebratory sex."
I let out a loud laugh, "You always think we should have celebratory sex. Remember when you got an A on that essay and you wanted celebratory sex? And when you got a passing grade in math? Or what about that time-"