Kitchen-trashing habits aside, Ellie's lunch was amazing. I wasn't sure what magical potion she'd put in it but, with my content, full stomach, I passed out fast asleep for a pre-practice nap.
After just a few days on Ellie's food, I already felt a difference. My body felt lighter, almost cleaner. Since I'd gotten very little sleep last night from Ellie's air mattress tossing, the nap left me renewed while I drove over to Huskies' stadium and parked among the other player's cars.
"You should be giving me rides, new guy," Wes tossed out to me from the other side of his older, silver Audi.
"I'm too old for hazing," I joked but stuck out my fist and he bumped it with his. "Like stealing my clothes."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "I was just the diversion, pretty boy."
"Right." I shook my head but chuckled while we walked towards the locker room together. I wasn't amused by their stupid prank but it had sure worked in my favor when Ellie showed up and got flustered when she saw me naked.
My good mood lasted about five seconds when I saw a tall, thin blonde leaned against the brick wall across from the locker room. One of her knees was bent, which lifted her tiny skirt even higher and the smirk she flashed me deepened my frown.
All she got from me in return was a frown and mumbled, "Fuck, she's persistent."
"Angel Benson?" Wes groaned slightly. "Ever want to see Charlie go postal then put the two of them in the same room."
"Ellie wasn't fond of her either." A smile tugged on my mouth at the memory of how Ellie kissed me at the grocery store.
I'll reject every girl over and over if that's what I get in return.
Despite Angel's eyes on me, I ignored her and held the door open for Wes.
"You apologize yet, bro?" Wes interrupted my thoughts while the bleach-based cleaners of the locker room filled my nose. Our shoes softly squeaked over the clean floors while we headed to our lockers.
UW's locker room was different from any one I'd seen. It was recently renovated, all the lockers were white, and each locker had an LED TV screen with the player's name, number, and position over it. The walls were lit up LED screens with a purple tinted rock pattern and a closer look at the black ceilings showed it was an up close projection of a black and white Husky's face.
There were three aisles of lockers but in the middle was a recessed circle that had an inset block 'W' lit up in white lights. Everything screamed state-of-the art and edgy.
"Not yet." I sighed at his persistence and dropped my stuff at my locker. "Soon."
"Good," he gritted out while his bag hit his locker seat with a thud. "Charlie wants to do some get-together on Friday. I don't want to spend it rearranging your face if I don't have to."
"Don't think that's in anyone's best interest," I grumbled and quickly changed into my practice uniform. All week the offensive side had worn our away purple jerseys with gold pants, which I slid on over my protective gear, tied up my black cleats, and slipped on my black gloves.
As some of the first guys to arrive, Wes and I stretched and warmed up with a few tosses across the practice field. I left my helmet off to the side since Coach Peterson had established already that Emmitt was the starter for Saturday's opener against Oregon.
"LT!" Coach's voice boomed out to me. My head snapped in his direction and saw he stood near the player's bench, then waved for me to come over. Our tall, broad-shouldered coach with his side-swept gray hair had both hands clasped around a tablet when I approached.
I trotted silently over until we stood a few feet apart, close enough that I saw the frown that etched over his face. "Yeah, Coach?"
"Put your helmet on, you're doing all the snaps in practice today," he replied in a straight, no-nonsense tone.
"Yes, Coach," I autopiloted my response but looked at him silently like he'd offer an explanation. "Is Emmitt -"
"Emmitt's still starting," was all he said. "Just getting his ankle checked out. I need to see if you're going to finish for him, that's all."
"Yes sir." I held back the grin that wanted to explode on my face.
For the next ninety minutes, I pushed myself through every snap, play, and setup. My feet burned up the turf, my adjustments were spot on, and while a couple of plays broke down, I hadn't fumbled once.
I had noticed through the entire practice that the offensive guys were a step slower than me, so I lingered for an extra step for compensation. While we moved the ball efficiently, the adjustment made me incredibly uncomfortable, like we'd squandered every one of those extra seconds.
"LT!" Coach Vaughn, the quarterbacks coach, grabbed my attention when his whistle blew shrilly at one point. My hand ripped open my chin strap, then I jogged over to his position next to Coach Donovan on the sidelines with my teeth gnashed into my mouth guard.
"Tell me what I'm seeing here." Coach Donovan, a tall, thin, and bald man who was the Huskies' offensive coordinator, lifted one hand at the field.
"Excuse me Coach?" My eyes roamed over the guys, where the offensive linemen stood half hunched over and gasped for air. Darrius Williams was in the most pain and, at one point, practically bathed himself in Gatorade for some extra electrolytes. Some of the wide receivers however, kicked out their legs like they itched for more yardage.
"Potential." His clipboard hit me flush in my chest and rattled my protective gear. "Untapped. These guys are used to Emmitt, who's a step slower. Make them play with you, not you play with them."
Under my helmet, my eyebrows raised. "How do I do that?"
"Start with the receivers." He thumped a ball into my gut. "Throw it out of their reach."
"Quickest way to make friends," I half-joked, half grumbled but nodded and jogged back to the line of scrimmage.
On the next setup, a long post-route for Wes, I stretched out the offensive line. After the snap, I dropped back one step, paused, and planted my stance. At the flash of Wes' number eleven, I wound up and threw the ball in a trajectory that was two yards past his anticipated current route. He broke away from the defensive cornerback and had room to move, but all I could do once the ball left my hand was stand as a spectator and see how he adjusted.
After a visible 'oh shit' correction in his stride, Wes' legs churned up a notch faster. He almost closed the gap but the ball brushed over his finger tips. A few stumbled steps later, he tripped and a round of expletives left his mouth that I'm pretty sure was heard all the way up in the press box.
"Trying to overthrow me?" He snarled at me back in the huddle.
"Nope." I grinned maniacally at him. "Same route, next time catch it."
"Asshole." With his hands on his thighs, he panted a few breaths, then nodded. The burn of competitiveness in his eyes, the hunger that fed all of us to push ourselves and succeed, contradicted his words and I reset the play.
This time, I dropped back, set my stance wide, then arc'd a perfect spiral in exactly the same direction. With the element of expectation, Wes easily out ran his tired defender, pumped his legs hard the entire route, and the ball sailed cleanly into his grasp. With twenty yards to go, Wes did all the rest but I still punched my fist up into the air when he crossed over the endzone, then dunked the ball over the goal post.
When I looked back at the bench, Coach Peterson now stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Coaches Donovan and Vaughn. While they looked physically nothing alike, since Coach Vaughn was a younger, dark-skinned guy from Tennessee, their matching purple golf shirt and brown khaki pants gave them some solidarity. After one wave of Coach Donovan's hand, I was back in front of them.
"Better." Coach Vaughn firmly nodded, then shifted his dark brown eyes up to Coach Peterson. His eyes tracked over a tablet and I recognized the playback of both plays side-by-side.
A pair of steely, light brown eyes lifted to mine. "Think you could've timed that even faster?"
"Yes Coach." With the right setup, we could've gotten the play off at least a half a second faster, which during a game might've made all the difference.
"Glad you see that," he said absently and replayed the play again. "Good mechanics, threw the ball higher since Wes was still a step behind, you're making me excited at how difficult a decision I have here, LT. Julian, give the guys two laps to run, then hit the showers."
Coach Vaughn jogged out onto the field and relayed the message. While I turned for my laps, Coach Peterson stopped me with an arm on my shoulder. "Not you, LT. Rest your legs for today, you might need them on Saturday."
My grin couldn't have gotten any wider. "Yes, Sir."
Coach Peterson clarified in the locker room after practice that, despite how Emmitt wasn't present because of a doctor's appointment, he was definitely the starter on Saturday. While I was definitely disappointed by the news, I slapped a happy enough expression for a show of support for the team.
I kept to myself afterwards, definitely locked my locker during my shower, and left quickly. I stepped past a few crowds of girls, called out to Charlie and Monique that their guys were right behind me, and headed out with my head down in a solitude that continued the whole ride back to the apartment and up the stairs.
A warm, inviting smell filled my nose while I walked down the hall to our apartment and pulled me out of my thoughts about football. Not surprisingly, the smell hit me harder when I entered, so I jokingly called out, "Honey, I'm home!"
My bag hit the floor right at my feet with a thud when I saw Ellie. She sat at the dining room table, right by the door, and held her face in her hands. When she lifted them off, her eyes were red and puffy with irritation and her lips looked pale and dried out.
"Ellie?" Within one breath, I knelt down and looked at her. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah." She sniffled quietly, then dropped her eyes like she was embarrassed. Before I called her bluff, she closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her forehead like she had a headache. "I talked to Dr. Sterns, sometimes it's a bit intense."
A sense of helplessness spread through me as I pushed myself up and stood over her. The old me would've wrapped her in my arms until her tears dried or brushed them away but I didn't know if that's what she wanted. Her dark eyes opened and swirled with a lot of emotion until a sense of doubt and apprehension flashed over them, but I just stood over her like a dumbass.
I hate this.
Instead of how we just absorbed the awkward silence, once she stood up, I leaned over and wrapped her into a hug anyways. Her spine tensed with a quick deep breath in, then she relaxed against me. Her small hands lifted up to my lower back and my heart thumped wildly when her head rested against my chest.
"Whatever it is, we can talk about it if you want," I mumbled quietly and rubbed my hand in gentle circles across her lower back.
At my words, Ellie's whole body stiffened, then jerked against me and snapped us both back to reality. The disruptive movement was a sober reminder of where we were with each other.
Ellie half-released, half-pushed me away and looked up at me with a wide-eyed, uncertain gaze. That look became one that I worried I'd see for longer than I was comfortable with and my fists clenched when the awkwardness returned between us.
"I just need to process... everything," she said quietly. "I usually get a slight headache, so I'll get some Tylenol then fix up dinner."
"What's left to do for dinner?" A sense of concern filled me at the sight of her state versus how easily she dismissed whatever floated around in her head.
A small lift of the corners of her mouth preceded her teasing, "Says the guy who sliced his fingers."
"I can do it," I promised and wiggled my no longer taped up fingers at her.
I smiled to myself and inspected the fingers I'd cut on her kitchen death slicer. I'd done fine when she watched me, but the second she'd gone and done something else, I'd gotten distracted. Ellie was like a miniature tornado in the kitchen, she tore through bowls, utensils, and food, then left a horrible mess behind and moved onto the next one. She was all over the place, on the counters, in the fridge, the stove, I'd found my eyes tracked her movements more than mine, which resulted in... cut fingers.
"Take some medicine or go lay down in my bed," I offered to Ellie.
Her eyes stretched wider at the words 'my bed' but she cocked her head slightly sideways then looked like she considered the idea. After a few silent moments, she gave me a soft smile. "Actually, if I could just take a shower, that'll help."
"Go on." I nodded at the bathroom. "What can I do for dinner?"
She rubbed her forehead again. "The chicken needs to be shredded and mixed up in the crock pot veggies. I was going to make quinoa and steamed broccoli with pine nuts, with a little salt, pepper, and butter."
"I think I can handle that," I assured her, although everything after 'crock pot' was a little doubtful.
What the hell is keen-wah?
"Really?" Her voice came out so softly, almost like she was in awe I'd even offered. I couldn't help when I chuckled at her reaction.
"I'll try not to burn the kitchen down." I flashed a smile that hadn't reflected the uncertainty I felt inside at the idea I screwed up one of Ellie's recipes. "Go."
"Thanks..." She disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later, she went into the bathroom and I looked over what was left in the kitchen.
Ellie had everything set up, which included cooking utensils and plates. I removed the crock pot lid to a face full of steam, then removed the whole chicken and set it on a plate. While I poked at it with a fork, the meat literally fell apart until I looked at a carcass. I just put the meat back in the crockpot, mixed everything, and put the lid back on.
"Not bad," I complimented myself like I'd actually done anything, then looked around for whatever the hell keen-wah was.
"Keen-wah..." I muttered what she'd said and looked all over the cabinets. I found a bag of pine nuts in one spot and leftover broccoli from Ellie's chicken parm in the fridge, but nothing other than a random white box on the counter that said 'quinoa' on the side.
An embarrassing Google search later, I followed the box's instructions then threw in Ellie's broccoli and pine nuts into the pan on the stove. By the time everything looked edible, Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway and the sight of her knocked the breath out of me.
She wore what looked like a thin nightshirt and shorts. The longer I stared, the more I realized she wasn't wearing a bra. She flashed nothing but my hormone-driven mind needed no stretch of imagination and interest stirred in me. Her dark hair hung straight down over both her shoulders and almost looked black from being damp. The bend from how her hair curved over her breasts fogged my brain for a moment and I feared my jaw had dropped along with my blood pressure.
"Kitchen isn't burned down," she teased, pulled her hair back with a slight arch of her back that tested my paper-thin resolve not to ogle her breasts, and stepped closer. As the gap between us narrowed, my fists tightened and I realized I'd grabbed onto the counters. If I hadn't thought I'd known her better, then I would've assumed she knew she affected me and teased me on purpose.
"Feeling better?" I choked out in a voice that reminded me more of how I'd sounded when I'd gone through puberty. My usual choice of sweatpants hadn't done me any favors at how the longer I stared at Ellie, definite urges built up inside me.
"I am," her voice flowed around me as one of her hands gently rested on my side. "Much better, thanks. I might have used all the hot water though, sorry."
My breath stalled when her breasts rubbed a horizontal line of friction across my back as she squeezed past me. A light-headed feeling came over me when all the blood drained out of my brain and warmth flooded into my groin.
Fuck, this isn't good.
"I showered after practice." I forced the words out because, at this point, my shower would've been cold anyways.
I was glad she seemed calmer though. Since I didn't want to make Ellie uncomfortable, I pressed my hips into the counters and stifled a groan at the pressured contact that my growing erection appreciated.
Desperate for a mental distraction, I asked, "Did I do okay with... dinner?"
"Perfect." Her dark eyes shone and her full, pink lips that also grabbed my attention separated into a sweet smile.
Before I blinked, one of her bare knees lifted between us. She climbed right up and knelt on the counter near my right hand grip. My eyes dragged upwards from the slight curve in her thighs to the swell of her ass right at my chest height. In about two seconds, my cock swelled in appreciation of her tiny shorts and close-up view of her smooth skin.
I was done for when her breasts, covered by her thin shirt, dropped into my view as she lifted her arms up. My thoughts were nowhere about dinner when she pulled out two plates from the upper cabinets and handed them down to me.
"Ellie..." My throat nearly strangled itself on her name. My hand moved on its own so I steadied her but instead brushed over the warm, soft skin of her outer thigh. I was lucky the plates weren't broken when I took them from her.
Once I set the plates, I wasn't sure, possibly on the floor, my white-knuckled grip on the counters returned. Internally, I fought through the suggestive urges that spread outward from my groin like a network of lust. If my hardon wasn't embarrassing enough, her shirt rode up slightly as she lifted her arms overhead again. On Ellie's next reach up for glasses, my hand decided the side of her waist was where it wanted to be.
I'm definitely putting all the plates and glasses on the top shelf.
"Short people problems." She winked over her shoulder at me, then handed down two glasses, which I set aside somewhere. All I saw was that small sliver of skin under her navel before she jumped down, sort of with my help, then tortured me again when she reached around me for the plates. My balls ached when her breasts rubbed over my bicep in the process.
"Good thing you have a tall roommate then," I joked but internally my brain had gone to mush.
"Hope you're hungry," she teased and set two plates of food. With the most innocent look in those dark, doe-shaped eyes, she cocked her head towards the dining room table and asked, "Coming?"
Trying not to Ellie, trying not to.