1
Kane
It was seventeen to thirteen and we had the ball. Bottom of the fourth quarter, with less than a minute left on the clock and zero time outs remaining.
That was my moment. The moment I lived for. The moment I always played for.
Coach called for a screenplay and we lined left. The fat fucker across from me lifted his head and pointed directly at me. Mistake. I knew he was coming for me.
I glanced at Aaron on my right and then Joe on my left. They both nodded, letting me know they had my back. No one would get through them.
“Down set. Hut one. Hut two. Hike,” I called.
I caught the ball as the center spiked it backward between his legs. I took a step back and tapped the ball, searching the field for an open player. I scanned from one side to the other.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No one was open.
Some people panic in moments like that, but not me.
The adrenaline pumped through my veins and I saw the field with perfect clarity. Every one of my teammates was covered. Two guys barreled down on me fast from the right as my head jerked the opposite way. That was when my focus was the sharpest. When I could see what no one else could. The tiniest opening just to my left ahead about three yards.
I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t afford to second-guess my gut. Ever.
My feet kicked into gear, racing against time, against the defense, and against the clock. I squeezed through the sliver of space and then swerved to the right, avoiding the arms of a grizzly linebacker. I could see the end zone ahead. The goal post beckoning me like a lover’s arms.
Ten yards to go.
Five.
Two.
I crossed the line of white chalk, hurling my body forward. The stadium erupted in screams and cheers. I was pretty damn sure they were chanting my name after that touchdown.
The team rushed the field and somewhere, one of the guys poured a jug of Gatorade over the coach’s head in fun. I was clapped on the shoulder and smacked on the ass so many times I lost count as we made our way to the locker room.
We were one game closer to playoffs.
“Hell of a game, Kane. Hell of a game.”
I nodded at Coach as he veered off toward the administrative offices. I ducked into the locker room, knowing it would be a fucking circus inside.
This was where the real party began.
It was already out of control. Beer cans cracked open. The music blasted.
I was in fucking heaven.
“You going out with us?” Joe asked, slapping a towel toward me.
“Yeah, Kane. You going?”
I faced my two linemen. It was a stupid question. I cracked a smile and they both laughed.
“I’ve got press, then I’ll meet you out.” The shower was calling my name.
“You fucking know it.” They bumped fists and I had a feeling tonight was going to be epic.
The hot spray of the shower slid against my tired muscles. My high from the game faded and in its place was an aching and soreness that could only be replaced by the thought of the after party.
Coming down off of a win always sucked. The thrill faded and the adrenaline subsided far too quickly, leaving me searching for other ways to fulfill my lust for the rush.
Not many other things in this world could equal the same kind of buzz I got when scoring on the field, but one of them came pretty damn close.
I loved chasing women.
Actually, I loved what I got to do with the women after I caught them. The chase was just part of the game they liked to play. I called it a game because they all wanted to be caught. They just liked to play a little hard to get.
I had yet to find a woman who could be honest and up front about what she wanted. They liked to think they were going to be the one to finally snag the infamous Kane Hawkins. I let them believe whatever crazy fairytales they drummed up, when in reality I just wanted to fuck.
I was a sex junkie. I never denied it.
All of my time off the field was spent getting wasted or getting my freak on. My agent, Savannah James, hated it and advised me quite regularly that I shouldn't be so free with the dick, but it was a part of who I was. If I saw a woman in need, then I felt like it was my duty to help her out.
Savannah said I was her biggest pain in the ass and that was saying something. She represented some pretty big douches, but their antics were preschool compared to mine.
My reputation started in high school. I was caught under the bleachers by the school principal fucking a hot ass redhead that just so happened to also be my biology teacher.
Twice.
Yeah.
That didn't end so well, but it fueled my reputation. A reputation I was proud of.
Playboy.
Asshole.
I'd been called it all. There was a time I used to let it bother me, but those times had long since passed.
There was no reason to change. Why should I?
I intended to die in the throes of passion when I was eighty with a twenty-something little minx. A bachelor until the day I died.