Finding Infinity (22 page)

I finally decide to be a man and crawl my sick, pathetic ass out of the bathroom, and get back in bed.

Not too much later, the doorbell rings and Charlie races off to answer it. In walks my head coach, head doctor, trainer, offensive coordinator, quarterback coach and general manager. Apparently, we’re having a fucking powwow at Casa de McKinney.

The trainer quickly hooks up the IV and gives me the anti-nausea pills, which I promptly vomit into the garbage can that Charlie’s placed next to my side of the bed. He goes for plan B, which clearly should have been plan A, and hooks up a bag to the IV.

Then they all begin discussing me like I’m a used car at a dealership. Even Charlie joins in, tossing about her two cents. This just pisses me off.

“I have strep.” I manage to croak out.

“His fever was one hundred and four degrees. He’s been vomiting almost nonstop since I picked him up. I think Monday is a long shot,” Charlie pipes up.
Way to be on my side, babe. Traitor
!

“I’ve never missed a game. Not going to do it now,” I say, and then I add more vomit to the garbage can. I will my stomach to calm the fuck down. I get it. I’m an idiot, but do I really have to keep puking? “Seriously guys, I’m fine. I’ve played through the flu before. I’ve played through injuries much worse than this. Give me until tomorrow.” Then, I look at Coach. “Give me until tomorrow. Have I ever let you down?”

He smiles at me, and says, “No, son. No, you haven’t.”

It’s agreed. I have until noon tomorrow to be fever-free and rehydrated. I can do it. To be on the safe side, the doctor is sending someone to stay with us overnight. I remind them that my wife is a doctor, but no one seems to care.

Once they leave, I turn the TV back on and pray that my news story has already passed. Not so much. I get to see it in high resolution no less than four more times.

Charlie waits on me, hand and foot. I get chicken broth, which I manage to keep down. Next are two grape popsicles that taste like heaven and feel incredible on my burning throat, and finally, I get to have my girl snuggled against me. She changes my IV bags, and helps me get to the bathroom, dragging my pole, so I can piss out all the liquid they’re giving me.

By nightfall, I feel like a new person. Okay, not a brand-new, healthy person, but I feel like I might live. I’m not ready to throw a ball just yet, but my stomach has settled. My head has quit pounding, and my throat is burning less.

There’s one thing on my mind. My girl is ovulating. Are we really going to keep a little thing like strep throat from getting in the way of baby making? “Hey, Charlie. Why don’t you come crawl on my dick and ride me like the cowgirl you are?”

“I don’t want to get puked on again,” she quips, raising her eyebrow.

“No, honey. This time it’ll be my dick that does the spitting,” I tease.

“Ew…gross, Colin. I don’t want your cum. It’s got strep,” she says, in her best little-girl-at-the-playground voice.

“Hey! I thought I got this from you?” I ask.

“You probably did,” she says with concern on her face. “I’ll do a better job of showering at the hospital, and when I get home.”

“Well, next time, can you keep your germs at the hospital? Now, what about our problem?”

“The only problem that we have is that you’re sick, and now, apparently, horny. I’m not helping you with the latter.”

My dick’s now standing up like a fucking flagpole. “Come on, Charlie. I’m not nauseous. I kept down my dinner. Please come ride my dick? Please, with cherries on top?” I beg, in the least pathetic way possible raising my eyebrows and then looking down at my cock

“What makes you think that I want to fuck you? I’ve watched you get sick all day. That’s not a huge turn on for me. Sorry.” She rolls her eyes and looks back at the TV.

God, she’s killing me. I love her smart mouth, but right now, I wish that I didn’t have a needle in my arm so I could give it a good fucking. I take matters into my own hands.
Literally.
I know how to turn her on. She won’t get me off? That’s what I have a perfectly good hand for. She likes her masturbation game? Well, two can play at that.

I reach my hand under the covers and begin stoking my dick in the rhythm that she likes so much. “Oh God, that feels so good,” I moan. “I’m picturing you dancing on my dick like the night in New Orleans after the club. You were so tight around me.” I continue pumping myself with the hand that doesn’t have a needle in it. “You remember how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the club, and how you almost fucked me in the back of the cab on the way back to the hotel?”

This may have started out as a seduction game, but I’m seriously about to blow my load all over our sheets. “Remember? Your beautiful tits fit perfectly in my hand,” I spit out the words in the middle of a jerk. “That song on repeat. Your pussy against my nose and mouth. You tasted like heaven and rainbows,” I say, as I jerk my cock. I’ve pulled my own pork probably a million times. I don’t think that I’ve been this hard. I see her, staring at me, as she slips her right hand in her panties.

“Don’t do this, baby, to prove a point. I need you on my dick. You need my dick inside of you. It’s not wrong if we both want it.”

She pauses her ministrations and looks at me. I can tell that she’s thinking about it. “Okay, I’ll ride you, but you have to tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“The only thing’s that uncomfortable is my throbbing dick. I need to fuck you, like, right now. It hurts. Climb on.”

She does so, very gingerly. I can tell that she’s trying not to cause too much motion, and that’s not going to work for me. I grab her hips and move her onto my dick. Fuck! It feels so good when her wet pussy grabs onto my cock pulling me in deeper.

“Rub your clit, Charlie, I’m going to cum,” I instruct her, but, I sound more like a teenage boy seeing his first pussy, than a happily married, thirty-something-year-old man. She reaches down, and I see her pinch her clit and hold it between her two fingers while she rides me to her ecstasy. I come with her in a fireworks-quality moment.

Once we’re done, she climbs off of me as if I’m breakable. She settles herself next to me, and says, “I don’t think that’s what Coach meant when he said take it easy.”

I laugh, and wish that I could kiss her smartass mouth. Sex with Charlie is perfection, but not kissing her while we make love leaves me wanting more. More incentive to get better. I need my girl’s lips pressed against mine.

“Now, tilt your hips up. Keep my jiz inside, baby,” I order.

* * * *

By noon the next day, I’m back at practice. I’m not in the heat, and we’re just tossing the ball, but I’m here. I prove to them all that I can start the game. I remove the doubt, and that’s what matters.

Monday, I’m not a hundred percent, but even at ninty percent, I’m better than most of the starting quarterbacks in the NFL. Not bragging. It just is how it is.

A lot of teams make the players sleep in a hotel near the stadium the night before home games. They want to ensure that players aren’t boozing it up, or getting into trouble. My team only makes the players that have raised red flags stay at the hotel.

Which makes me fucking ecstatic. Between practice, public appearances, fan nights, banquets, film watching, and sponsor demands, I’ve seen Charlie not more than a couple of hours at a time since we got married and training camp began.

Getting sick sucked sweaty balls, but at least Charlie and I got to spend twelve hours together, which was like a Christmas gift.

Tonight isn’t Charlie’s first time seeing me play since we got married—God, I fucking love saying that word. She’d been to all the preseason games, but I usually only played the first half, and then Coach gave the backups some playing time. This is the first real game that she’s been to. I have a suite box, for my family and friends. It’s on a secure part of the floor. The last thing I need to worry about is some drunk asshole fan getting near her; or, worse yet, some of my crazy fans. She’ll be safely tucked in a secure box with Jenny and Brad, her family, and my parents. Jamie, my security guy, will take care of everything.

Time to concentrate on the matter at hand. It’s fucking game time. The last thing that I do before I walk out on the field is slip my wedding ring off. I had planned on wearing it on my right hand, but Charlie threw a fit. I got a lecture about how dangerous it was, etc. I’m sure that what she said made perfect sense, because it usually does, but it doesn’t change the fact that I hate being without it. I place it gently in the pocket of the pants that I wore to the stadium. That way, I know where it is, there’s no chance of it getting lost, and I can easily grab it and put it on after the game.

First game of the season. No stopping until the last game in New Orleans, with confetti raining down on us. It’s Showtime.

* * * *

When there’s a late game like Monday Night Football, I don’t leave the stadium until way after midnight. Before I put Big Bertha in reverse, I send Charlie a text.

Me:
Headed home. Not sure if you’re still awake
.

I wait for a couple of minutes to see if she’s going to reply. When she doesn’t, I go ahead and start my trek.

Before I was with Charlie, after a game I would go home, sit in my giant bathtub, filled with Epsom Salts, and drink about a gallon of water. Now, I don’t know what to expect. Will she be asleep? Is she waiting for me? My parents, Amy, and Julie, are staying at our house. Are they up and wanting to chat? God, I hope not.

It doesn’t matter how good a condition I’m in, taking the hits to my ribs never gets any easier. Since I’ve been playing they’ve improved the padding, so there’s a little more cushion, but a three hundred and fifty pound guy crashing into my side is brutal, no matter what I’ve wrapped myself with.

When I pull up to my house, there’s no spot for me to park in the driveway. I make a note to ask Charlie to remind her family to park on the street. As I climb out of Bertha, I can feel my body starting to get sore. I sort of hobble, but not really, because I’m fucking fine, through the back gate entrance and into the backyard.

My hot tub, which is separate from the pool and closer to our bedroom, is turned on, and the bubbles are making quite an inviting sound. It’s dark out, but the moon is providing enough light that I see a head just above the edge.

“Hello, my love. Care to join me?” It’s the sweetest voice that I’ve heard all night.

I walk over to the hot tub and see that she’s alone—thank God. Her hair is piled on top of her head in some sort of a messy knot. She’s got a yellow string bikini on that barely covers her nipples. Do I want to get into the hot tub with my almost naked wife? Is that even a question?

“Are we alone?” Please, God, let her say yes.

“Everyone is asleep,” she says, giving me a sexy little smile.

I take off my practice shorts and shirt. I leave my clothes lying nearby, in case someone comes out here to piss all over my night.

She’s got a champagne bucket that someone sent us for a wedding gift filled with five one-liter bottles of water. “I don’t think that’s what Waterford intended it to be used for?” I slide into the hot water, and let out a low moan. Why had I never thought of this before? It beats my bathtub, hands down.

Charlie slides next to me, and carefully rests her head on my chest. “Great game tonight.”

“Thanks,” I say. I can feel my muscles loosening.

She reaches behind me and grabs a bottle of water out of the bucket, opens it, and hands it to me. She sits up and begins speaking, in her know-it-all way. “I was a tad perplexed as to why you chose to throw the ball on fourth and two at the eight yard line. The defense clearly was expecting it. If I were you…”

I put my hand over her mouth. “Shut up, Charlie.”

There’s enough light from the moon that I can see her face. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her chin is tilted toward her chest. I can tell that she doesn’t have a clue if she should be angry at me, or how to respond.

“Football stays at the stadium. I’ve already been questioned about every fucking play that I made tonight by the press. I don’t need a game critique from my wife.” I sigh, and lay my head back on the cool flagstone. I hope that I didn’t sound like a dick, but damn, I don’t want to talk about the game. I finish the bottle of water, crush it, and toss it somewhere near our bedroom door.

She changes tactics. “What are you doing when they announce your name and you run out of the tunnel, and then take a seat on the bench and drop your head?”

I need quiet and solitude after a game. I don’t like talking about anything, and now she’s feeling all chirpy. “I say a quick prayer, thanking God that he’s blessed me with the ability that I have. I also ask Him to watch over me and my team, and protect us from injury. I conclude with a blessing for the fans that have come and ask Him to watch over their safety on their way home.”

“You pray?” she asks, as her eyes grow wide with surprise.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t know that you prayed. I’ve never thought of you as religious. I mean, I know that you believe in God and stuff, but I…” I take her mouth to shut her up. My gorgeous wife is dressed in something skimpier than her bra and panties, sitting in our hot tub, and I’m naked. The last thing that I want to do is talk about my relationship with God.

She pulls away first. “Message received.” Charlie climbs onto me, straddling my lap. She’s careful to not touch my ribs. She places her hands on my cheeks. “I don’t know what you want me to do after games. Should I talk to you? Should I leave you alone? Do you want to be touched?”

I lean forward and give her a peck on the lips. “I always want to be touched.” I lean back and watch her tits are bobbing up and down with the bubbles. She looks like raw, pure, sex and it doesn’t go unnoticed by my dick. “I just need to
be
for a little while, but I can be with you.”

She seems content with my answer and crawls off my lap, snuggling into my side and being cautious of my ribs. I wrap my arm around her, and just concentrate on nothing. I don’t think about the win, or my game stats. After a game is the only time that I can just zone out and not think about anything. Tomorrow, the coaches will hammer me for my mistakes, and then we’ll start preparing for the next game. I need my couple of hours now.