Sage
Sage
The boys just got back from halftime, and the score is sitting pretty close at 13-7. The Philadelphia Cougars are one of the best teams in the league. They made it to the playoffs last year where the Crusaders fell short. Things seem to be different this year though if preseason is anything to go off.
I watch with rapt attention as the ball is snapped, tossed easily into Trevor’s hands before he scans the field like the professional he is. There are several options for him, but the Cougars seem to be blocking off nearly every offensive man. Trevor’s eyes cut to the right to see Sebastian create some distance from his defender.
Trevor pitches the ball, sending a perfect spiral through the air. It looks high, though, too high. He overshot it. There is no way Sebastian can—
With a catch so solid you can practically hear it from the other side of the field, Sebastian reaches his arms up high, snatching the ball right out of the air before tucking it to his chest. Fucking alright then. I guess that’s what having a 6’6” tight end is good for.
Sebastian’s legs stretch out far, eating up the distance to the endzone. He’s definitely not our fastest guy, I think that title is reserved for Slater, but he is by far the tallest and definitely has the longest legs so he can still cover some distance.
Several guys chase after him, but it’s no use, he makes an easy touchdown, slowing down only once he’s crossed over that white line. All the guys come together in celebration, jumping and patting each other on the back. I can’t help but watch as Trevor comes up to Sebastian, reaching out to pat him on the back to which Sebastian quickly steps out of his reach and jogs over to the ref, leaving Trevor standing there frankly like an idiot as the rest of their team line back up into formation.
A pang of sympathy runs through me as I watch Trevor’s disappointment. He tries to shrug it off, jogging back, but I can see it in his body language. The strained relationship between him and Sebastian hurts him. He knows what he’d have to do to fix it. He can’t let her go, though. Even when he knows she’ll never be his again. Even when he knows Sebastian has every right to hate his guts for wanting his wife. I still can’t help but feel that there is more to the story. I mean, it’s very possible that Sebastian wants nothing to do with him because he’s still in love with Erica, but at the same time it feels like something actually happened. A line was crossed or something, something bigger than some angsty love triangle drama.
I shake my nosy thoughts out of my head, scooting to the side for a better angle as I squat down and begin filming the next play. You never know when you’ll catch something legendary, and though we could always grab some stuff from the streaming of the game, fans seem to be responding well to the first person perspective of the game, like they are here on the sidelines experiencing it.
Two more touchdowns from our team, one by Slater and the other by Jackson and three brutal sacks by Declan, and the game ends. I start packing away the camera and get everything ready to head back to the hotel. Normally the team would head back home after a game, but since this was a later game the team decided to stay in the hotel one more night.
I’m more than okay with it because my back is killing me, and my tits are sore. Unfortunately, that combination can only mean one thing. When I get back to the hotel, I take a long hot shower, change into some comfy clothes only to find out, yep, I was right. The red sea is running, which means it’s officially bitch season for the next three to five days. Thank God I had a few tampons floating around in my purse for emergencies.
Why is it that as soon as you recognize you’re on your period, all the symptoms seem to hit you at once like a freight train? Is it a mental thing? Like your brain allows you to feel it all now. Or does it force you to? Like a placebo thing? Either way, I don’t give a fuck. I just want it gone.
I curl up into a ball in bed, holding my stomach tightly as I mindlessly stare at my comfort show. I swear my vagina is trying to punish me for not giving her a child. Like the dramatic psycho bitch she is apparently, no child means an endless painful blood bath.
Just as my eyes begin to flutter shut, a knock comes from the hotel room door, causing me to groan.
“Go away!” I shout, not giving a fuck who is on the other side.
“It’s me,” Trevor says.
“Hi, you’re the problem, it’s you,” I shout in tune with Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero.”
I hear Trevor’s chuckle as he tries the door handle again.
“C’mon, let me in, Little Raven. I’m bored and want to fuck.”
“Well I don’t,” I snap.
“I’m not going anywhere until you open up,” he says as I hear what I assume is his back leaning against the door.
Grumbling to myself, I toss the blankets to the side, stomping my way across the room like a petulant child. I throw the door open, not giving a fuck what a swamp monster I must look like with wet hair, baggy sweatpants, and a T-shirt three sizes too big for me.
I watch surprise pass across Trevor’s face as he looks me over. I don’t wait around for the insults to roll in before I stomp back over to the bed and crawl under the covers, resuming my fetal position.
“What’s wrong?” Trevor asks as he steps inside, letting the door shut from behind him.
“Nothing,” I huff as I face the TV.
“Obviously it’s something. I’ve never seen you soooo…”
“Choose your words carefully, Michaels,” I say, shooting him a narrowed look as a particularly painful cramp tears through me.
I squint my eyes tightly and groan in pain as he frowns and takes another step closer.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” I grit. “I’m not. Can you just go? Please?”
He shakes his head and crosses his arms.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Why?” I laugh hollowly. “You gonna fix it for me?”
“Maybe, if you’d stop being a pain in the ass, and tell me what to fix.”
“My vagina is bleeding profusely, and my stomach is cramping as my uterus sheds its lining. Can you help with that?” I say with a sickly sweet smile.
Those bright blue eyes round, his face paling as he swallows and shakes his head. What is it with men being squeamish over a little bit of blood? It’s not like they have to deal with it for days every single month.
“Your period?” he asks.
“No shit, detective. Just get out of here. I’ve no doubt you have groupies in every state at the ready. I’m extra pissy when I’m on my period, and I can’t even get comfortable in this stupid hotel room so just leave me alone. Please.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I think he’s about to leave when he surprises me.
“What do you need?”
“What?” I ask.
“What do you need? To feel comfortable?”
I debate on telling him to fuck off, but you know what, if he’s offering help I won’t turn him down.
“I need a heating pad and pain relievers. I want chocolate, buttery popcorn, ice cream, and the softest blanket you can find. Can you do all of that?” I laugh pathetically as another intense cramp cuts me off.
When it subsides, I glance up to see Trevor tapping away on his phone.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait, really?” I ask as he walks over to my dresser, swiping the room key as he goes.
He doesn’t respond, though. Just opens the door, slipping out before letting it shut behind him. Huh. I wasn’t really expecting that. Then again we will see if he even comes back.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, but the next thing I know, I feel a hand gently brushing hair away from my face. My eyes fly open, my heart instantly thundering with fear before I register that it’s only Trevor. I let out a soft, relieved breath before sitting up slowly.
“What time is it?” I ask with a yawn.
“A little after eleven. What do you want first?”
“Of what?”
He takes a few steps to the coffee table to the left of the bed where three overstuffed grocery bags are sitting.
“I didn’t know what kind of ice cream you wanted so I got chocolate peanut butter, mint chip, and cookie dough. Also none of these fucking hotel rooms have a microwave, and you can’t just buy pre-popped popcorn at the store, so I hope you like it from the movie theater,” he says, pulling out a small bag of popcorn that looks like the kind you buy at the concession stand before going to the movies.
“Wait, you went to the movie theater? Just to get me popcorn?”
His brows furrow as he shrugs his shoulders.
“You said it would help.”
I shake my head in disbelief as I run a hand through my hair.
“No, I mean, it’s one of my top five comfort foods. I just can’t believe you actually went out of your way like that, for me.”
Trevor stares at me for a few moments, as if he’s censoring himself before he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I have a lot of least favorite people in this world. You aren’t one of them.”
Aw. I think that’s Trevor speak for he likes me. I’m about to give him shit for it, but then he’s walking over with a tall, fancy water bottle and a bottle of pain relievers, so I decide to keep my mouth shut.
Twenty minutes later, and I have snacks covering nearly every inch of the bed, the most ridiculously soft blanket wrapped around me with a heating pad strapped to my lower stomach as Trevor reaches over and steals a bite of my ice cream while we watch bad 90’s sitcom reruns.
“Thank you,” I say after several silent moments.
Trevor plops the spoon back into the chocolate peanut butter container as he shrugs.
“It was nothing.”
“No, it was actually something. You could have left me to be miserable. Got into some fun with a nameless woman for the night, but instead you chose to be my personal errand boy and that was…cool of you.”
“Cool?” he asks with a chuckle, raising an amused eyebrow at me as does.
I roll my eyes as I shove his shoulder.
“You know what I mean. Stop being a dick, and take the fucking compliment.”
Trevor laughs and shakes his head, nudging me back as he does.
“Anytime, Raven.”
My eyes begin to flutter, as exhaustion from the day begins to take over me. I don’t even know how Trevor is still awake. He’s the one who had a game today. I just took some videos and pictures.
“You crashing?” he asks as he begins gathering up my abandoned snacks and bringing them to the table.
“Yeah,” I say as I snuggle deeper into the bed until I’m fully laying down.
Once the bed is cleared off, I watch as Trevor hesitates, just for a moment before he kicks off his shoes, shucking off his pants and shirt before climbing into the other side of the bed. I don’t say anything and neither does he. I don’t do sleepovers. He’s made it clear he doesn’t either. But does it really break either of our rules if we don’t fuck beforehand? I’m gonna say no because it’s the answer that doesn’t make my brain confused as fuck as to why I don’t mind the idea of sharing a bed with Trevor Michaels tonight.
I shut my eyes, rolling over to face the other direction as the fake audience laughing of the show playing in the background begins to lull me to sleep. I’m almost out completely when I feel the bed shift slightly, and a pair of arms loosely wrap around me. I want to ask him what he’s doing, but when I feel his hand gently rub against my lower stomach, exactly where I’m cramping, I sink into his touch and pass out.