The Beautiful Game

Chapter Nineteen - Lou

    I can't tell if it's the beer, the heating blasting through the apartment or Carter's close gaze making me sweat. Especially how his huge bicep is bulging against his sweatshirt beside my head on the back of the couch.

    "It's important to notice things like that, I guess. The little things." I try to wipe casually at my forehead, flustered. Stop talking Lou, I beg of you.

    My tendency to overshare with Carter was quite clearly not going anywhere. I'd not spoken so openly about my dad and his sweet hummingbird hobby for a long time; and I'm definitely not in the mood to start psychoanalysing why Carter was getting these things out of me.

    "You seemed to notice, y'know, on your Instagram." I can't help the small scoff that escapes my mouth, because it's the second time he'd admitted to looking through my Instagram account; one that I hadn't posted on in over two years. A blush creeps up my cheekbones as I recall the stupid inconsequential stuff I posted on there.

    "You sure have taken some time looking at my profile huh?" I can't help but smile as the tips of his ears redden and he rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile softening his chiselled features. I chew on the cold noodles, trying to think of anything else besides the fluttering in my stomach, he looked so adorable and- Oh God, did I just describe Carter Hughes as adorable?

    Carter Hughes, athlete, condom hoarder and playboy extraordinaire, is not adorable.

    "Fine, sue me. Why don't you post anymore?"

    "Honestly, it just all got too much, my eighteen followers were pretty demanding." His head tilts back as he laughs, my eyes trace the line of his jaw, greedily travelling down his throat.

   "Got to give the people what they want." He traces the lid of his beer bottle with his thumb, circling and pressing the glass; the rhythmic movement causes a pulse between my legs, and I clench my thighs together to try and stop it. God, why was I becoming a total horn dog for this guy? I set my plate down on the coffee table and pick up my own beer, feeling restless and in need of more alcohol. I decide to steer the conversation away from me.

   "Your Instagram doesn't exactly give much away."

   "I post my nudes under a private account." A snort laugh blasts out before I have a chance to control it, he grins back at me, evidently pleased by my reaction.

    "You know what I mean." He tilts his head inquisitively, willing me to go on. "They're all of you playing football." I say, as explanation.

   "Well, that's all there is." He says matter-of-factly, and for once his eyes aren't focused on my own, he lets them drift to the floor. I can't explain it but the earlier heat I'd felt dissipates with the loss of eye contact, suddenly bereft without the warm, intense gaze.

   "What do you mean?"

   "What else is there?" He nibbles on his full lower lip, and I nudge his arm with my head, willing him to go on. His eyes flicker to the part of his arm that my head connected with, it was a playful gesture that felt natural in the moment, even though it's probably the first time I'd intentionally touched Carter. He coughs lightly before he continues, eyes retrained on the bobbled rug. "I'm a college athlete, I keep my grades up so I can play, I eat the right diet so I can play, and once I've finished college, I'll play until my body gives out and that's that."

   That's that? Surely he had to be kidding?

   Of course, yes, Carter is considered God-like on the football field, the hero worship for this guy was insane.