I’ve always loved Sundays, but not for the reasons most people do. Sure, the lazy brunches and late mornings are nice, but for me, it’s all about football—and the kind of plays that don’t happen on the field. Today’s the big day, and as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting the straps of my purple lace bra, I can’t help but grin. This lingerie set? A total touchdown. The thong hugs my hips just right, and the deep violet against my skin is a power move if I’ve ever seen one. I’m not just dressing up for Tom; I’m suiting up for a whole damn team.
I’ve got skills, and I’m not shy about them. Some girls bake cookies to win hearts; I’ve got a different kind of treat in mind. Call me a cocksucker if you want—I’ve heard it before, usually with a gasp or a groan attached—and I’ll wear that title like a crown. Today, I’m surprising Tom’s buddies with a little pre-game entertainment, and I’m buzzing with anticipation. They’ve got no idea what’s coming, and I can’t wait to see their jaws hit the floor.
The living room’s already a mess when I hear the first wave of chaos roll in. Our mismatched couches are buried under a sea of chip bags and empty beer cans, the coffee table a graveyard of last week’s game day sins. The big screen TV blares pre-game commentary, some overpaid analyst droning on about stats while the guys start piling in. I can hear them from the hallway—Oscar’s booming laugh, Isaac’s high-pitched trash talk about the opposing quarterback, Sean’s bottle clinking against Travis’s as they toast to “crushing it this season.” Mickey’s probably already sprawled on the recliner, and Tom, my sweet, smug Tom, is playing host like he’s got the best secret in the world tucked up his sleeve. Spoiler: he does. And it’s me.
I peek out from the hallway, just a quick glance to size up my starting lineup. Oscar’s the big guy, all shoulders and beard, looking like he could bench press the couch. Isaac’s wiry, twitchy, always moving, cracking jokes to hide how nervous he gets. Sean’s the pretty boy, all dimples and charm, while Travis is the quiet one, watching everything with those sharp, dark eyes. Mickey’s the loudmouth, already shouting at the TV, and Tom—well, Tom’s mine, leaning against the wall with that knowing smirk, like he’s already picturing how this is gonna play out. Six of them, one of me. Perfect odds for a girl who knows how to call the shots.
I take a deep breath, smooth my hands over my hips, and step out. The hallway carpet muffles my bare feet until I hit the living room threshold, and then it’s showtime. I strut in mid-play, the game roaring on the screen as some running back fumbles the ball, but the real fumble is the silence that slams down over the room. Six pairs of eyes snap to me, beers halfway to mouths, chips forgotten mid-crunch. The only sound is the TV announcer yelling about a “game-changing mistake.” Oh, honey, you’ve got no idea.
“Well, damn,” I say, planting a hand on my hip and cocking it just so. “What, never seen a girl ready to play ball before?”
Oscar chokes on his beer, a little dribble escaping down his chin as he coughs. Isaac’s eyes are wide enough to pop out of his skull, and Sean lets out a low whistle, his dimples flashing as he leans forward. Travis just stares, unblinking, while Mickey lets out a bark of laughter that cuts through the stunned silence.
“Holy shit, Annie,” Mickey says, shaking his head. “You tryna give us all heart attacks before halftime?”
I smirk, sauntering closer to the coffee table, letting my hips sway with every step. “Heart attacks? Nah, Mickey. I’m more of a full-contact sport. But don’t worry—I play nice. Sometimes.”
Tom chuckles from his spot by the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Told you boys I had a special halftime show lined up. Didn’t I say Annie’s the best host in town?”
“Host?” Isaac finally finds his voice, though it’s a little squeaky. “Man, this ain’t hosting. This is a damn ambush.”
I turn to him, locking eyes with a slow, deliberate smile. “Oh, Isaac, don’t tell me you’re scared of a little ambush. I thought you liked a challenge.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he tries to play it cool with a shaky grin. “Me? Scared? Nah, I’m just… strategizing.”
“Strategizing,” I repeat, dragging the word out as I step closer to the couch where he’s perched. “Cute. But let’s get one thing straight—I call the plays here. And trust me, I’ve got a winning game plan.”
Sean leans back, spreading his arms along the couch like he owns the place, but I can see the way his eyes flicker over me, hungry and a little unsure. “So, what’s the deal, Annie? You just gonna stand there looking like a goddamn snack, or are we playing for real?”
I laugh, sharp and bright, and point a finger at him. “Patience, pretty boy. I’ve got rules, and you’re all gonna follow ‘em. First rule: no touching unless I say so. Second rule: once you’re in, there’s no backing out. Got it?”
Travis finally speaks, his voice low and steady, cutting through the tension like a knife. “And if we don’t play by your rules?”
I turn to him, meeting that intense gaze head-on, and let my voice drop to a purr. “Then you sit on the bench, Travis. And trust me, you don’t wanna miss this game.”
The room crackles with a mix of nervous laughter and raw anticipation. Tom’s smirk widens, and he gives me a little nod, like he’s handing me the reins. Which, let’s be real, I already took.
I scan the lineup again, deciding where to start, and my eyes land on Oscar. He’s still fidgeting with his beer can, his big hands making it look tiny, his cheeks a little red under that scruffy beard. Perfect. I step toward him, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch until it’s just me, him, and the hum of the TV in the background.
“Oscar,” I say, my voice dripping with playful seduction as I stop right in front of him. “You look like a man who needs a little warm-up before the big play. What do you say—ready to kick things off?”
He blinks up at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, while the others burst into a mix of laughter and jeers. Mickey slaps his knee, hollering, “Oh, man, she’s got you, Osc! Don’t fumble now!”
I lean down just enough to let him feel the heat of my presence, my smile sharp as a blade. “Don’t listen to them, big guy. Focus on me. We’re just getting started.”
The room holds its breath, half-stunned, half-eager, as Oscar’s nervous grin flickers. I’ve got them right where I want them, and this game? It’s only just begun.
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