Six Summers to Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

“You want me to wear his jersey? Doesn’t that seem…I don’t know…desperate?” Olivia laughs. “You like him, Harper. Let him know you like him. Plus, I dated jocks in high school. Trust me, he’ll like this.”

He’s important. Adored. But Drew has never made me feel small. He lifts me up instead.

At this point in my career, I’ve seen hundreds of people wear my jersey. Maybe thousands. But this feels very different. This is the person I could see taking my last name, not just wearing it.

She glances up at me and smiles. “Nice goal.” “Nice jersey.” There’s a lot more I’d like to say about it—do to her while she’s wearing it—but my parents are still in earshot.

“I’ve been dying to do that.” “Yeah?” Her tone is dazed. A little unsteady. “Since when?” “Since the last time I did.”

“This isn’t going to work if you’re all about the sports lingo.” “Will it work otherwise?” he asks. I hold his gaze. “You tell me.”

“We had to be quiet at the lake. I can hardly hear anything in here.” His lips move lower, ghosting along my jawline. “When you scream my name, I want to hear it, Harper.”

“You asked me earlier if we’ll work out, and I copped out. What I should have said is, ‘I sure fucking hope so.’ ”

“I think it’s going to work out,” I whisper to him. I’m not sure if he heard me…until I feel his arms tighten around my waist.

“These lips spread around my cock? That’s the biggest fucking turn-on. You look perfect like this.”

“When I come, I want it to be in the tight pussy I can’t stop thinking about.”

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing my jersey.”

Drew looks me over with a primal possession that makes it hard for me to think. Difficult to breathe. Mine, I know he’s thinking. I look it, lying here in his jersey with his cum dripping out of me. Usually, I find possessiveness presumptuous. But I might be screwed because nothing in me wants to deny it.

“It’s fine, Drew. I get it. I mean, maybe I don’t. I know nothing about what it’s like to be a professional athlete. But I get…I was so proud of you tonight. It was weird, being there and seeing all those strangers wearing your jersey and booing when you scored. But it was also one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced, seeing you play. I want you to do whatever it takes to win and to do what you love.”

“I only called you Sunshine ironically once,” he tells me. “Every other time, it’s been because that’s how I feel around you. Bright and happy. Being around you makes me so fucking happy, Harper.” “I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper.

His fingers continue playing with my hair, my favorite smile appearing. “Good. I’ve been falling for a while, baby.”

After weeks of debating, I finally came up with an ending to the book I was satisfied with. The alleged victim, Hank, chose to commit suicide, but didn’t want anyone to know. So, he had planted a series of clues that made it seem as if he’d been murdered, simply so no one would know. Know he had struggled or know the guilt of not having seen the signs.

“I fell in love with you during your dance routine to that Spice Girls song,” he tells me. “And then again, when I saw you in that pink bikini. When you dropped that lime. When we kissed for the first time. When you caught that fish. When we danced at Amelia’s wedding. When you showed up at my game, wearing my jersey. And I’ll fall in love with you a thousand more times.”

It took us six summers to fall. And at the end was this. A lifetime of love.