Double Penetration

Chapter – 0004

AIDEN

"What’s that?" Noah plods down the stairs, his steps heavy. Being a six-four, two-hundred-and thirty-pound safety, he looks out of place in this historic house. Actually, both of us are fucking out of place in this house, but Noah is a savant when it comes to real estate – actually, he’s a savant when it comes to most things financial and political and generally nerdy. Not what you’d expect from a football player. He bought this place as an investment property because he said it was a steal and he was tired of living in the neighborhood we were both living in where most of the pro players in town are.

Too much fucking drama, he’d said.

Noah’s bright idea was to move out of his big-ass mansion close to the training center and into this place. He tried to convince me of the same – to “clean up our images.” Noah is a contract holdout and I just signed a one-year contract with our team here in Denver, contingent on not publicly fucking up. It’s not the best deal ever, but it’s not like I’ve been angling for some big fat deal anyway. I’m a poor white trash kid from West Bend, Colorado. What the hell am I going to do with twelve million dollars a year? Noah is holding out for something better, mostly because he and our team’s head coach don’t get along.

Anyway, I’m not a grandma, so there’s no way short of Hell freezing over that I’d actually move to this kind of neighborhood. Even if my ball-buster of an agent, the one with a mouth filthier than a sailor and a smoker’s voice that comes from a pack-a-day habit, agreed with Noah: “Put a lid on all that frat shit, Aiden, and keep your dick in your pants.”

Noah and I have both been playing professional football in Colorado for the past few years. Noah landed a four-year contract here straight out of college in Florida, and I got traded back out here from Texas a year after that. Our head coach hates both of us, calls us hotheads, asshats, and whatever other expletive he can think of, but the General Manager loves us – me way better than Noah because, let’s face it, I’m pretty damn good in front of a camera. Noah hates the interviews and photographs and autographs and dealing with fans. In fact, if he didn’t love the game so much, I’m pretty sure he’d be holed up out on his ranch totally shut away from the human race.

Noah takes this stuff a lot more seriously than I do. I’m a work-hard-play-hard kind of guy. Football has always been my first love, but hell, if I can’t blow off steam in my off time, what’s the point?

Noah loosens up every so often – mostly when moonshine or muddin’ is involved – but otherwise he’s nose-to-the-grindstone obsessed with the game. Most people think he’s an asshole, but we’ve been best friends since grade school. His parents took in my sister and I during my senior year in high school after basically everything in my family fell apart.

Last week after I signed the contract, Noah’s mother – real name Bess, but my sister and I call her Mama Ashby – called and laid a big ol’ guilt trip on me about setting an example for my younger sister and cleaning up my image so I don’t waste the opportunity to stay here in Colorado. I can’t really do shit to argue with that because I know it’s true.

So that’s why I wound up deciding to move into Noah’s new place for the next couple of months while renovations are being done on my house. Apparently I need to lay low and act like an adult.

Except I’m standing here not wearing drawers and holding a box of blow up dolls. So, all in all, I guess Noah is more of an adult than I am.

“It’s a box of blow-up dolls.” I set the box on the living room floor.

“The great Aiden Jackson is that hard up that he has to resort to inflatable women?” Noah gives me side-eye as he passes through the living room and heads toward the kitchen.

“Of course not. I’ve got plenty of real live women throwing themselves at me. It was Moose screwing around. He sent it to Dick Balsac.” The name makes me chuckle. Maybe I have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, but that shit’s funny. Even if the very hot, infinitely fuckable girl next door thought I was some kind of blow-up-doll-screwing pervert.

Noah has his head in the refrigerator pulling out vegetables and a family-sized package of ground beef. I can’t see his face, but I know for sure his eyes are rolling hard because he thinks Moose’s antics are stupid as hell.

Moose, obviously nicknamed for his size, always sends prank shit to the team at the end of the season. It’s a tradition, the same way I play the bongos naked before big games – and also randomly when the mood strikes, like this morning. The naked bongo playing started as a joke before my first game in Texas. I had too many beers and bought bongo drums and then thought it’d be funny to pull a Matthew McConaughey, since I was in Texas and all. Then we won, and clearly I could never stop playing them or we’d lose. That’s how superstitions work. So the bongos have followed me around since then.

Noah turns around and gives me a disgusted look. “Damn it, dude. Why are you coming into the kitchen with your junk all hanging out? I want to eat, not vomit.” He pauses. “Wait. Were you in the front yard like that?”

“I was playing out on the deck upstairs and the doorbell rang.”

“Some people put fucking clothes on to get the mail,” he grumbles. “Get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“You could have answered the door, man. You heard me playing.”

Noah shrugs. “I was in the shower.”

“Anyway, it wasn’t the mail guy. Ask me who it was.”

Noah sighs heavily. “Do I care who it was?”

“You would if you got a look at your hot as hell next door neighbor. She came by because the blow-up dolls got delivered to her.”

Noah groans. “You went outside buck naked to get a package of blow-up dolls from the next door neighbor when I just moved into this neighborhood last week?”