The Football Player's Parallel Obsession Novels & Stories

I recognize it from when he was fighting to maintain control, to keep from touching me. The way his fingers flex on the chair’s arms, the tension coiling in his shoulders, it’s like watching him battle it out with himself. He wants to end this charade, close the distance between us, and tell me this interview is over. That flicker in his gaze that makes my stomach clench tells me that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. “Football is worth it, Miss Anderson.” He pauses. “But any man with half a brain, sitting across from a woman like you, would admit…that some things are worth a hell of a lot more.”

I never thought it was possible but he's somehow getting more and more famous every day. It's so odd to see also, because he's never really wanted this kind of life. He was never into the fame that came with his profession. All he wanted was to play football, everything else he didn't care much about. But he looks happy every time I see him on tv and I guess that makes me happy too. I'm glad he's found something that he fits into. I guess I was a bit jealous that unlike me, he found something outside of our relationship that he's passionate about.

His breathing has changed. Subtle, but I notice. I noticed a lot about this son of a bitch. The way his pupils are slightly dilated. The tension in his shoulders that has nothing to do with anger. I know that look. I’ve seen it before, on other men, in darker places than hospital scrub rooms. “You know what your problem is, Morozov?” I ask, voice dropping lower. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” “Your problem is that you think obsession looks like competition.” I tilt my head, studying him. “But I’ve seen the difference. I know what it looks like when someone can’t stop watching. Can’t stop finding excuses to be in the same room. Can’t stop—”

I find myself holding my breath when he has the ball, tucking it into his large hands—hands that are so gentle, yet so commanding with me—and fires it off, spiraling it perfectly down the field into the waiting hands of another player. He turns his head toward the stands after every drill, every play, though I can’t see his eyes from this distance, shaded as they are by his helmet. My palms begin to sweat every time he glances in my direction, a low thrum starting between my thighs. My blood hums, nipples erect. The more I register his sinewy arms and the lines, bulges and musculature outlined in his white football pants, the more I can hear my breaths, loud and shallow in my head.

Although it wasn't their fault but anyhow they weren't with me and the gap that left behind after they departed wasn't filling. I tried some serious relationships too but they never worked out as I expected. One time even I got so serious with jack. He was a colleague of mine and we I actually was thinking of settling down with him abroad and starting a new life but as usual. Whenever I thought that I had sorted everything the life just slaps me so hard to remind me who I was and boom.

___I feel a tightness in my chest, a bad feeling Aníbal . ____ calm down man everything will be alright... ___ I miss my little one too... ___when are you going to bring her? I looked at Aníbal for a long time, who shrugged. ___no personal interests nicolas, ____ still think about her Anibal? ____ being honest I think so but as one of those platonic love illusions that will never come true, everyone has or has had a Nicolas, these are stories that we only nurture in our heads.. I took a deep breath looking at the nostalgic man in front of me.

He’ll asked, “Are you hungry yet?” She’ll shook her head and shyly try to focus on working. But this time, he’ll lean in closer and asked her, “You sure you don’t need a break?” He’ll be close, so close that it’s like he’s whispering into her ear. He knew he shouldn’t have dirty thoughts about it. But sometimes when a young man in heat. They can’t help it, and can’t stop thinking about these dirty thoughts. He’ll smile like a helpless fool. And then he’ll shook his head and tell himself, “God, when did I become someone so perverted!”

I said, my voice shaking with anger. Feeling overwhelmed, I started walking toward the door, desperate to get away. But then a thought hit me. “You say you want a perfect life with someone else? After treating me like this, do you really think I’ll ever trust another guy? Let me remind you—perfection doesn’t exist. Everyone has flaws. Imperfections are what make us human. You’re chasing something you’ll never have, Marco. You’re not perfect, and you never will be. No one is. Think about that.”

It was a natural, easy connection that made her stomach churn with a jealousy so potent it tasted like poison on her tongue. Alli stayed at The Hollow long after closing, nursing a warm beer, refusing to let herself go home and sit in The silence in her head was a thick, su#ocating blanket. Alli scrubbed at the same spot on the bar, the cheap wood grain starting to blur under therelentless pressure. Her arm burned, muscles screaming for a break, but she couldn't stop. Couldn't let herself stop. She counted the money in the drawer, again and again, the bills snapping like tiny gunshots in the otherwise empty space. Anything to keep her mind from replaying the scene, a loop of Layla's hands po

"I KNEW you had lost your virginity! I just... Shit, I don't know, but... You've had this glow ever since that game... Wait, is this mysterious guy on the football team?!" My face turns bright red, and Linnea snorts. Her lips are quivering, and her eyes are sparkling. "OH-MY-GOD!" "Shh!" I hush her. "Quiet, or the other two will hear you!" "I'm sorry, I'm just..." Linnea shakes her head. "I can't believe you're sleeping with a football player—those guys are like gods on campus! Girls go to their games like it's their church and the men are part of their religion! Most of the guys are treated like gods!"