Sore Loser

I was going to need a lot more.

I spent most of the first half of the game trying to figure out how realistic my locker room fantasy was, or if we'd have to wait until we got back to his place, or if I even could wait that long, seeing as the sports complex they were playing at was in a small town about forty-five minutes and countless kilometers of farmland away from his place. But just as I wondered if I could make him pull over in some abandoned parking lot somewhere and drag him into the back seat, everything went downhill.

Hunter had the ball, but a smaller man from the other team wanted the ball. So, as seemed to be the point of the entire thing, the smaller man darted in front of Hunter, sliding low to the ground and aiming for the ball. Hunter didn't like that, of course, but worse, he hadn't seemed to expect it. Even though the other man was smaller than my hulk of a boyfriend, Hunter went tumbling to the ground with a surprised look on his face.

A roar of shouts went up from both the crowd and the bench, one of them being mine. I was half-shocked at myself, but the sight of Hunter on the ground did something to me. Angrily, I looked from Hunter to the whistle man, expecting him to whistle because that couldn't be allowed, could it? The smaller man could have broken Hunter's ankle or taken out his knee or... or I don't know, made him hit his head or something.

But the whistle man didn't whistle.

He was looking in the other direction, watching as a player from the other team took control of the ball his teammate had hit towards him and broke away, sprinting towards the net and taking aim. I winced as his foot connected with the ball, and again as another loud round of cries erupted around me when it went into the net.

"Fucking card him!" someone shouted from behind me.

It sounded like gibberish, but whatever the gibberish meant, it didn't appear to happen. The score on the big black board ticked up by one, which I noticed just as Hunter collected himself off the ground, wiped his hands on his shorts, then lunged for the player that had slid into him.

"Hunter, no!" shouted someone.

"Goddamn it," I heard someone else groan. "Not again."

Again?

I watched, my eyes wide as Hunter's teammate Tyler, who was apparently the first ball kicker and also designated wrangler of my boyfriend, jumped in front of him and put both hands on his chest, shoving him backwards as hard as he could. Hunter barely even seemed to notice, but it was enough to stop him from reaching the man on the other team. Given the look in Hunter's eyes, I imagined he should probably send Tyler a gift basket for saving that man's life.

So instead of potentially murdering the man, or at the very least, beating him into a bloody mess, Hunter flung out the arm that Tyler wasn't trapping against his body and pointed at the other man. He then informed him in a very loud and aggressive voice that he was in fact, a shitheaded piece of shit and that he'd inadvertently shown up at the wrong place, since the hiring fair for talentless cocksuckers was taking place at the discount brothel down the street.

Though, I may have paraphrased some of that.

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. Around me, there were many other people sharing similar sentiments to Hunter, though not as many as were shouting for Hunter to shut the fuck up before the whistle man noticed.

Which was stupid because there was no way the whistle man hadn't already noticed.

He stormed up to Tyler and Hunter, moving between them and the player from the other team. His face was stony as he took what looked like a yellow Post-It note out of his pocket. By the groaning of Hunter's teammates and the hidden smirks of the other team, I thought that might be bad. That thought was confirmed when the whistle man held the Post-It note in the air and said something as he pointed at Hunter, whose face went even redder, but who finally closed his mouth. Even from where I sat, I saw his jaw clench shut and a muscle in his neck twitch like he wanted to say something, but couldn't.

"Keep your goddamn mouth shut, Anderson," I heard the coach shout from across the soccer court.

"Well, at least the ref is an equal opportunity moron," I heard someone mutter from somewhere to my left. "That should've been a red. For sure."

"He's gonna get sent off," said another person. "For fucking sure. Just like him to lose his shit when they're down a goal."

I watched as Tyler let go of Hunter and said something to him. Hunter said something back that didn't seem overly friendly, given the way Tyler rolled his eyes. He said something else, then gestured towards the bleachers before jogging off.

For the first time in the game, Hunter looked towards the stands, his eye catching mine before I could hide the stunned look on my face. I snapped my mouth shut, but it was too late; if his face hadn't been completely flushed before, it was now, and the line of his jaw seemed to grow even stronger.

Something like guilt rushed through me, even though I wasn't sure why. I wasn't the one who had gone rabid and nearly throttled another player in front of a crowd of people. But I was the one who had insisted on coming, despite Hunter's fear that I would think differently of him after seeing him play, and he was still my boyfriend, so I tried to smile encouragingly at him.

It must have looked as half-hearted as it felt because his throat flexed and his gaze flicked downward before he jogged away.

I didn't know if it was that or if it was whatever Tyler had said to him, or maybe whatever had been written on the whistle man's yellow Post-It note, but Hunter's style of playing changed after that.

I thought maybe he was just being careful so the whistle man didn't yell at him again, but even when his team scored, the stony expression on his face didn't change. Tyler got a goal and while the others on the soccer court engaged in the traditional body slamming and butt slapping, Hunter stalked away.

When he managed to get a goal, his face relaxed a bit and he allowed the other players to slap his ass. He even returned some of the slaps, which sent a wave of confused jealousy through me. I'd only ever had my ass slapped during sex, and never by Hunter, which... was a weird thing to be jealous about, I knew, but my entire body seemed to be confused about what was going on.

But I thought maybe that meant he'd cheer up for the rest of the game, since his goal meant they were ahead of the other team and the clock on the big board said there were only a few more minutes to the end. I relaxed a bit as I watched the players line up again. Hunter's jaw was still clenched, but the redness on his face had faded and I felt my stomach flutter again when he adjusted his shorts, pulling the legs up a bit so I could see the thick muscle of his thigh beneath.

I watched Hunter begin to run as the other team's version of Tyler kicked the ball from the middle of the court. He moved like he knew exactly where the ball was going to go before the other team even kicked it and so quickly that I wasn't sure his feet even touched the ground.

Suddenly he'd taken control of the ball and was heading the other direction. Around me, cheers erupted again. I clasped my hands together, sitting up straight and completely captivated as he ran.

Which meant I saw the whole thing happen.

The smaller man from the other team came out of nowhere again. He attempted the same thing as he had before, but Hunter was ready this time, moving just enough that the man missed the ball and stumbled. That wouldn't have been a problem, except he threw his arm out and caught Hunter's soccer shirt.

They both fell, their bodies a mess of limbs and obscenities as they tumbled. I winced as Hunter hit the ground with a thud loud enough that I could hear it, his leg sliding across the turf. The other rolled, catching himself so he didn't hit the ground with as loud a thud as Hunter, though part of that might have been because Hunter was much larger than him and so hit the ground much harder.

It felt like everyone in the room was holding their collective breaths. The coach on the bench, Hunter's teammates, everyone in the stands; it seemed like every lung in the room was full of immobile oxygen as Hunter collected himself from the ground and stood. I winced, noticing a large, red scrape down the side of his leg. His head was bowed down as he brushed his hands on his shorts while the smaller man got to his feet.

Then, almost in slow motion, time began to unravel.

The whistle man blew his whistle, pulled a red Post-It note out of his pocket, and pointed it at the man who had run into Hunter.

Hunter looked up at that man who had bowled him over, his face like ice.

The smaller man smirked, cocking an eyebrow at Hunter.

The coach of Hunter's team let out a long, loud "No!" from the bench.

And Hunter drew back his arm before letting it fly forward to punch the other man in the face.

Everything erupted. The people in the stands, Hunter's team, the other team, the whistle man's whistle. Released breaths filled the space with shouts and cries as blood blossomed from the smaller man's nose, spattering across his face and soccer shirt as he stumbled to the ground again. Tyler rushed forward to grab Hunter, but there was no need; the moment the other man started bleeding, he'd turned towards the bench and started to walk away, even though he definitely hadn't seen the whistle man wave the red Post-It note at him.

My hands flew up to my mouth, covering it as I watched Hunter's coach scream something at him that I couldn't hear over the shouts in the stands. Hunter's face went red again, but he said nothing as he collected his water bottle.

Then he just... left.

"What the heck just happened?" I asked out loud.

"Hunter threw another goddamn tantrum," grumbled the man beside me.

"Where is he going?" I asked.

The man glanced at me. "You new or something?"

The blank look on my face must have been answer enough, because he sighed and gestured at the soccer court.

"That skinny fucker on the other team took Hunter out, which got him red carded. Kicked out of the game. Hunter, being the impossible shithead he is, couldn't wait five fucking seconds to calm down and probably broke that guy's nose. So he also got sent off, and I bet you anything he's suspended for at least three games." The man shook his head. "He's fucking phenomenal, but he's a huge fucking baby, too. Can't control his temper."

"So he's not allowed to play anymore?" I asked.

"Nope. He gets to sit in the locker room until the game's over and the rest of the team can go in and give him shit for making their lives that much harder."

I licked my lips nervously, then bent forward to pick up my purse. "And, um, the locker room... that's where, exactly?"

The man turned to me and blinked once.. "Lady, that's the kind of guy you should stay away from. He's not a fixer-upper. He's a mean son of a bitch. The last place a sweet little thing like you should be is near a guy she doesn't know when he's riled up."

I wondered if I should take a page out of Hunter's book and punch the man for talking down to me, but decided against it, since he had the kind of face that looked like it might break my fist. Instead, I stood and put my purse over my shoulder.

"Never mind," I said coldly. "I'll find it myself."

The guy looked up at me, his face twisted with confusion. "What kinda kinky shit are you into that you're so desperate to meet a motherfucker like that?"

"That motherfucker is my boyfriend," I said. "Now, would you move so I can get out, please?"

The only person in the area paler than the man beside me was probably the guy Hunter had punched, who was being helped off the court by a coach from his team. The man beside me stammered an apology, swinging his legs to the side so I could slide past him.

"Don't, uh, mention any of this to him?" he pleaded.

"We'll see," I said.

I mean, I absolutely wasn't going to. Condescending though he may have been, I was half-worried that mentioning anything about this to Hunter would result in me being tried as an accomplice to manslaughter.

But that guy didn't need to know that.

I wasn't exactly sure why I picked that moment to go find the locker rooms. Regardless of my earlier fantasy, it wasn't like I could go into them. But that was where Hunter said to meet him after the game and I was only there to watch him play, so I didn't really see the point in sitting on the bleachers if he wasn't doing that.

The locker rooms were down a concrete corridor just off the soccer court. There was nowhere to sit, so I leaned against a pillar that was out of the way and listened to the sound of the game finishing, shouts and grunts and the slapping thud of the ball being kicked around that echoed from the court to where I stood.

It wasn't too long before I heard a cheer go up and then applause, which I assumed meant the game was done. Voices rose and fell on the unseen court as the teams proceeded with some post-game ritual that I assumed involved more butt patting, and then other people began to join me in the formerly quiet corridor. They were the other girlfriends and wives and family members waiting for their player to finish, shower, and get ready to head home, which I knew because that was why Hunter had told me to meet him near the locker rooms like the other guys' partners did.

A few of them eyed me curiously as I stood there, but no one said anything or asked who I was. The players finally made their way towards the locker room, filling the corridor with a swell of noise and the not-quite-pleasant scent of sweat and testosterone. Each of the people waiting got a greeting or a wave from their respective player, along with a promise that they wouldn't be too long, they'd be out soon, they just had to shower quickly, and then they'd be on their way.

Except me, of course.

Softly murmured conversations filled the corridor again, and only a few minutes went by before a tall woman with curled hair that was dark at the roots and faded into blonde at the tips broke away from the gaggle of women she was standing with and walked over to me.

"You're new," she said, her voice bubbly and bouncy and about as genuine as a diamond ring from the dollar store. "I'm Kayla. Nick's fiancee."

I had no idea who Nick was. "Hi. I'm Jaynie."

"You must be here for your... brother?"

"My boyfriend," I said.

"Oh," she replied, lengthening the word as her eyebrows popped up on her forehead. "Sorry, I just thought you were..." She laughed, the sound almost grating. "You didn't seem quite old enough to be dating any of the guys on the team. Who's the one robbing the cradle, then?"

I stared at her. "No one. I'm twenty-three. My boyfriend is only two years older than me."

She giggled again and slapped my arm as if we were friends. "Oh, you know I'm joking."

I absolutely did not know that. "Right."

An awkward beat passed, then Kayla repeated her giggle. "So, I know all the guys on the team. I didn't know anyone had a new girlfriend."

"Oh," I said. "Well, we've only been dating a few months."

"Oh, so it's just getting serious?" she said, her mouth twisting into a knowing smile. "Well, I'm just about dying of curiosity. You have got to tell me who the lucky guy is."

"Um, Hunter?" I said as if she wouldn't know the guy who had just punched another guy in the face. "Hunter Anderson."

Kayla's eyes went wide and her lips parted.

"Oh," she said, drawing the word out again, but with far less loftiness than before. "Wow. Well. I suppose someone has to... hmm." She forced another smile and mechanical giggle. "Well, hopefully he's not too pouty for the rest of the day. That was quite the... quite the game for him today."

"It sure was," I agreed quietly, feeling more than one set of eyes watching my interaction with Kayla.

"Well, anyway," she said lightly. "I just wanted to say hello and, uh, good luck, I guess!" Cheerfully, she turned on her heel and went back to the women standing nearby, who were all looking at me like they weren't sure whether I was brave or stupid.

Which I hated.

I wanted to scream. No one here knew Hunter like I knew him. They didn't see him nursing animals back to health or hear him calling me "baby girl" or know that he loved to be slow and passionate in bed, even when I insisted I could take more.

Just like I hadn't known Hunter could be a big, scary, angry man who couldn't control his temper. If these games were all these people had seen of him, of course that's what they thought. And it frustrated me that there was this side to him I didn't know, that I sort of, kind of, thought was really hot.

And horrifying.

But also hot.

Aside from the occasional side glance, no one even looked at me again while we waited for Hunter's team to come out of the locker room. When the players finally began filing out one by one or in pairs, most of them with wet and messy hair, I breathed a sigh of relief and started watching for my boyfriend.

He wasn't among the first few players to leave, or the next ones, or the ones after that. Slowly, the corridor began to empty. A slim Black man with deliciously good looks that rivalled Hunter's exited the room and beelined for Kayla, who wrapped herself around him with a shrieking giggle that caused an involuntary shudder to rattle my spine. A few others joined him and the other women standing there, all of them chatting loudly until someone proposed going for a post-game drink.

Which, of course, was when Hunter came out of the locker room.

A few sets of eyes turned in his direction, some likely wondering if he was still aggressively angry and others probably as aggravated as I was by how fucking good he looked. His hair was almost dry, though still mussed up, and he held his gym bag in one hand with his hoodie hanging off his forearm. His t-shirt was white and hugged his upper chest and biceps just enough to remind everyone who looked at him how stupidly hot he was.

And then, just to be completely unfair to every woman in the universe, he'd pulled on a pair of light grey sweatpants. The baggy fabric rested on his hips, the drawstrings untied and dangling from the waistband, and even from where I stood, I could see the vague outline of his... print on the front.

Tyler was beside him, saying something as they left the room, but Hunter didn't seem to hear him. His eyes found me immediately, unusually guarded and humourless. The only thing that betrayed any sort of emotion was the way his tongue poked out the tiniest bit, wetting his lips before he raked his teeth along the bottom one.

The two of them walked by the other group just as they made plans to go out together and the slim man--presumably Kayla's fiancé, Nick--grinned at Tyler.

"You should come for a drink with us, man!" he said cheerfully, then glanced at Hunter. "You too, bud? I bet you could use one."

Kayla's face froze into a plastic smile. "Oh, yes. We'd all just... love that. You could bring your sweet little girlfriend so we can get to know her better."

"Thanks, but I think we'll just, uh, head out," Hunter said awkwardly.

"Oh, too bad," Kayla said, clearly not disappointed. "Next time, then."

Hunter glanced at me and the guarded look in his eye broke for half a moment, just long enough for me to think he might have been wondering if there would be a next time. Before I was certain, Tyler glanced at me, then clapped Hunter on the shoulder in a comforting way.

"Well, I am up for a drink," he said, and I was surprised to hear he had a thick French accent. "See you at practice, Anderson."