Hoax in One

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I totally got Tate to do a TikTok.

If Tate had his own personal love language, it would be I did a TikTok video for you.

He refused to show his face or speak, but technically, I got him to do two.

For the first one, Max lay on the ground and held a tee between his teeth. He let Tate hit three consecutive shots off it as I placed a new ball there in quick succession. Max said he'd never trusted anyone else enough to try it.

For the second one, Max bounced the ball backward between his legs, I chipped it mid-air into a tree, and Tate swung his driver like a baseball bat when it bounced off. It took us a few tries to get it right.

Max had posted them that morning, so I watched them for the millionth time, fan-girling over myself, as I stood on the sidelines waiting for the football game to start.

Football and golf are total opposites. I was surrounded by ninety thousand people, all on top of one another. At golf tournaments, the crowds were usually scarce and consisted of mostly family members. Football was ear ringing and drunk fans and cursing at the ref. Golf was polite claps and walking to the next hole and cursing at yourself. I loved both though.

Maybe I could even draw parallels there between Tate and I—loud and spirited versus reserved and restrained.

I took a selfie of myself and sent it to Tate. His flight should've been landing any minute.

Golf looks so much better on me, I added.

It really did. I had black leggings on and a white Southern Florida tank top that flowed loosely over my black sports bra. I much preferred my dresses, but I also had some good cleavage going thanks to my tight sports bra, and I wasn't going to let it go to waste.

I took a few pictures for practice of the kicker warming up from the thirty yard line before Tate texted me back.

Just landed and fuck. I wish you were waiting for me in my room right now.

Oh. He took it there. And my body responded. Waves of heat crashed against my lower abdomen.

Did I want to further it? Hell yes I did. I could ruffle Tate's feathers, get him to let his goddamn guard down.

I typed out, I'll come over after if you promise to throw me onto your bed.

My thumb hovered over the 'send' button. That had been on repeat in my dreams since the moment I thought I saw the urge in his eyes that first night I'd slept over.

Fuck it. I pressed 'send' and waited.

You like tempting me, don't you? he replied.

Guilty. But I doubled down. I wanted his thoughts from all those lustful moments when he was looking at me like he was going to rip my clothes off.

Don't you have something that you always think about?

He was making me wait on purpose I thought. My heart was galloping as I tried to distract myself while I took photos of the offensive line doing a drill in the end zone. Finally my phone buzzed in the pocket against my thigh.

All I can think about when you wear dresses is my face between your legs.

I let out a sharp breath when I read his text. That was all I was going to think about from then on too. Blood was rushing uncomfortably down between my legs and up to my cheeks making me hot and flustered on the sideline of a football field.

Why had I never tried to goad him before while I was alone in bed? I wondered to myself.

My phone buzzed again in my hands. Come over after? Seth already sent out a mass party text, and we're not even in the Uber yet.