Pushing to the Inside: When a desperate blocker pushes opponents onto the concrete infield.
EPOV
I stepped out of the SeaTac air terminal and just inhaled. I loved the way this place smelled; it smelled of old memories and childhood. Family, friends, laughter, learning who I was and who I wanted to be. Most of all it smelled like rain, undoubtedly due to the ungodly amount of year-round rainfall. The place looked the part, too.
It was pouring now; I could hear thunder in the distance, and it was going to get worse. Fit my day. The plane was at least an hour and a half late getting in, and I hoped that my uncle and aunt weren't angry at my tardiness.
I walked over to the rental car podium and waited for the clerk to bring around the car that my uncle had secured for me. Being from Chicago, I'd never owned a car. I have always used mass transit or my bike to get around, but during my summers here my uncle had taught me how to drive, so I do have a license for trips like this.
Work chewed me up and spit me out. There was nothing voluntary or happy about this vacation. I was here because I was given no other option from my employer. I was a man in need of guidance and peace, and the only place I could ever find peace was here.
Stop it. I sighed and could see in the rainy distance a spark of silver glinting against the neon lights. A sporty Volvo pulled up and parked right in front of where I was standing. A man in a dark sport coat with a green 'E' on the pocket stepped out of the car, popped the oversized back hatch, and picked up my guitar case, sliding it into the cargo bay. He made quick work of the rest of my extensive amount of luggage. Fuck, Carlisle, whatever happened to economy class?
The car attendant just smiled at me as he held the door open. "Thanks," I said, absentmindedly shaking his hand and slipping him a tip. I slid into the car and placed my laptop on the passenger side. I had to laugh in wonder. Did Carlisle make sure I had a nice car just to be nice, or did he want to try this sucker out later for himself?
"Have a safe trip, sir," the attendant wished as he slammed the door shut. I nodded and smiled weakly at him. What the fuck else did he want? Probably thought I was some big shit deal.
Not in the least, buddy.
I quickly buckled my seatbelt and began the journey to my uncle's home.
It didn't take me long to get to the house. Tucked away and overlooking the beach, yet butted up against the woods on Mercer Island, was my uncle's home. I'd forgotten just how big it was. He was a well-known orthopedist who specialized in athletic rehabilitation; he and his wife Esme had a happy life with my cousins Emmett and Alice.
Emmett and Alice were actually not my biological cousins, not that it matters. Carlisle and Esme were never able to have kids, and when Carlisle did his rounds with kids at Children's Hospital, Emmett was one kid who was always around. He wasn't a troubled kid, but his parents had one too many rounds with the police. Carlisle would see Emmett out playing at all hours on his drive to and from the hospital and eventually figured out that he was fending for himself. Esme couldn't stand it, so they ended up fostering Emmett and it just turned into this mass love fest. Esme and Carlisle got two for the price of one, because with Em, they got Alice, his little sister.
Alice and I were kindred spirits; she'd always gotten me, even better than my own parents did. She was smart, could always make me laugh, and knew just when I needed a kick in the pants. She could read me like a book and tell me exactly what I needed to hear right when I needed to hear it.
Esme was always a wild child, and constantly on the cutting edge of things. She loved her family dearly and spent every moment with them, but was strong and took no prisoners if you crossed her. She was always up for a good competition; I hated playing so much as Connect Four with the woman.
Actually, all of the Cullens had a competitive streak a mile wide. It is the one thing that brings them all together as a family, and I have it too. I hate losing. But I know when I'm beaten, too; "Live to fight another day" is my motto, I guess. Or maybe "Pick your battles, and that includes Connect Four."
The rain was coming down in sheets. I pulled up to the drive and found that the gate which surrounded the house was shut. I pulled out my cell phone, turned it on, and started to call Carlisle to ask to be let in, but just as I was hitting the first few digits of my uncle's home number, my cell phone practically blew up from the backlog of missed messages.
There was one from Carlisle and a few from my mom wondering if I got in okay. I opened Carlisle's message first.
"Gate Code: 1640. Note for you on kitchen counter."
I quickly punched the code in and drummed my fingers to the beat of some irritating song on the radio while the gate opened at an impossibly slow speed. As soon as it opened far enough, I gunned it through the opening and up the drive. They had left one of the garage doors open, so I took it as a sign and pulled the Volvo right through.
I decided to leave my bags in the car while I looked for the note on the kitchen counter. I didn't like this mystery one bit.
There on the counter was a piece of notebook paper. Written in neat handwriting that had to be Esme's, it said:
Edward,
Glad you've made it home safely. Unfortunately because of the plane's late arrival we had to leave for the rink. If you follow the directions, you can join us, and we will leave you a ticket at will call.
So glad you're back! I can't wait to give you a big hug!
Yours,
Esme
Well, welcome home, Edward. If you can't keep up with the Cullens, they sure as hell aren't going to wait around for you.
Yes, it bothered me. Yes, I'm a fucking girl. I wanted fucking cake, and a homemade fucking banner, and fucking booze, and fucking hugs. I wanted nosey-ass questions from Alice and Emmett and Carlisle to make it all fucking better.
I think I may have kicked the cat on my way back to the rental, or maybe I imagined it to help with the anger. I unloaded my bags into the garage and huffed back to the Volvo. After I fucked around with the GPS unit that came standard in the car for fifteen minutes, I punched in the address to the local ice rink. Why the fuck was my family at an ice rink in the middle of summer?
"Turn left now," the GPS voice told me once I was underway. I wanted to do just that, right into a grove of pine trees.
Fuck you, overanxious GPS unit. I pulled into the parking area of the ice rink to find it crawling with people. Scary fucking people. I almost parked the Volvo, like, a block away down the street. Or at the police station.
There was a guy with really long hair wearing all lime green, really not an attractive color for him. There was a woman whose hair was jet black and teased almost straight up; she had put red stripes into it, making it look like Bride of Frankenstein hair. Her neck was covered with tattoos, and her face looked like she had fallen into a bin of push pins.
"What have you gotten me into, Carlisle?" I said to myself as I parked the rental under a light pole. For safety reasons, of course. Be cool. I think I hit the rental key fob six times, completely the opposite of what I had intended to do. Good job, asshat.
I practically ran to the doors, trying not to attract the attention of Mr. and Mrs. Tattoos-R-Us as I went. I quickly strolled up to the ticket woman who was round, loud, and hyper. She reminded me of Alice in an I've-had-one-too-many-Red-Bulls sort of way.
"Hi! Do you have a ticket?" she asked, bobbing to the really loud Irish rock music playing in the background.
"Um, will call?" I croaked out.
"Right over there, sweet cheeks," she said, pointing behind me. A small woman who looked like she belonged in the research section of the library poring over the Dewey Decimal System waved me over.
"What's your name?" she yelled.
"Um, Edward Masen? It might be under Cullen?"
"Ah, yeah, Scarlet said you might show up. Here you go," she said, handing me a ticket.
Who the fuck is Scarlet? I walked around in a complete daze, still slightly freaked out by the people around me. Girls that looked like they could kick my ass six ways from Sunday were speeding through the outlined track on the floor. Most of them were traveling at high rates of speed and were wearing helmets, and they all were divvied up into teams by color: pink, green, purple, red. They looked like a biker-chick version of the Rockettes; all glitz and glam rock, completely ragtag, and pasted together with whatever they could find in a costume shop. Fuck looked like, these girls could kick my ass.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," a Southern voice from behind me called out; I cringed. I was slightly afraid to see who was behind me. I just hoped he had hair and no letters tattooed on his forehead like Manson.
Before I could turn around, I felt the wind tear around me. The squeal and shuddering of hard plastic on cement hurt my ears.
"Come on, big city. Open yer eyes." The voice was now ahead of me.
Aw shit, I'm gonna die. Fuck, did I just hear banjos?
"Edward fucking Masen, open yer eyes." My eyes snapped at the sound of my name. In front of me was a tall man with bright blue eyes under a mass of dirty blond curls.
"Fuck me, Jasper Whitlock! 'The Pride of the South'," I let out in a relieved breath. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Imitating a fucking zebra, Masen. Yer eyes still ain't seein' right, are they?" His drawl was thick as he laughed at me. I looked down and noticed he was wearing a referee's shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of skates. He did a little spin and on his back painted in blue was a big "01," with the words "GENERAL LEE" across his shoulders.
"What the fuck is this shit?" I asked, waving my arms around and just about hitting a huge-ass biker dude.
"Roller derby, bitch! Didn't Scarlet talk to you?" Jasper asked, whipping a whistle around and letting it wrap around his fingers.
"Who the fuck is Scarlet?"
"Watch your mouth." A blond skidded to a stop next to Jasper. Her long blond hair was pulled into pigtails. She was tall even without the black skates with glittery gold wheels on her feet. She wore white tube socks that went all the way up her long legs to her knees, where there were a set of black hard plastic knee pads, a tight-as-hell pair of late-70's dark purple booty shorts with black trim, and two tank tops: one matching purple, the other black.
"Come off it, Rose," Jasper said, defending me. "He's Scarlet's nephew."
I was?
She looked me up and down, sniffed, then started off in the opposite direction, the name "Rose Feratu" and the number 666 on her back. Fuck me.
"Eyes off; that's EmC's girl."
I just looked at him like he had grown three heads.
"Listen, I have to get in the middle of the track with the big dog before he starts thinkin' he's the leader of this hoedown." He pointed to a very tall tan man with shaggy black hair. It reminded me of my own mess of hair but was shorter. He was also wearing a black and white striped referee shirt that was so tight around his shoulders and biceps it looked almost painted on. The words "Black Dog" were on his back with a "K9" below it. Dude was huge.
"Yer uncle said if we saw you, we had to sit you down over there and he would find you later." Jasper gestured over to a section of bleachers that was full. Several people were sitting on the floor. "You gonna be okay, boy?" Jasper asked, waving his hand in front of my face.
"Yeah, yeah. Go," I said, slapping him on the shoulder, and watching him skate off, yelling "YEEEHAAAAW!" and grinning at me over his shoulder.
It finally occurred to me what was going on as I took my seat. I'd heard the stories from my uncle about how he met Esme. I had seen pictures of her in her derby gear. Hell, in her office sat her skates. It would only make sense that she would have a hand in the roller derby.
I knew very little about derby, but I knew Esme had been involved in a small derby group back in the early 80's. It was how Carlisle and Esme met; she'd been brought in with a broken arm on Carlisle's first day in the ER. They said it was love at first sight, but that shit makes me want to laugh—it was more like Nightingale Syndrome.
The passing of a tall guy whose head was as bare as his beard was luxuriant distracted me, and my eyes locked on his hands, bearing salvation in a plastic cup: beer. I walked over to concessions and ordered a cup of the frothy brew, then returned to my spot on the floor and plopped down next to the bleachers where Jasper had pointed.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS! LET'S GET READY TO ROLLER!" a voice boomed out. I didn't need to turn my head to know who that was, the wisecracking mouth of one Emmett Cullen. My head whipped around and I could see him dressed in a black tee-shirt adorned with a screen-printed "tuxedo" on the front, a black kilt, and a hideously loud plaid, pompom-bedecked tam o' shanter that I could have sworn I'd last seen in Caddyshack on the head of Rodney Dangerfield. Fuck, whose brilliant idea was it to give him a microphone? He's loud enough without one.
I sat on the hard floor amongst people who looked like they belonged in a biker gang. Then I noticed something else: it wasn't just scary fucking people here to watch. There were people dressed in jeans, Converse shoes, and A&F hoodies. There were also moms and dads, babies and other children of various ages. Who the fuck brings their kids to this? WHAT THE HELL!
Several people had signs and many were wearing shirts emblazoned with words Queen City Roller Derby and the team logo. I was out of my league, no pun intended at all.
"Put your hands together for the one, the only, women's roller derby darling, Esme 'Scarlet Fever' Cullen and her Crown Jewels!"
A thunderous dance beat came from behind Emmett and the floor filled with two groups of woman in various forms of dress and undress. There was Emmett's Rose, wearing a helmet emblazoned with her name and number, bristling with graphics that looked like blood and thorns; she made eye contact with me and scowled. What the fuck is her problem?
A rash of women flew around the corner of the rink and pumped their legs to gain speed. Emmett started to call out names and with each name, a woman would raise her hands and the crowd would explode with applause, yells, and ear-splitting catcalls. I took a swig of my beer; it was bitter, cold, and surprisingly good for coming from a makeshift bar consisting of two tapped kegs sitting under a card table.
The two teams separated and took to their designated set of seats. Jasper, in all his zebra-striped glory, had put on a plain orange helmet with the number 01 on the sides just like the famous car from the TV show; and Emmett, a born natural behind a microphone, was at ease, even though he looked like a complete ass. Then it dawned on me that I – in my standard uniform of oxfords, jeans, and a cashmere sweater – was the outcast, sticking out like a very boring sore thumb in an ocean of rainbow-painted fingernails. Fuck me, hand me some Jell-o and call me Dr. Huxtable. I instantly felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I downed the rest of my beer and tried to concentrate on what was going on in front of me.
I could see Esme pacing behind the bench of girls, clad in a pair of jeans and a Derby shirt, positively radiating intensity. She was in the no-nonsense, win-or-die Cullen mode, and she looked awesome. She touched a few of the girls on the back and they shot off the benches and into a large group, skating against a team in lime green. I looked around to see if there were banners or team logos so I could figure out names, but Emmett's amplified voice answered all my questions.
The mob of girls aligned themselves in a large group. They seemed to be arranged in some sort of colorful pattern. Two in the front had a spandex cover over their helmets, one glittery-gold and black, the other lime green and black. A wide stripe resembling a Mohawk graced the top. There were at least six women gearing up behind these two, all crouched down like a spring ready to shoot across a room, while the roar from the crowd just grew louder. A whistle blew and the springs shot off. The two girls in the front used the tips of their skates to climb to a decent speed. They were followed by the larger group, and you could already see elbows being thrown as they all jockeyed for position. I looked around and noticed that two women still stood on the track.
They also wore helmet covers, but theirs bore stars. They shook their arms and started to bear down as the pack made it past the first turn, and the girls' attention homed in on the back line of the group, watching and waiting like lionesses stalking prey. At the sound of a second whistle, the two girls flew around the track like a shot.
Emmett was giving play-by-play, but his words mangled together and just ended up humming in my ears. Nothing he said made sense. I was able to pick out words here and there; names, and words like "jammer" and "pivot'" came out of the haze. I was just trying to figure out what the fuck was going on but the action and the noise made it impossible.
The two star-helmeted lionesses powered around the track, then flew headfirst into the pack, weaving in and out of the mass of flying elbows and spinning wheels.
I watched as Esme's team's "star" player broke through the pack first and the crowd screamed with approval. The skater rounded the track and faced us again, and I saw who the woman was. It was Alice, her face contorted into a grin, her teeth biting into a mouth guard, as she ripped around the corner in what seemed like fast forward. I watched as a ref raised one hand as if to ask a question in school, and pointed to Alice with the other hand. The crowed broke into a loud cheer. Did she foul out? He followed her around the track almost like he was tethered to her.
Jasper watched the entire game and blew a whistle at the other team's "star" player, who threw her hands up in disgust and came off the track. Alice flew like a gazelle and drilled into the back of the pack, burrowing her way through. She broke through once again and the crowd roared with approval.
I heard Emmett loud and clear but didn't understand the meaning of "cutting." But whatever it meant, the lime green player was out because of it.
I let out a roaring laugh as my cousin straightened up and placed her hands on her hips. The crowd roared with approval again. My tiny cousin waved to the crowd. She was perfect. She was fast, nimble, and so strong. I was so impressed and proud-- and I had no idea what she had done.
The teams lined up again just as they had done before. The green star player came off the bench and took her place beside Alice. They shook their arms, brushing off the match before. The whistle blew and the striped-helmeted team members took off, pumping their arms and pushing their legs as hard as they could. They were fast – even on skates they were faster than lots of doctors I knew would be on foot.
The entire group moved as one huge unit, a blur of skates, sparkles, and sweat moving determinedly as one down the track, almost like a the El at home. It was quite impressive; I could see why people got really into it. It was equally exciting to watch my own cousin compete.
That damn Cullen competitive streak!
The largest pack of women steamrolled around the first corner and crossed a line made of bright duct tape. Within seconds, the whistle blew again and Alice and her opponent took off. They ripped into the back of the group and slithered their way through, passing me in a whirlwind.
They went to round the third corner of the track when a larger woman clad in a plain black helmet with three claw marks slammed into Alice, sending her careening. She smiled as Alice's tiny frame flew to the floor and slid 180 degrees into a set of risers. I was already on my feet making my way over to her when I noticed Jasper watching her. He looked like those prairie dogs they show on TV when they hear something: ramrod-straight and never taking their eyes off the approaching coyote. A whistle was blown and the skaters slowed down; many of Alice's teammates had already started to cross the track to get to her.
There was a crowd starting to form as Alice sat up and gingerly moved her wrist this way and that. Jasper skated closer, but didn't cross the track for fear of being run over by incoming teammates. He yelled over to Alice to get her attention, but it was far too loud to hear what they were saying, due to Emmett's big mouth and the crowd of fans and players now encroaching on us. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a vague blond blur speeding toward Alice from the opposite direction. Carlisle.
If blond doctor leaves the bench at x meters per second and auburn-headed doctor leaves the floor at y meters per second, which doctor will reach the potential patient first, given that both are traveling at a constant speed and friction is not a factor?
"Alice?!" I called out and slid to my knees, letting my momentum stop me next to her. She didn't hear my call until I clamped my hand down onto the laces of her skate. Her head snapped up and she spit out her mouth guard.
"Edward?"
"Hey, sprite!"
"Edward?" Carlisle's voice rose above the din. He had a look of surprised happiness that I could only assume was there because he wasn't expecting me in this capacity. Carlisle snapped back into medic mode and tended to his daughter, but I didn't take my hand off her foot. I felt a large hand at my shoulder and I looked up; it was Jasper, looking worried. My uncle had taken off the right wrist brace and was going over her arm, pinching and poking. Alice's bright blue eyes were drilling holes into Jasper. I gave Alice's foot a squeeze and looked over to Jasper and gave him a crooked smile.
"It's alright, man," I said in a quiet tone. I could feel Jasper's posture relax as I stood and patted him on the shoulder. He gave me a nervous, shy grin. Busted.
I stood back and watched as Alice told Carlisle that it wasn't bad.
"Get off. We have a bout to win," she said bravely, waving the group of girls off her. Rose rolled over out of nowhere and reached down for Alice, seemingly ignoring the fact that she was getting medical attention, and Alice's left hand shot up and took her teammate's hand to pull herself up. Carlisle sighed heavily and sat back on his haunches. It's your own damn fault, Carlisle, you like your women strong and independent. Can't expect to baby them now.
The crowd started to sympathy-clap as they watched Alice straighten her shirt, which read 'MALICE' on the back, and roll towards the bench. Esme's arms were folded in concern. Her face was flushed; clearly a sign that she had just finished chewing someone out. She might be Cullen by name, but those rage-flushed cheeks? Yeah, those were pure Masen.
"About time you showed up, Edward," Carlisle said as he stood and straightened his shirt. I noticed the printing on the left pocket area of his MEDIC shirt.
'Doctor Feelgood?'
"What are you talking about? I've been here since the game started." I started to walk back to the section I was sitting in.
"Bout."
"Um… 6:45?" I replied, checking my watch, and Carlisle just laughed. "No, it's called a bout," he explained.
"Oh." Well, didn't I feel like a tool just then. A big, hard tool.
"Are you sitting in the suicide seats?!" Carlisle said, his mouth agape, as we arrived back at where I was sitting before Alice had gotten hurt.
Suicide what? "What?"
"Are you sitting on the floor?"
"Yeah, all the bleachers were full," I said, sitting down.
"Hm. You're like your aunt. Go big or go home." I had no idea what the fuck he was saying, and apparently my expression conveyed this bit of info. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?"
"No. Completely clueless."
Carlisle sighed and chuckled as he sat next to me. "This area is called the suicide seats," he explained, pointing to the area where I'd been sitting. "So named because the girls have a tendency to get thrown or pushed into here. That's why they don't let anyone under eighteen sit here."
Oh fuck, what the fuck have I gotten myself into?
"So, explain to me what the stars are for?" I said, engaging Carlisle.
"The stars represent the Jammers. They are our point scorers." Carlisle pointed to Alice. "See, she'll whip around behind the group, and she gets a point for every one of the other team's members she passes. The first Jammer through the pack at the start of each bout is called the lead Jammer. She's the one that keeps bouts going, or she can call them off by placing her hands on her hips.
Now, say Alice is the lead Jammer, and someone like Alpha Delta Anarchy, over there--" He pointed to a lanky young woman, who looked really banged up, looking worse for wear and wearing lots and lots of hot pink. With a chuckle he started back into the explanation. "Say she pushes through, and actually passes Alice. Anarchy would do what's called a Grand Slam, earning her an extra point."
"Okay." The info slowly tracked in my brain and made things click. I suddenly understood Alice's desperation to be first out from behind the horde. "What about the ones with lines?"
"They are the Pivots, they set the pace of the teams. They also are first in the line, and the last line of defense, trying to keep the opposite team back so their Jammer can lead. The rest of the girls are called Blockers. They block the other team's Jammer, all the while helping their teammate through the pack."
It started to all make sense now. I could hear Emmett in the background giving the bout play-by-play. "Oh and Sirius Bitches' Pivot hit into the penalty box!! Crown Jewels' Tan Ya Hide is going to the box for that one." It was amazing. I understood things in a whole new light. Suddenly Derby was a whole new ballgame, and it was much more fun to watch now that I knew what the hell was happening. I got into watching my cousin's team, all clad in plum with glittery gold accents catching the light from all directions, push themselves with such strength and speed around the concrete track. They pushed and hit the other team, all in black and vivid lime green.
Everything was in focus, and you could see how much the Crown Jewels ruled the rink. They were wiping the floor with the other team. The Jewels were just obviously stronger and faster.
As the next bout started, I noticed Alice was playing with her left glove and armband. The whistles blew and the girls tore around the tracks.
"Malice is coming up from behind, her teammate Rose Feratu is gonna whip her around!" Emmett screamed into his microphone.
Jeeze, man! Ease up! My ears are ringing here!
That's when I saw it. Alice's very big, very painful wince as Rose grasped her right wrist. She pulled hard and I could read Alice's face as if I could read minds. I heard Carlisle give a sound of disapproval. He had seen it too.
"Malice is ahead and pulls a Grand Slam and calls it for the Crown Jewels, the score now 14-0!" Emmett screamed. The crowd joined him, making it impossible to talk to my uncle. I gestured down to my wrist and mimed whipping my hand around. He nodded, not really watching me, more concerned with his daughter.
Alice had done some serious damage to her wrist in that fall. More than she was letting on.
Stubborn mule.
Carlisle stood up and shoved his way over to Aunt Esme. She never took her eyes off her girls, as the whistles blew for another match. I watched as Malice roared around the corner closest to me. The wind sheared off her and through my hair; she had pulled ahead and was the lead Jammer. She sailed around the third turn, and my attention turned to Esme. She was very angry. The flush was back and she was pinching the bridge of her nose while trying to think through the noise of the derby, the crowd, and Emmett's voice.
Alice ripped around the last corner and prepared herself to attack the back line of girls. She pushed and weaved through the mass of trunks and legs, finally making it to the front of the scrum; within mere seconds, she was almost a full length ahead of the team. She made eye contact with Esme and placed her hands on her hips, signaling the end.
I could see Esme yelling at Jasper. He spun on his wheeled heels and looked at her for a moment before he blew his whistle and made a T with his hands. A time out. The teams rolled back to their assigned benches and Jasper rolled in along with them.
The teams huddled and I could see Alice in the middle of it all. The doctor in me wanted to rush right over there and try to fix things, but I had to let 'Doctor Feelgood' do his job.
There was an obvious tantrum being thrown. Alice was fine, she was at the top of her game, and she saw no reason why she should be taken out of the bout, but Carlisle's word was final: Alice was out.
My cousin sat down hard on the plastic benches, her tiny fingers ripping at the helmet straps under her chin. Walking over, Esme gave her daughter a quelling look; Alice replied with something clearly profane, just before she flipped her helmet around and peeled off the Lead Jammer's helmet cover.
Emmett made a smart ass remark about her having to be taken out. She flipped Emmett off.
Good girl.
Esme took the star-stitched spandex and ran it through her long fingers. She looked at her girls, and then quickly gathered the group up for a huddle. There were some raised voices before Rose and the rest of the team rolled back on the track. One of the other blond Blockers, Tan Ya Hide, looked extremely pissed off. Rose kept trying to calm her down and tell her that it was cool. The opposing team joined them on the track and within seconds the first whistle was blown.
As everything started, the horde ripped along the track, whipping the wind around behind them. The second whistle blew and the two Jammers started to fly past us. Alice's replacement was fast. Impossibly fast.
Within moments the crowd roared with acceptance and approval as the Jammer for the Jewels broke free, rounding around the track. As she tore back around, the pack separated and she slowed; right behind her was a Blocker. As they got closer, the Blocker slammed into the small body of the Jewels' Jammer. She hurtled to the floor, sliding and rolling. The next thing I knew I was staring at the black hot pants and fishnet-covered thighs of the Jammer, now splayed out onto my lap, ass in the air. She was warm, and even in the heat of battle she smelled phenomenal. She rolled back off me and looked me straight in the face.
Don't touch!! Let her go!!! Danger!! Danger, Will Robinson! I was in total awe. When she hit me, it had felt as if she was on fire. All the air in my lungs was gone. I don't know if it was literally or figuratively knocked out, but it was gone either way. How did I miss her during the entire game? Shit, no, it's called a bout. Was she here the entire time?? She had to be, fuck, she's drenched in sweat. God, she's gorgeous.
Her eyes were dark brown and her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Her dark hair was pulled back into two braided buns just behind her ears, Princess Leia-style, and matted with sweat against her pale forehead. She slid right off my leg and hit the floor with a small bounce. She scrambled to get to her feet and pull down the ass end of her dress, but as she double-timed it to get back onto the track, her head turned, and she had taken out her mouth guard, winked and mouthing "Sorry," before she was off in a swish of purple and gold. The words 'Bruise-A-Bella' were on her back in large letters.
Damn, Bruise-A-Bella was hot.
I snorted and gave her a bit of a nod. I could feel the shit eating grin growing slowly on my face. I couldn't help it. Somehow I didn't think I was going to be achieving the inner peace I'd been sent here to find, now that I'd seen her. Then again, maybe inner peace was overrated anyway.
Authors Notes:
FYI: I plan on continuing this story. I just need to get Observance and ITDoALS:Bold As Love a little farther along. I am quietly working on chapters when I can. So as of right now, this stands as a one shot... and but will be continued a little later.
This story would not be around if it wasnt for the peeps at Unicorns Unlimited on Ravelry. They came up with the premise then asked me to do it. So thank them if you love it.
Stacey, Sarah, Ashley and CeCi: Thank you for dealing with me and letting me pick your brains for ideas and names. Thank you for reading my horrific spelling, and lack of commas. Bring the red pens!
Thank you all!
Jayne