Page 29 of Off the Post

I flush from his praise. And then, because I’m highly awkward and inappropriate, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Well, just you wait ’til you find out what you’ll have to do in exchange for it.”

Yup. That’s me.

Awkward Alison.

14

Soren

There are several things—mostly sexual and highly inappropriate—that run through my mind when Ali suggests that I need to give her something in exchange for the photos.

Can you blame a guy?

I may live like a celibate monk as some of my teammates have insinuated, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a healthy sexual appetite. I’ve had hookups, and I enjoy the company of women.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever reacted with such eagerness nor experienced the clawing need I feel toward Ali.

Of course, I find her insanely attractive, and I’m pulled by her allure. Like the way Ali’s bright blue eyes crinkle when she smiles, as if she has a secret she wants to share. And her reddish-gold hair that is sometimes curly and other times fixed in sleek, shiny waves that I want to thread my fingers through and lock in my grip.

Her curvy body has the perfect fullness around her hips and thighs. It shoots raw ripples of need that bite hungrily at my groin whenever I watch her walk away from me. My imagination runs rampant with all the things I could do with Ali if my fingers curled into that flesh around her legs and spread her wide.

My mouth would lay claim to all her hidden secrets between those shapely hips.

Fuck. This is not the time nor the place to have these indecent thoughts.

Besides all that, I’m not the kind of guy a woman like Ali would want to be with. Even Anna flat out told me I’m “not tapped into my emotional IQ,” whatever the fuck that means. All I know for sure is that my moody disposition would only dampen Ali’s sunny personality.

Plus, she’s Rossy’s sister.

Off-limits. Bro code. No crossing that boundary.

I brush all those issues aside when Ali slides an envelope along the woodgrain of her desk toward me. With a narrowed gaze, I peer down at what looks like a handwritten letter. My name is scrawled out in crayon on the front, the flap already open and unsealed.

“Vhat is this?” I ask, eyeing her quizzically. She grins like a kid on Christmas.

“It’s my bargaining chip.”

I’m unsure of what we’re bargaining for, so I carefully extract and open the tri-folded sheet and briefly scan the contents. It’s a letter written in a child’s messy handwriting using all the marker colors of the rainbow and at the very top is a recognizable drawing of a wolf.

Ali gestures with a go ahead sign, and I sigh heavily.

It’s not that I’ve never received fan letters before, but they’ve normally come through the Vikings head office, where mail for the players and coaching staff is delivered. A PR intern is responsible for sorting through the messages and packages that arrive. I’ve heard about—but haven’t myself received—various types of underwear for all genders, nude photos, and “I’m pregnant with your baby” kind of messages coming through. As well as the more threatening stalker and death threat type messages.

Mostly, though, the letters and messages are sweet, thoughtful, and flattering, a good boost to a guy’s ego.

However, this one being delivered directly through the foundation captures my interest, and I begin reading. Well, as much as I can decipher, that is. Luckily, a second folded sheet is wrapped around the first, and it’s typed.

Dear Woff,

U r the best goaly ever. I praktise evry day cuz I want to be as good as u r sumday. I am ate years old. I have a condishon that makes me look difrent. I get bullied. It makes me sad.

But gess whut. My mom says I get a wish and my wish is to play with u.

I luv your helmut. It is scary cool. I want to ware it sumday.

k, by. c u soon.