Chapter 6

In normal circumstances, the drone of a jet engine would put Shane to sleep after a long hard day. Within minutes of a commercial flight, in the confines of a hard aircraft seat, he'd force himself to rest. In the case of his flight home from his first game in Philadelphia, that wasn't the result. His mind was still entangled in his day.

Tom, sitting in the chair to his right, was awake too. Unable to disengage from his work, the young man was tapping away at a team supplied laptop making subtle adjustments to his strength and conditioning plans. Keystroke staccato filling the air around them, Tom looked severe and focused on his screen. Shane was just glad the flight was ridiculously short.

Once he'd gotten to the team bus and started off towards the stadium, Shane had been surprised by the intensity of the game. His team mates wore grim expressions on their faces, and mp3 players in their ears. They had planned to get there early to miss the bulk of the welcoming fans. It didn't work. Even hours before game time, Philadelphia's fans were in the parking lot ready to harass the New York arrival.

When they'd played their home game, it had been a low key affair arriving at the stadium and getting ready. Most of the New York team just got in their cars and commuted to the locker room like anyone else going to work. In Philadelphia the animosity Shane felt towards he and his team was thick. Putting on his pads and uniform in quiet, he noted Leonard's intense, silent game preparation. Enough of his team mates were quiet that he could hear the obnoxious music escaping Leonard's head phones.

The Liberty had exited the tunnel at game time to jeers and heckling. Feet were stomping, hands were gesturing, and Shane heard a few illicit air horns blow. A crushed paper cup got thrown, and Shane watched it fall on Orlando's shoulder as they ran out onto the field. The stadium volume never dropped from that point on unless Philadelphia had the ball.

With a calculated intent, Coach Franklin sent his captains out for the coin toss, and the game blurred for Shane after that. Not able to play, his brain just wanted to get it over with. He didn't miss anything, but the whole event rushed past at speed. Personal pride welled inside him when Nelson Jones picked up a Paul Berry blitz, and flattened the rookie linebacker.

Berry's day did not go well. Xavier and Leonard watched his tells for the entire game, the rookie sensation was rendered a non-factor by the second quarter. For his part against the brutal defensive lineman Marcus Ramsey, Leonard got by with a draw. Neither man was able to exert dominance, but Leonard was able to limit him to just two touches on Xavier. Neither resulted in a sack by sheer agility on the quarterback's part, Xavier was exhausted though.

When the final whistle sounded, Shane was still standing in an unblemished uniform. This time he was the only one. New York fought a hard battle against the powerful Philadelphia team, and managed to escape with a seventeen to fourteen victory. Shane didn't know how they would handle that opponent if the linebacker Barry fixed his tells.

After the game, Shane showered slow, dressed slower, and managed to leave the locker room after the starters of the game. He hadn't wanted to speak to the press. The adjustment in routine allowed him to slip past the media without hassle. Back on the bus he felt guilty again for only coming to watch a game. He wanted to play.

Tom's work ethic had inspired him at the airport, and at first he waited for the plane with his playbook in his lap. It wore off on the plane though when he couldn't push the desire to be done with game day from his head. That left him sitting mutely in his seat wishing for the wheels to touch down. As soon as the plane landed, Shane felt the camaraderie of his team dissipating. Men were ready to be with their families again, and some wives were waiting at the baggage claim.

Shane and Tom made it home in time for Tom to pull a pre-prepared meal from the freezer and throw it at Shane. Glad that he didn't have to cook or go anywhere, Shane just ate. It hadn't been the best meal he'd ever had, but with the desire to play burning in his guts, Shane took the meal as a duty to himself. He was rinsing the Tupperware when Tom closed his laptop.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Tom asked. The team had the day off and wasn't required back for practices until Tuesday.

"Probably going to the training center for bit, then I don't know," Shane said. "My accountant wants me to get a car though so maybe I'll do that."

"Can I ride to the facility with you?"

"Yeah." Tom just staggered off to his room after that, leaving Shane alone. He seemed to be alone a lot.

His cell phone stirred him from sleep the next morning. Wishing it was a call, he was dejected when it was just a text from Valerie, she'd be out of town three more weeks, and would call later. Shane just moped to his shower. At least the hot water felt good.

That week stretched out for an eternity. His accountant and agent hadn't been happy with the car dealerships paperwork. As a result Shane couldn't change vehicles. It looked like even the good parts of fame and fortune were a hassle. Tom's workouts got more intense under the auspice that Shane had several weeks in the program, and his body needed to be shook up lest it get complacent.

Practice wasn't taken very seriously by anyone. It was still intense and meticulous being a professional practice, but no one was sweating bullets like they did before Philadelphia. The team would be challenging Cincinnati on Sunday, and the opponent hadn't won a regular season game since half way through last season. As a home game, New York had no travel, so their time was well managed and relaxed.

Valerie called Shane on Wednesday, but was apparently busy negotiating a labor dispute in her high rise project in Orlando, and unable to take too long to talk. It was more loneliness for Shane. In frustration he called his mother, who reassured him that she and his father were going to watch every game until he played. Then she rode him about calling his sister.

Cincinnati didn't put up much fight on Sunday, and New York rolled through them twenty one to three. Xavier still spent every down on the field, and Shane's helmet stayed hidden under the bench. So Shane's next week accelerated in front of him. Two weeks after that, Shane was a frazzled uninspired dreary football player.

New York had managed a five game winning streak, dusting Arizona and Carolina, and Shane hadn't been on the field for any of it. Xavier was playing lights out, and the team was rising with him, dominating the field of play. Happy to be in a winning organization, but lamenting his lack of involvement, Shane felt worthless. His contributions to the success had been catching Paul Barry's tell, and holding a clip board.

During his Monday after New York's annihilation of Carolina, Shane promised himself that he would truly take the day off. Needing a clear and complete day free of football and all things athletic, he canceled all his normal plans. He wouldn't even go into the training center. The night before Valerie had agreed that he should catch a real break.

Tom was still working his insane schedule, and had gone in to the center to supervise some workouts. Most of the players participating in Tom's plans were showing the progress Tom promised. More concerned with changes in his play time, Shane gave up on looking for changes in his gym time, and just executed whatever plans Tom gave him with per function. Even his nutrition became habit. The shakes were practically tasteless by then.

He considered a movie for his day off, but didn't think he could handle the pressure of being seen. Applebee's was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't want to spend his non-football day signing autographs for football fans. In his boxer shorts, he just sat on his couch and stared at old movies. Right up to the point where his doorbell rang.

"Mr. Ellsworth?" said a spunky looking woman with spiky blonde highlights. She was wearing what looked like white nursing scrubs under a brown knit coat.

"Yeah," Shane said, realizing he'd answered the door in his shorts.

"Daphne Sir," she said, sticking a small hand out. Shane shook it, surprised at the strength it contained. "Ms. Winters booked me for an hour and a half."

"She what?" Shane felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Valerie hired a hooker for him?

"Yes Sir," she pressed on. "Hour and a half, total body, deep tissue, Swedish, whatever you need."

"I'm on appointment only, referral only Mr. Ellsworth," she said. "If you'd me to tell Ms. Winters you were uninterested, I can do that. But I don't return after that. I pride myself on a very high repeat client record."

Shane just then began to notice the hand truck the girl had next to her. Valerie had given him a massage. Maybe it would help. Stepping to the side, he let her and her equipment in.

With introductions out of the way, Shane watched the small woman wheel her cart into his living room, and switch off his television. She was pulling open a portable massage table seconds later, and he was still trying to catch up.

"I find that television makes clients want to look up," she said. "That stresses neck muscles that I'm trying to sort out. If you'd like music or something, I have a player. You'll probably want some water too."

Shane just nodded, and moved to his fridge. There was an orange looking shake on the top shelf. Shrugging and deciding that this was a complete day off; he poured it down the sink and refilled the glass with water.

Daphne was waiting for him when he returned glass in hand. She'd dimmed all the lights, and light several candles that she'd brought. Her tiny music player was letting out something that sounded like classical music. She pointed at his shorts.

"You'll want to let those go. All you'll need is a towel." She was detached and professional through out.

Like a robot, Shane went to his bathroom and shucked out of his boxers. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned, Daphne had removed her coat, and was rolling up her sleeves. With his back to her, he opened his towel, and lay down on the table with it draping over his backside.

The moment Daphne's warm strong hands touched his shoulder Shane knew he needed the massage. Not only was she filled with talent, his muscles revealed their tension. Five minutes into her kneading, he'd managed to filter the pain of her rubbing and relax into the manipulation of his knots.

At some point he fell asleep, and was awakened by the spiky haired masseuse nudging his arm. She lifted his towel and turned her head away. Shane rolled over onto his back and she professionally replaced the towel. He drifted again when her fingertips dug into his shins.

Loose and peaceful, Shane found clarity that had been missing for at least a week. His tension had plagued his mind, causing distraction and frustration. The past weeks now seemed less fruitless, and more determination welled up inside him. Shane almost missed it when Daphne's oiled fingers cupped his balls.

Eyes snapping open, he saw Daphne looking directly at his equipment. She'd taken his towel at some point, and he'd not noticed. He shivered when she wrapped her other hand around his shaft.

What was he supposed to do? Had he accepted it when he unknowingly let her remove the towel? Should he stop her? Daphne began squeezing and rubbing his cock and he lost the will to care.

Hands that were magic on his muscles were nothing short of miraculous on his shaft and balls. Her gentle kneading and slow stroking were exquisite pleasure. Eyes unmoving and focused on her task, Daphne stayed focused. Shane dropped his own, and closed his eyelids.

"Fuck it," he thought.

Daphne worked him with a deliberate pace for almost ten minutes. She never hurried, just altered her pace ever so lightly faster. Even at its fastest; she never moved more than a relaxed stroke.

In complete surprise when the feeling culminated, Shane exploded in her ever moving fingers. Hips rising off of the table, he came for what seemed like an eternity. Stars fluttered in his vision, and his stomach tightened. Able to lose him at will, Daphne let him go without him knowing.

His awareness picked back up when she was patting his release with a towel, cleaning him up again. Unable to resist, Shane smiled at her. Daphne's professional demeanor didn't falter.

Feeling limp and relaxed from head to toe, inside and out, Shane was barely able to participate in her packing up and leaving. He managed to get to the door as she was just about to leave.

"Do you," he began. He'd been trying to figure a way to get her into bed, then realized this was just a business relation for her. "So do you think I can schedule you in again in a week or two?"

"You're probably better off going with every other week," Daphne said. "I left a card on your counter, call me in two weeks, and I'll return."

Just like that she was gone. The marvelous masseuse left him sexually confused, but otherwise at a point of total relaxation. His aches were satiated, his mind was spinning on something completely unrelated to his funk, and his smile was easy. Valerie was a damned genius.

"Hey Ohio," Valerie answered when he called her two minutes later. "I take it you got my present."

"What did you do to me Valerie? That girl's phenomenal. Did you know what she would do?"

"Of course I did," Valerie said with a chuckle. "Daphne's one of my best kept secrets. I hope you didn't try to seduce her though."

"No," Shane admitted. "Should I next time?"

"Hell no, she's untouchable. She just gets you relaxed into a puddle, gets you off, and leaves you drooling. If you try for more she'll never return."

"So she..."

"Yeah, me too."

"God if this was my solution I should have nailed that reporter when she came onto me."

Silence came from the other side of the phone. For a moment he thought maybe he wasn't actually supposed to sleep with other people. Maybe he should have told Valerie earlier even though nothing happened. Frustration welled inside him.

"Shane," Valerie said her voice straining and quiet. "Be very glad you didn't do something like that."

"Why? I think she wanted me. She was cute too..."

"She probably did want you," Valerie said. "But you can't afford to sleep with reporters. They're less trustworthy than lawyers, and twice as sneaky."

"Here's a rule my dad came up with; if it has a pen, a recorder, or a microphone. Don't fuck it. It's not elegant, but if I'd followed that rule I'd have never ruined things for myself."

They continued to talk about Shane's now forgotten funk, and how he was grateful to be back on track, even if cumming with the other woman was confusing to the rural Ohio boy inside him. Valerie never acted weird or ashamed about any of it. It was good to have her in his ear.

Tuesday, Shane was back at the training center with a grimace on his face and steel in his attitude. With the easiest opponents behind them, New York's remaining schedule was all uphill. Vying for playoff contention in professional football would never be easy, but New York carried a target on their backs week after week every season.

Back in the game mentally, he had suited up with bad intentions toward his opponents. In the film room he was putting more focus on the review, and trying to help Xavier more. Things were finally clicking with the playbook now after months of study.

He was glad to be hungry again. Playing his practice snaps with intense need, Shane was on the field throwing deep passes to Orlando when the inevitable, yet incredulous occurred.

Practicing in pads and shorts, Xavier was fleeing at half speed from a rush when his right ankle turned under his leg. There wasn't a thing Shane could do. No time to yell, no chance to stop it. New York's starting quarterback just crumpled into the grass in a howl of pain and began beating the ground with his fist.

Racing over, Shane got to Xavier just as Tom and the trainers did. Xavier wasn't hurting as much physically as he was just plain angry. The older man looked at Shane and shook his head. Wrapping his ankle with ice and tape, the training crew swept him off the field in a cart to get x-rays.

"Jus mah pride fellas," the starting quarter back said as the cart hauled him away. "Nothing really hurt but mah pride."

Reed Franklin had Shane take over the first team offense for the rest of practice. There wasn't much going right for the rest of the session though. Everyone on the field was thrown off by the lack of the team leader's presence. Shane's timing was garbage, and the starters were not mentally at one hundred percent.