Necessary Roughness 2Nd Quarter

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. It involves both real and fictional people and organizations. It is not necessarily an accurate depiction of how the real people depicted are in real life. The real people used are mainly background characters there for context. The central characters to the story are primarily fictional. Any portrayal of a real person has an element of fiction to it and is in no way meant to be an accurate representation of that person.

This story plays out similarly to a sports movie, and sports movies are my primary inspiration. I set the story around an NFL team, specifically the Miami Dolphins. I am basing the team loosely off the 2015 team, including the roster and list of opponents, but some players and coaches - and the schedule itself - will be fictional.

Also, this story depicts very rough sex and a lot of crass language. If you are offended by that or do not wish to read about such topics, I suggest you stop reading now.

Furthermore, this is the second installment of a four-part story. I will get the stories out as quickly as I can. Enjoy.

*****

(NRG Stadium, Houston, TX, Dolphins vs. Texans)

I walk the halls outside the players' entrance. It's not too long before the last pre game huddle. I looked at the odds before the game - Houston's favored by eleven. I'd favor them by a hell of a lot more, but Fox has been playing out of his mind and we're platooning in Branden Albert this week. It might stop the bleeding a bit; whatever works.

I check my phone - nothing to do but wait at this point for another ten minutes. To my surprise, I get a text message - thinking for a split second it's Isabelle, I briefly wonder whose phone she borrowed.

It's a number that's not in my phone - and the sender asks, "Are you outside the locker room?" I reply, "Yes, who is this?" The sender says, "You'll find out." My first inclination? It's Vickers - he's planning to yell at me before the game. Psych me out or something. After all, I'm the reason he got cut - and is in Houston now.

I wait a couple of minutes - to my surprise, it's Aisha. We haven't talked much since Thursday, though I've certainly thought about it. Before Thursday, I hooked up here and there with cheap sluts or desperate football groupies. Nothing special; just a way to get some release. After that, though, I can't think about those girls, even the young, gorgeous ones. All I think about is Aisha.

"You look nervous," she tells me - she's right.

"I thought you were someone else," I reply - she concludes I mean Vickers.

"He won't try to kick your ass," she soothes - honestly, me against Vickers is a pretty fair fight. I keep in shape and am pretty good at defending myself. "But I'll do something more fun."

She leads me into some kind of closet and puts her hand on my crotch - it takes me almost no time to get hard. "That's what I thought," teases Aisha as she unzips my pants and crouches down, switching to a kneeling position quickly.

She switches to using her mouth, sucking my erect cock fast and deep. I moan softly - "Damn, baby," I mutter. "You're good."

She switches back to her hand for a second. "I'm good at a lot of things," she comments. "I can do it rough. Or I can be nice. Now enjoy."

Right away, she takes as much in her mouth as she can - I know I'm hung, but I've never had anyone who appreciates it like Aisha does.

She licks the head with the back of her tongue - I'm in ecstasy. She grabs my ass - is she deepthroating me? She takes my entire shaft in her mouth - fuck. This is fucking great.

"Oh damn," I shout, hoping no one heard me. "Do you swallow?" I ask, barely forming words - she doesn't answer but she keeps working. She has me ready to blow. She doesn't waste any time - and just like that, she digs her nails in my ass cheeks.

That's all it takes - I start cumming in her mouth. She licks it all up, swallowing it all and extending my orgasm with her sweet tongue. My head clears up almost instantly as she finishes me off.

Finally, she stands back up and zips me up. She kisses me on the cheek and slaps my ass, which is still stinging from her nails. "Now go coach your ass off, stud," she comments as she pushes me out the door.

I notice myself feeling more at ease during the meeting and on the sideline, as if my orations to my guys are less tension-filled and more genuine. I almost feel my good vibes rubbing off on my players. Or that's what I decide is happening anyway - we run the opening kick back to the Texans' 33.

Branden Albert gets the start at left tackle, and he's an absolute beast out there. Tannehill completes five passes in a row, the fifth going to Jordan Cameron for a seven-yard touchdown pass. For the first time all season, we have a touchdown - and a lead.

Our next drive turns into a slow, plodding series of short running gains and completions to Cameron, with Deon Wright backing him up on occasion and picking up yards. Turns out he can catch - sometimes. The drive takes seventeen plays, but we get in the end zone and go up 14-7.

I watch the defensive coaches frantically trying to stop Hoyer - and Vickers. It's as if he's in our D-line's collective head, as if he's the reason our overpriced defense can't come together. Once we crack the code on Vickers, the rest of the defense should solidify - in theory.

That doesn't happen in the third quarter - the Texans get the first strike, and we counter with a touchdown of our own. I look up at the scoreboard after three quarters - it's 42-42 with the Texans knocking at the door to start the fourth.

The Texans get back to business on the next drive, marching down to our 31 with a first and ten. Hoyer lines up to pass over Cameron Wake's head - Wake gets a hand on it, and it falls incomplete. Foster gets the call on the next play - he's stuffed for no gain. Hoyer goes back to the pass on third down - he can't make anything happen. Finally, we get a defensive stop, as the field goal unit heads out to attempt a 48-yarder.

The snap is to Ryan Mallett, Texans holder and backup QB - son of a bitch, it's a fake. And it's deep - we're caught totally off guard, and the next thing you know, we're in the hole 56-49.

I pull Branden Albert over. "Protect the house," I tell him. "Any time you see J.J. Watt do that thing with the two fingers on each hand, watch for a blitz. Call out the word 'fireball.' Tell Tannehill and change the code word as you have to. Good luck, dude. You got this." I listen for the play call from upstairs - we have eighty yards to go and under five minutes to do it - and listen to this. Two tight ends. Deon's to the left.

The drive goes smoothly up to the red zone, where we seem to get stuck. No field goals here, I think, as Tannehill's pass to Stills falls incomplete. Fourth down and goal at the nine - and it has to count.

Tannehill scrambles - J.J. Watt is chasing him. His target is Stills - covered. Cameron - covered. He spots Deon Wright in the corner of the end zone - fires a perfect strike.

Touchdown, Dolphins! We're an extra point from tying it up. I look around - what the hell? We're going for two? Are you out of your mind, I think as the two tight end formation comes together.

I listen closely - I hear the word 'fireball' from Branden. The give is to Knowshon - he runs to the outside looking doomed. The Texans send the house after him - big mistake. Knowshon looks up - fires a perfect lob to Stills, who's wide open and catches it with no trouble. Boom, baby - we're in the lead with just two-and-a-half minutes to go. Let's hold this lead, even if it's just a point.

I take a look over - oh hell. Albert's down on the ground, clutching his left leg. You never want to see anything like this from one of your guys, especially since Albert's been struggling with knee issues all season.

The trainer heads out - with a cart. He's just not getting up. Finally, the training staff gets him on the cart and takes him away - at least the visiting crowd cheers for him. Classy. And I genuinely mean it - the Texans may have a racist asshole for a starting left tackle, but I wouldn't knock their fans.

Also a good thing that Albert isn't needed to protect the lead - the Texans get the ball at the 20 after a touchback, so we have to keep them from scoring. It doesn't look good - Hoyer gets right to work picking apart our defense.

As the Texans line up for first and 10, I watch Vickers walk over - just what we need. He spots Deon.

"I own this field, rookie," he shouts. "I own you. And I own your boys."

Deon is unamused. "If I were on defense, I'd kick your dumb ass all the way back to the locker room."

"Yeah, but you're not on defense," Vickers taunts. "Are you, boy?" The staredown continues. I'm getting really sick of hearing one of my guys called 'boy.' I'm not theo nay one sick of it - the ref hears him too.

A penalty flag follows, and for reasons only my sideline understands, the Texans get whistled for unsportsmanlike conduct, and a comfortable first and 10 at our 29 is now a brutal first and 25. Good luck with that, fuckers.

Deon isn't finished. "Cameron!" he calls out to Cameron Wake, who runs over. I overhear Deon say to him, "Keep this on the DL, but do you know what Vickers said to me before he got cut?" Deon whispers it to Cameron. "Yes, him. Vickers, number 69. Whip his ass."

Cameron Wake rejoins the game, lined up across from Vickers, who appears to be foaming at the mouth. He gives a nod to Ndamukong Suh, who's lined up at tackle. Hoyer calls for the snap.

Suh and Wake rush Vickers - and flatten him. I seem to catch a cleat in Vickers' groin - the ref does not. With that, Wake has a clean shot at the quarterback. Brian Hoyer doesn't see Wake coming at all, and Wake levels him for a loss of nine. Hoyer's lucky to stay conscious after that blow.

The Texans line up again, once again with Suh and Wake against Vickers. Vickers, undaunted, charges at Wake - and Suh crashes into him, shoulder-first, and throws him about five yards. This time, Hoyer looks over his shoulder and sees Wake flying at him - he wisely gets rid of the ball. But Wake gets the last laugh - Hoyer gets whistled for intentional grounding, and the Texans lose ten on the play. I take a look at the scoreboard - in addition to showing us ahead by one, it shows the down as third - and 44. Holy fuck.

Vickers actually lines up again, facing down Wake by himself this time. Wake drops low - and almost lifts Vickers over his head, throwing the left tackle on his back. Wake charges after Hoyer, who is probably muttering 'please don't hurt me' at this point - Wake gets hands in his face, and the ball falls incomplete.

Wake gives some kind of wild fist-pump gesture as the down ticks to fourth - and Vickers gets up and charges at him. Oh no - not good.

Vickers knocks down Wake in a total blindside hit - well after the play. Who does this asshole think he is? He's standing over Wake, taunting him - of course there's a flag, and of course there's a group of refs in Vickers' face.

Suh helps Wake off the field - he seems OK, just shaken up. I have the training staff take a look at him, crossing my fingers. Then I listen for the call - late hit, 15 yards, and Vickers is ejected. Because of course he is. Even the home fans are booing him - he's single-handedly cost them the game. Tack on another half-the-distance penalty for taunting, and the Texans are on their own 11 at fourth and...70? Damn.

Hoyer attempts a pass - some kind of screen pass that leads to some kind of Cal-Stanford play minus the band on the field - and the result. The Texans pick up six yards on the play. That's the game - and in insane fashion, we get our first win of the season. And it's pretty much all thanks to our offense - the defense gave up 56 points and we still win the game? I'm guessing that's some kind of record.

(YMCA, Miami Gardens, FL, Monday around 3:30 pm)

Teams like to give players and coaches the day off right after a win - of course, if they're anything like me, a day off involves a lot of work anyway. At least, though, we have a win under our belt, so we won't be the worst team of all time. The worst defense, maybe, but not-

Never mind, as I take a peek at our news feed. It looks like good news and bad news. The good news is our defense - it's looking great in practice. Maybe curb-stomping Vickers is what the D needed in order to come together. After all, Vickers' dominance in the joint practice seemed to be what sent the D into a downward spiral. Now that the monkey is off everyone's backs, it looks like we can get back to business.

The bad news? It's a doozy - Branden Albert has a torn ACL. In other words, he's done for the season - and we're just not cutting it at left tackle with Jason Fox. At least we get the Redskins this week - quarterback situation is a train wreck, so if the defense holds together, we'll be OK. Maybe do that whole two tight end thing to hang together; I don't know.

I'll figure that out later, though. Right now, I'm here waiting on a very important person - my daughter, of course. She's in a select basketball league, one she'll probably stick with until high school, and practice doesn't start until next week. But before then, she's trying to gain a little edge.

There's only one person who can come close to challenging Isabelle right now - her best friend Crystal, who's doing remarkably well. She's being weaned off IVs and is back in school, even if it is at the hospital - from what I hear, she's crushing her classes.

The best news, though, is that she's healthy enough to start playing basketball again, even if it's not in a league this year. She'll be Isabelle's sparring partner this year - and soon enough, she'll be healthy enough to go home with her foster family.

For now, though, both girls are here - and already ready to play. As a bonus, there's a youth league here - at least I think that's a bonus. More practice for the girls, anyway.

Crystal leads the way - decked out in sunglasses and with her hair back in a ponytail. She's definitely feeling a lot better. "Sup, Coach?" she greets me, a fist-bump accompanying. Isabelle simply bends me down for a kiss on the cheek - as tall as she is for a ten-year-old, I still have to bend down for her. That won't always be true - the doctors project her adult height at 6'1". I'll enjoy her being young while it lasts - hell, I'll enjoy me being young while it lasts.

Looks like the youth league kids are right on time - and it looks like it's pretty much all boys. No sweat; Isabelle takes down boys all the time. I watch as Isabelle takes a shot from beyond the free throw line - nothing but net.

Oh no - one of the boys grabs the ball. He doesn't seem to be letting go of it - do we have a rumble on our hands?

"We were playing," Isabelle interrupts.

"Not anymore," snarks the boy. "It's our court now. If you're not in the league, get out of here." I walk over intently - the boy looks me up and down but doesn't flinch. "It's our court now; she has to go," he demands. "If you're in charge here, you know that."

"Look, son," I counter. "I don't know who this league is, but unless you have a game, I'd welcome the challenge."

"Challenge?" he scoffs. "From two girls? Oooh, we're so scared. You need us to hold their purses, too?"

I look over at Isabelle - she's pissed. So I pull the boy aside.

"Now you listen here, you little bastard," I scold, making sure Isabelle doesn't hear me. "You see that girl in the Wade jersey?" He does. "That's my daughter. You mess with her, you mess with me. And I'll have you know she's damn good. Now you figure out a way to include the two of them or we have a problem." I would continue, but Isabelle walks up and takes the ball out of his hands.

"We'll play you for it," she quips. "You and your best player against me and Crystal. If we lose, we'll go somewhere else. If we win, we're team captains. Deal?" He laughs - but accepts.

He hashes out the rules - one point per bucket, two from beyond the three-point line, first to 21 wins, call your own fouls. I'm a little nervous about the last part, but I know Isabelle's a tough kid and she can probably handle it.

I do the opening tip - and from then on out, I'm more worried about the kid and his buddy than about Isabelle or even Crystal. Crystal has no problem throwing elbows, bumping the guys, even stepping on toes - it's almost as if the boys don't want to admit a girl fouled them.

Isabelle and Crystal thoroughly enjoy using that to their advantage, walking all over the boys early to take a quick lead and even landing a couple of long-distance shots. The girls get 11 points before the boys are even on the board, and Crystal knocks over each boy - twice. It ends up 21-2, and the boys just storm off the court as Isabelle sinks the last shot - from beyond the arc. Won't be seeing those two for a while.

The rest of the guys honor the deal and let Isabelle and Crystal be captains, and I glance at the girls - and their charges - while I do some film study.

My film study is interrupted by a sound I don't expect to hear in a basketball gym - the firm walk of high-heeled shoes. I look up - the hell?

It's Aisha, of all people, here to stalk me on my day off. Yes, I'm working.

"Neil?" She's as confused as I am. "Are you here with the program too?"

"What program?" Yeah, seriously, what program?

"You must be a Big Brother," she continues - well, I do have a younger sister, but that's not what I think she means. "Is Crystal here? I got placed with her." I point her out - she seems a little confused. "So what are you doing here?"

"This is...wow." She's a little off put. "You're a Big Sister to my daughter's best friend? I couldn't write this stuff." I'm not the creative type anyway.

"She doesn't seem like she's sick," Aisha observes.

"Yeah, she's not that far from her old self," I answer, remembering how full of life she was before the cancer. "I'm just concerned about where she'll end up when she gets placed." She doesn't understand - then she remembers Crystal has no parents. Her doctor's the closest thing she has to a father right now. Well, and me, but I'm more like...I don't know, an uncle.

"She sounds like the last girl I had," she somberly remarks. "Claire was her name, back when I was in Dallas. Her dad was dead and her mom couldn't handle her after she got sick." Cancer again - and to think Aisha asked for her. "When Jerry Jones fired me, I went to see her." Head in her hands at this point - thankfully the girls are engrossed in their game. "Damn traffic - she died thirty minutes before I got there." I think she's choking back tears. Hell, I might need a tissue soon at this rate. "I found out her mom hanged herself that night."

I inch closer and put my arm around her - she warmly accepts, using my Auburn T-shirt to dab her tears. She looks up at me. "I know you made Claire happy," I soothe - I'm just making this up as I go along at this point. "I know you'll do the same for Crystal." I feel confident about that. Yes, Aisha and I piss each other off, but there's a lot I don't know about her. And seeing this, I want to learn as much as I can about her, because I really like what I see.

"Neil, I don't want to seem like I'm being too forward or anything," she tells me, "but do you want to get dinner? I mean, if you can make arrangements for the girls-"

"That's not a problem," I reply, knowing Gretchen actually asked for them tonight. "Are you free tonight?" She is - and in a couple of minutes, I make arrangements at a nice steakhouse. "And I promise I'll dress nice." She smiles - she is so beautiful. I know I've always thought so, but I'm seeing her on a whole new level.

(Shula's Steak, Miami Lakes, FL, Monday night)

The steakhouse isn't that busy, which is good since I don't think I could bully my way into a table if it was. I mean, the O-line coach of a 1-3 team? Not exactly a shoo-in for, well, much of anything. If anything, I'm getting more attention because of my date, a woman I can't even believe I'm having dinner with.