Ch. 05: Full Contact

NOTE: This is Chapter Five in the series of Rick and Janie. It helps if you've read the previous chapters, though it's not absolutely necessary. WARNING: this chapter has a *long* set-up to it, so my apologies if you're looking for instant gratification. WARNING (SPOILER): This rest of this paragraph contains key plot information about the story. If you are easily offended, continue reading this warning. If not, skip the warning and continue to the story. Still here? Suffice it to say this chapter would fit in the group sex category as easily as the loving wives category. I think you can see where this is going. If that offends you, close this window and seek entertainment more suitable to your tastes.

Rick covered the phone and looked at Jane. She shrugged her shoulders to say 'what?'

"It's Dave. The guys want to know if we're up for a post-season football game tomorrow."

"I don't know. Are we?"

Rick uncovered the mouthpiece. "Sure. Pass the word. Barbeque at noon, play at two – anybody arriving before 11 will be keel hauled." He hung up the phone as punctuation and Janie glanced at him. "What?"

"I don't know. Just sort of abrupt."

Rick thought about it, then nodded. "Normally, yeah, but he's in business mode right now."

"He's on duty?"

"He's on break, but radio discipline's a hard habit to break."

"Radio discipline? Umm... is that like spanking the radio?"

"It means brevity while transmitting." Janie raised an eyebrow, Rick tried again. "Keeping it short."

"Ah." Janie nodded –then got a hint of a smile. "11, huh? Planning on sleeping late?"

"Sleeping?" One of the cats rubbed herself on Rick's calf. He bent over and gave her a scratch. "Honestly, with all this pussy in the house who gets any sleep?"

Jane rolled her eyes and headed toward the kitchen. "Definitely not you."

"Definitely not," Rick agreed. "This little shit tucks herself in behind my knees then by morning she's stretched halfway across the bed and I'm balled up on the nightstand."

"But she loves you!" Jane giggled.

"Well, she's cute but Good Lord, she's like a living space heater." Rick look back down at the cat he was still scratching. She was rolling over for a belly rub. "And you, my dear, could seduce Morris in a heartbeat. Nice stripes. Ever thought about modelling?"

Jane called out from the kitchen. "Football. Isn't the pro bowl coming up?"

"S'over. We were diving."

"Oh. I would've thought that would be a guy weekend."

"It was a guy weekend. One guy: me, and I had more important things to do. You, for instance."

Janie glanced around the breakfast bar and she was smiling –

dazzling

– then looked down and covered her mouth. "Quit making me smile, would you?"

"Afraid of the laugh lines?"

"No, my cheeks hurt. I've been smiling for a whole week."

"Yeah. Me too."

Janie pursed her lips, trying to straighten the smile from her cheeks. She kept it up as she spoke, looking a bit like a tropical fish. "The girls are demanding a party you know."

"Bachelorette thing?"

"Probably that at some point, too, but no... They want to be reintroduced to you."

"Re... What? Why?"

"How often do you hang out with my friends?"

"Well, okay."

"How often do I hang out with your friends?"

"If by 'hanging out' you mean low-cut blouses and undone buttons, then quite a bit."

Janie paused, the lip-purse a tad more serious. "We are engaged... Should I get respectable?"

"Ha! Why start now?"

"Rick!"

"Babe, is you is or is you ain't my party girl?"

She bit her lip. The look was pure sex. "I is."

"Good," Rick nodded. "It's just that your friends seem so uptight."

Janie's jaw dropped. "Are you on crack? Your best friends are an engineer, a programmer and a cop. My friends are dancers and actors."

"Very stuffy Shakepearean actors," Rick sniffed.

"My friends have been in

Playboy.

"

"Oh, yeah? Well..." Rick scratched his head. "...My friends have

read Playboy.

"

Janie downed her vitamins and chased them with an apricot. "We've gotta get my friends and your friends together. They're good guys. Why aren't they married?"

"Because the engineer is an ex pro-volleyball player, the programmer is a rich triathlete, and the cop is semi-pro powerlifter that still has dreams of running off to join the fucking circus!"

"Cirque du Soleil is not Barnum & Bailey," Janie countered.

"Point is – they party. Don't they tell you about their girlfriends?"

"Rarely. The most I heard about girlfriends from this group in the last five years was from you."

"Oh." Rick picked at the counter. "Well, we're a couple now... I guess I'll stop talking about my girlfriends."

Janie flung an apricot at him.

"I'm sorry I don't hang out with your friends, babe." Rick plopped onto the couch and closed his eyes. "A little over a year ago, we had some guys from the Rampart division get reprimanded for workplace harassment. They had to go through counseling and I got roped in to be the counselor. That got me a little gunshy. It didn't help that one of your friends was making passes at me at the time."

"A year ago?"

"There 'bouts."

"I'll bet I know who it was."

"Do you want to know?"

"Not really. Well, maybe. Yes but not right now." Janie ran her finger along her pursed lips. "Technically, we weren't a couple at that point. You didn't need my permission... and you would've had my blessing."

"Really? Well... Woulda, coulda, shoulda – didn't. At that point, I felt 'us' developing and two things hit me: I didn't want to fuck it up and I didn't want to start some soap opera who-fucked-who so I just faded away."

"The who-fucked-who has been going on for years but my friends are a little more open about it. Dancers and actors and…" Janie squinted, looking suddenly like a gunfighter. "Wait a second, Mr. Psychologist: you didn't want to start some who-fucked-who but you sent me out to fuck Brian?"

"Um, yeah."

"What am I missing?"

Rick tried to answer but the best he could come up with was a hesitant shrug.

"No, you're not getting off the hook that easy, Dr. Evil. I know you too well." Janie was suddenly talking with her hands. "If you didn't want to get caught up in spur-of-the-moment kink, you wouldn't. But you did."

"Uh, yeah. You see…" Janie's eyes stayed combat narrow and Rick knew enough to keep going. "I never really stopped thinking about it. I thought about me and her. I felt guilty. I thought about you and me and her. I thought about you and her. Suddenly, I'm thinking about you and a lot of people." Rick tapped his temple, then circled it in the 'crazy' sign. "Somewhere, you'd become my own private porn star. Then, uh… suddenly the moment hits…"

Janie stared for a moment, processing it all. "It was Cynthia, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well… when I made The Announcement last monday, I heard about another – but I'm not naming names."

"They're all women, I hope."

"Yes, though Raymond and Leonard think you're great, too. They also think I'll be the wife-of-the-century."

"They're right."

"...But Sally and Antonio both give us less than a year."

Rick searched out his memory. "Sally doesn't like me because I work with cops and Antonio wants you for himself."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Which part?" Rick saw her expression and waved his hand to cover the whole crowd. "Yes."

Janie munched another apricot, then pursed her lips as she thought. "So are you going to freak when my friends start coming over?"

Rick glanced at his crotch and cocked an eyebrow. "I promise to be an imperfect gentleman."

### ### ### ###

At 11 o'clock and one second, the doorbell rang. Janie was in the kitchen, squeezing orange juice and she hollered out. "GOT IT!"

In a few quick steps, she got to the door and peeked out the security hole. It was Brian. The engineer Brian. The tall, curly surfer Brian. The Brian from the couch after the Super Bowl. She hadn't talked to him since that night.

'Oh... Shit,'

she thought.

She took a deep breath and yanked open the door. His hand was hovering right where he was about to knock, about chin level with Janie.

When he saw her, he froze, his hand stuck in mid-air. Her Nike running shorts were loose, cut high and riding low. It was like she was pure leg right up to the point she was pure abs right up to the point she was all boob (which were only half covered by a tank top that was just too comfortable to toss). Brian was wide-eyed and he would've stuttered if he could get his lungs to work.

Janie bobbed forward (flashing more boob), kissed his outstretched hand, and bounced away from the door. She looked over her shoulder as she went back toward the kitchen. Brian still hadn't moved his arm.

"He's up," Janie explained. "Go talk to him."

"Okay." Brian looked past the foyer and down the hall. After a hard swallow, he got enough air in lungs to project. "Put some pants on, man! You've got guests!"

Rick's voice echoed back down the hall. "My clock says 10:59."

"Well get that clocksucker fixed!" Brian stopped in his tracks and nearly dropped his grocery bags. There was dead silence through the townhouse. "Oh, fuck. I mean..."

Janie couldn't stifle her giggles any more. She came out of the kitchen and traded a glass of fresh orange juice for his grocery bags. "You know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

"I know how to stick my foot in my mouth."

"Foot?" Janie looked over her shoulder at him. "You must be

very

flexible."

Brian's smile went into a half-chuckle, neatly hiding his speechlessness.

Janie's voice was low, just audible from the kitchen to the foyer. "...Or was it a foot-long?"

Brian nealy choked on orange juice. After he cleared his lungs, he poked his head around the breakfast bar. "If I could do that, I'd never leave the house..." It looked like he was going to carry the joke a little more but he just had to drink in the vision. Firm legs right up to a perfectly smooth ass that was peeking from loose running shorts. Further up were feminine hips, ripe to be grabbed, which shrunk into a tiny waist. Even from behind, as she put potato salad in the fridge, he could the sides of perfectly round boob. She was down to earth, yes, but she

looked

high maintenance. "...Nah, I take it back. I'd still leave the house."

Janie looked over her shoulder at him and let just a hint of smile curve her lips.

From just behind Brian: "Dude."

"Gah!" Brian spun to face Rick, who was standing in the hallway, armed with a football. Rick still had the frame of a former All-American linebacker and seeing him holding that football was enough to spark visions of living a short life in traction before the dialysis machine failed. "Rick!"

"Bri." Rick tossed the football from one hand to another. "Sorry. Did I interrupt your ogling?"

"Nnn... Well, yeah."

Janie peeked around from the other side of the breakfast bar. "Did I miss something?"

"No,"

the guys said in unison.

"Oh. Okay." Janie disappeared back around the corner.

Brian watched her disappear, then hung his head. "I don't know how you do it."

"They have books that can show you. Or we can have Bill bring another video."

"Funny. No, I mean – it's

cruel!

" Brian looked up. "You share –

then

you get serious?"

The doorbell rang, cutting it off. Rick grinned and slapped his buddy on the shoulder. "Just go with the flow, bro."

### ### ### ###

Half an hour later, Brian was grilling burgers, Bill was blending margaritas and Dave was transforming avocadoes into guacamole. U2 guitars were vibrating the sliding glass door and the cats had established an observation post under the dining room table.

Back in the bedroom, Janie held up two pairs of sweats, comparing which would look better with grass stains. Rick was a few feet away, tapping his toes while he rummaged through a medical kit. He was pulling out athletic tape, prewrap, more athletic tape, cold packs and even more athletic tape. Janie settled on sacrificing the Reeboks while Rick looked for his EMT scissors.

After a moment, Janie dropped her sweats on the bed and studied her betrothed. His expression was hard to define: somewhere between jovial and intense. She couldn't quite figure out if it was a pre-football thing or a sexual tension thing.

"Rick...?"

"Yeah, babe."

"I'm confused."

"It's easy. Socks first,

then

shoes."

"No..."

"Rape and pillage,

then

burn."

"Yeah, okay, thanks. That clears it up."

Rick was focused on his jump kit for another five seconds before her tone sunk in. He turned to face her, giving his full attention to the goddess on the bed. "Shit. You want to girl-ify the bedroom, don't you?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not what's got me right now."

"Uh-oh. What

has

gotten into you?"

Janie froze, all her heat pouring into their eye contact.

Rick shrugged and chuckled. "Or are you asking

what will?

"

### ### ### ###

Lunch was a blur of tequila and talk. In the background, a bootleg Bono was echoing over their heads.

"...At corner of your lips, As the orbit of your hips…"

Bill set down his tumbler of tequila and almost tumbled into Janie's cleavage. He steadied himself by grabbing her shoulder, but he nicked a corner of boob on the way. "Whew! Lucky!"

Janie helped steady him. "You almost took a dive."

Bill shook his head. "No, I was talking about the free feel."

Janie furrowed her brow and wagged a finger. "…Bill."

"Sorry."

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

Bill shook his head again. "Dumped. 'Bout a month ago. My fault."

Janie glanced at the tequila. How he stayed in shape to run triathlons was something of a miracle. "Was it the drinking?"

"No. Trophy factor." Bill picked up the tequila, looked at it, looked at her, and set it back down again. "You're a trophy, too, don't get me wrong – but at least you two love birds have a connection."

"What happened?"

"We never really had a connection. She tolerated me because I had a boat and I work with guys that own banks. She dumped me for some Executive VP asshole at Merrill Lynch. More money than God."

"I'm sorry."

"Like I said, my fault. She was a mercenary and I was a sucker." Bill picked up his tequila. "I try to find women at competitions, but it seems the good ones are all married."

"Good ones? What about the hot ones?"

"Hot is good, I like hot, but I've been there. Done that. I'll be happy with 'really warm' if she could just have, like, a sliver of personality…"

Bill excused himself and Dave took up the torch. The conversation seemed to orbit women and relationships and luck and lack thereof. With Dave, it was women who liked men in uniform. Fun in a way, but a little creepy to dip into the pool of cop groupies. This cop, bless his heart, was doing his noble best not to talk to Janie's boobs, but the weight of Jose Cuervo kept dragging his eyes to cleavage level.

There were five people there, the core group of friends, with enough food for ten, enough alcohol for twenty and music loud enough to hear on the other side of the complex. For an hour and a half, it was burgers and salsa and chips and margaritas and shots and more margariatas. By 2, most mortals would've been ready to pass out and sleep it off in the sun. This group, however, was putting on cleats and taping fingers.

Janie walked off the patio and joined the guys. They'd already divided into teams: Dave the Giant was with Brian the Beach Stud, Rick the All-American was with Bill the Ironman. As the lone girl approached, Brian tossed her the ball.

"You're full-time quarterback, right?"

Janie caught the ball like a pro, then tried to spin it and promptly dropped it. "Boys, I can barely throw when I'm sober. We've already got a former lineman and linebacker… how about if you guys be your own quarterbacks and I'll be full-time wide receiver?"

There was a moment of silence before the group broke into

"Er, yeah–Well–Reminds me of a movie I saw–Umm–Maybe, but you'd start out as a tight end…"

"Nice," Jane responded. "I expect I'll eat a little grass, but can we

not

smush the girl today?"

"No ta-kill-ya, guys," Rick stated. "Tackle for us, two-hand touch for her."

Everybody mumbled acknowledgement

Bill leaned toward Rick. "Can I call the toss?"

"Sure. Why?"

Bill made a two-hand touch pantomime that ended in cupped grope-hands. "I want to be defense."

Rick plonked Bill in the middle of the forehead and the group broke for the kickoff. It wasn't really a kick, but a high-arching 65-yard throw. Janie got under it and caught it in full stride. Dave led the pack, Brian guarded and Janie ran with her wedge. Little Bill dropped and took Giant Dave out at the knees. Brian leaned in and rammed his shoulder out, ready to level Rick – and instead went sailing as the 265-pound husband-to-be demonstrated an all-Pro stutter step. Janie hit the after-burner – there was nothing but end zone in front of her – but she suddenly felt herself falling. In that one split second before her tumble, she looked down to see Rick's hands locked around her ankle.

She glared at him as she picked herself up off the grass.

Rick smiled. "Sorry, babe, this was the one I couldn't let get away..."

"Sweet. Brutal, but sweet…"

The next play Dave snapped it to Brian and Janie sprinted down the field. Her dancer's legs were a match for any of the guys, but Bill was the runner of the group. He was barely a step behind, ready to bat the ball or tag her back. She streaked down the field and Bill kept up, but when she turned to catch the pass, she turned right into him. Instead of her back, Bill got two glorious handfuls of lycra-covered boob.

The play was over and Bill fell flat on his back, laughing to the sky.

Janie stood over him with ball under her arm. "What? I was inbounds!"

"Yeah," he choked through tequila breath, "but I was out of bounds and Goddamn that was good!"

Janie bent at the knees and pulled him to his feet. "Bill, as long as we aren't making little Janie-sized craters in the grass, you can two-hand-touch all you want, okay?"

"I'm all over it," Bill confirmed.

The next play… was a quarterback sneak. Dave, with all his former-lineman, powerlifting 300-pound mass, hit Rick hard enough to make him see stars – but it didn't stop him. Janie ran past and Brian tried to follow – and ran face first into Rick's shoulder. It was a two-minute time out for tequila and ice and making sure nobody had a concussion. It set the pace for the game.

Through the second quarter, there were a few quarterback sneaks, and a few running plays, but the guys were unloading on each other. Neither Brian nor Bill were really ready to run through the gauntlet of the Rick/Dave battlefield (especially since the defense could claim one blitz for every sneak).

It meant a lot of passing plays and a lot of touch on the red-haired receiver. Most were on the back (she was fast), but there were plenty of other "tackles," too. Bill, like any sane man, didn't try to bat the ball away – he let her catch it and went for the touch. More than once, he had full-palm tit gropes. Janie, the competitor, didn't say anything about it, but between Bill and Dave and Brian and especially Rick, she was playing with headlights.

Rick didn't say anything either. A part of him got proprietary, though – the part that woke up when he realized old coed-football habits were still in play. On the other hand, they'd all been friends long before he and Janie were an item. Before the jealous part asserted itself, he knew every guy there had once mumbled some admission about a Janie fantasy. Rick was just the one that had risked it past flirting…

With every play, there was a charge building in the air. A tension. She wore hand marks and hard nipples. And Rick knew just because they were a couple didn't mean the other guys' fantasies had suddenly dried up. No, now the guys' "tackles" weren't just pawing ripe melons, they were picking forbidden fruit. Rick let it slide; he was operating on the rules he'd laid out two weeks ago – the night they'd crossed the threshold. Was Janie?

Maybe.