No way, that's gross.

When Hillman finally released her ass, his hands had left a perfect pink impression on each cheek. His cock had hardened into an unforgiving girder. Hillman glanced ruefully at the little teepee that had been erected in his pants. Why do you have to be so honest ol' buddy?

He snatched the ball from its pocket. "Okay, put your fricking pants back on!"

To his utter relief, Becca finally lurched back and yanked on panties and jeans all at once. The swirling light in the ball began to fade.

So it was all about conviction. He had asked her to dress three times, but hadn't meant it the first two. "It's all about heart," he whispered.

"What did you say?"

Hillman hesitated. "Nothing."

Becca clutched her back and continued up the hill. "My back's stiff."

She doesn't know, Hillman thought. He gazed at the black ball in wonder. Years and countless humiliations he had endured in search of the way, and in the end all he'd needed was one--albeit painful--push down a hill. The irony was delicious. He'd have to find a way to "thank" Brad.

The crest of the hill was Cal's backyard. Becca had not been lying about the party. Hillman could see hundreds of people milling about like insects on all four levels of the house.

"I'll get you a drink," Becca said. She stepped inside the house, still holding her back.

"Hillman!"

Hillman's fist tightened around the ball. He looked up and saw Brad and a few of his pigskin buddies huddled over the second story patio. "Look man, I'm sorry about that push. No hard feelings?" He was being insincere as always.

"No, of course not," Hillman called back. He approached the patio and stared down his nemesis.

Brad broke out his trademark million dollar grin. His teeth were unnaturally white. "Hill-MAN. I guess you're really man of the hill now." His buddies exchanged a few guffaws. Others were starting to lean over the patio.

Hillman smiled affably. "That's really clever Brad. Did you think of that before or after you pushed me?"

Brad smile melted away. Bradley Carter could deadlift a compact and throw a football fifty yards through the eye of a needle. Simple questions, however, were not his strength. After much thought, he said "What's it to you?"

"Well I was just thinking how lucky I am that my name isn't Cliff."

That got some appreciation from the crowd. Brad half-smiled, like he wasn't sure whether the joke was on him. He then swatted a cup of beer over the patio ledge.

Hillman was quick enough to avoid the brunt of it but some of the beer managed to splatter his legs and shoes.

"Look, Hillman pissed himself!" Brad cried. The crowd laughed again. The stupid crowd. They didn't appreciate wit, Hillman realized. They were trained to laugh.

Things were moving in slow motion now: Brad high-fiving his buddies, Becca carrying out a drink for him...

Had he looked down at his clenched fist, he would've noticed it glowing pink.