AR - After that

Even with the windows down, your car still smells like sex when you get to your house. Adella is oddly subdued during the drive, but you’re glowing. However Adella might feel about it, that was some good sex. You should make out in the car more often. Maybe this is a secret kink of yours.

Adella nervously zips up her jacket as you pull into the driveway. Your shirts are both stained with cum; you will have to shower and put on clean clothes before dinner, but there wasn’t time to stop by her apartment. Your mom is expecting you. As you get out of the car, Kayla emerges from the house. She’s dressed for work, so she must be doing the dinner shift tonight. She waves at you both and smiles, heading for her car. She pauses for a moment, and you see her eyes note the handprints on your windows in the backseat. She does this thing with her mouth where you can tell that she’s trying not to smile, and swallowing whatever she was about to say.

Without a word, she gets into her car. Kayla can be an asshole, but sometimes she’s a pretty good sister.

“Hey, mom!” you call out when you get inside. “We’re going to clean up. We’ll be down in a minute.” The house smells like food, and you can hear her cooking.

“OK,” your mom calls back.

You take Adella upstairs and straight to the bathroom. The stained shirts go in the hamper and the clothes come off.

“There,” you say, once you’re both in the shower. You put your hands on Adella’s waist and smile up at her. “You’re safe.”

“Don’t get cocky, America,” she replies, running her hand over your wet hip.

“We’re both pretty cocky,” you say, stepping up close so that your cocks bump together. As much as you’d like to do some making out and grinding right here, you can’t let your dinner get cold.

Adella hates wearing your clothes, but you love seeing her in them. You aren’t sure why.

“So I have some good news,” your mom tells you once you’re eating. “I hit the gossip hard today, and you’ve got a full team.”

This was one concern for Winter Soccer: that the Public School Team wouldn’t be able to put together enough kids to participate. This would’ve been a problem because it would have handed Ellen a win: she would have been able to say that the Public School refused to play against her team because of politics or something. At least this way, she won’t be able to do that.

“That’s great,” you say. “When can we meet them?”

“I think practice can start this weekend, but the board has to work that out. Is the field OK?” your mom asks.

“The field was great,” you say without looking at Adella, who chokes on her food. She kicks you under the table.

“Hey,” your mom says, grabbing her phone. “There’s one thing we need to do right now. What are you going to call the team?”

“What?” you ask.

“It’s been years since we’ve done Winter Soccer. We need a new team. Stef will get the shirts made.” Right. Winter Soccer is not a big deal like FUTA; there won’t be fancy, custom uniforms or anything. Just T-shirts for each team.

“Oh.” You frown. Hmm. You have to pick a name.