Dirty Player

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  “Greg!”

  “Look at me,” I grit out, barely hanging on. Our eyes lock. “I love you, Jules.”

  And she comes apart.

  18

  Greg

  I’VE BEEN TALKING and texting and video chatting with Julia for months, so even though this is the first time I’ve been in her apartment, I’m actually pretty familiar with the layout and the décor. But washing up in Julia’s bathroom is a different experience altogether.

  It smells like her, only in a concentrated way that has me investigating the pink marble counters stacked with rows of makeup, hair stuff, and so much girlie shit I can’t help but grin and reach for a little jar just to see what’s inside. It smells like cucumbers, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to go hunting for just where that scent resides on Julia’s body. I set the jar back where it was and glance around at the rest of the frilly business, until the trash bin catches my eyes and I stop. It’s an open top, no lid, the contents clear as day, and enough to wipe that grin clean from my face.

  I lean closer, not breathing as I retrieve the only item within. A circular punch pack of birth control pills. Half used.

  I’m a guy who knows how to handle pressure. Who doesn’t crack. But here in Julia’s bathroom, less than five minutes after sharing the most meaningful moment of my life with her, my hands actually start to shake.

  It’s not what it looks like.

  Julia isn’t like Shelly.

  I’ve known her almost half my life. I trust her.

  Except now all I can think about are the pieces of this past week that haven’t fit. The change in Julia. The way she couldn’t always meet my eyes, and the guilt I sometimes saw when she would.

  She was trying to make a decision about something big. About her future.

  Jesus. There’s no way this is happening again.

  Don’t even think it. But I’m already there, and the memory of ice-cold dread gripping my gut is as sharp as it was nine years ago.

  Shelly looking like the sweetest, hottest thing I’d ever seen. Feeling like such a fucking man when it was my eyes she locked with from across the party full of pro athletes.

  The way she’d stroked my ego so hard, my nineteen-year-old self hadn’t been able to see anything but her.

  “You’re the best, Greg.”

  “No one can play like you.”

  “No one gets me as hot as you.”

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  I should have seen what she was… and what she wasn’t. I should have known better.

  The burn of more memories works through me. Buying her jewelry at Tiffany. Her mouth around my cock, again and again and again. Like she couldn’t get enough, which was weird, considering she spit instead of swallowed. My confusion that morning I walked into the bathroom after her, needing to piss, only to find her spitting a mouthful of my jizz into that little receptacle.

  The lawyers. The doctors. The coaches.

  The anger. The fear. The relief.

  The shame.

  That had been the worst. The part that got into my head so deep, I carried it with me for years before I finally managed to work it out. That feeling of being played so effectively that I never even saw it coming.

  There’s no way my Julia would do that. No way.

  Julia

  My eyes are closed, my mind a mushy blissful mess as I stretch in my bed, playing over all the ways Greg told me he loved me, and the look on his face when I told him. How it felt to finally take that leap and just trust him.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  I blink, turning to the bathroom, where Greg is standing in the doorway wearing his black boxer briefs and nothing else.

  He doesn’t look right, but I can’t quite put my finger on why, except to say I don’t like it. It’s like someone turned out the light inside him. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are like icy chips.

  “Greg, what’s going on?” I crawl out of bed, pulling the sheet around me.

  He opens his hand and within that huge palm is a crumpled sleeve of birth control pills. The ones I threw away when I got home last night.

  My eyes go wide as I realize what’s going on. “Greg, no.” My hands come up between us as laughter bubbles up from my chest. “I know what this looks like.”

  “It looks like you made that decision you were wrestling with this week, Julia. And I need you to tell me right fucking now that I’m wrong.”

  I take a step back, feeling like I’ve been slapped. The bubbling laughter is gone. “You’re wrong.”

  “Then what the hell am I holding? Because it looks like a pack of half-used birth control, with the last pill used Saturday. And today, the day we just had sex without a condom for the first time, is Friday. It looks like you haven’t taken these in a week.”

  Greg’s barely holding it together, and while I don’t like what he’s insinuating, I understand what it looks like.

  “This is an old pack. They aren’t from this month.”

  When he just continues to stare at me, the muscles in his jaw working overtime, I start again. “I lost my prescription about a year ago and had to get a replacement. I travel so much, I just figured I’d left it in a hotel room somewhere. I wasn’t actually seeing anyone, so it was no big deal. I found them yesterday when I was going through some old bags to donate. Obviously I don’t need them anymore, so I threw them out.”

  Walking over to the bed, I open my purse and find the pack I’ve started carrying with me just to make sure I always have them, whether I’ve spent the night with Greg or not. “Here. See? That’s today.”

  We shouldn’t be having this conversation. Not at all, but especially not after what we just shared. The doubt and suspicion in Greg’s eyes is killing me as he fingers the missing pill space from this morning.

  “Christ.”

  I wait for him to say something else. To pull me into his arms and tell me he’s sorry for going off the rails. But he turns away and, scrubbing his hands over the back of his head, mutters, “I’m sorry.”

  I let go of the breath I’ve been holding and take a step closer. I’m about to tell him it’s fine, that I just want to forget the whole thing, when he adds, “Look, I believe you, but I’m kind of freaking out right now. This is one of those things for me.”

  I don’t know all the details, but I’ve heard the rumors about a pregnancy scheme early on in Greg’s career. He never talked to me about it, and I wonder if he will now.

  “Just—just let me get past this.” He shakes his head and almost meets my eyes but looks away at the last second. “We’ll talk later.”

  I stand there shell-shocked, watching as he pulls on his jeans, his shirt, his shoes. The muscles in his jaw jump at regular intervals, and I can feel the tension coming off him in waves. This shouldn’t be happening. It can’t be happening.

  For a few minutes, I swore everything was perfect.

  But now I’m following Greg to my front door, taking the awkward kiss I can feel he doesn’t want to give me, and watching him leave. Then I’m alone, wrapped in a sheet that smells like the man who just left me while I can still feel him leaking from between my legs.

  Three hours later I’ve showered and washed the sheets. The sun has set, and the windows are dark as I sit at the kitchen table talking to my sister in Arizona.

  “That’s total BS, Julia,” Cammy shrieks from across the miles. I would pull the earbud from my ear, but honestly, I can’t muster the energy. “You didn’t even miss a pill. You didn’t lie to him about anything. There wasn’t any ‘scare,’ just a piece of trash he got the wrong idea about. He’s the one who ought to be sitting there feeling like hell and begging forgiveness for jumping to a pretty shitty conclusion.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. I know she’s right. But I also know Greg isn’t just some jerk. He told me he was freaking out, and I want to give him some understanding. I want to give him a chance to calm down and come back.

  “Does
he even know what you did this morning?”

  “No. I was going to surprise him, but…” I think about the way the afternoon played out, and my eyes start to water as I shrug. “When he comes back or calls, I’ll tell him then.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Sure, honey. He’ll be really excited. He’s crazy about you.”

  I agree, but as the hours tick by, the gnawing sense of dread in my belly grows with the certainty I made a mistake.

  19

  Greg

  LEAVING LIKE I did was fucked up.

  Julia didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Or at least, the barely rational sliver of my consciousness that’s still hanging on knows she didn’t. It’s the irrational part that’s the problem. The part that can’t let go of that sick feeling spiraling through my gut. The part that’s been systematically shutting down the overloaded circuits in my brain since I found that pack of pills.

  I’ve tried all the usual tricks to get my shit together. Got on the treadmill and pounded out the miles at a punishing pace. I did breathing exercises. I did yoga. I sat on my fucking couch and talked it out with myself.

  And yet every time I think about picking up the phone or going back over there, it’s like a fucking vise starts to close around my chest. Like the walls are pushing in and I can’t breathe.

  I don’t like that Julia’s alone, but I can’t go back until I get my head straight, so I go to Rux’s instead. He’s got some of the guys over, and being around the team has always grounded me.

  “You look like shit, man.” Rux drops onto his couch and pats his knee. He’s wearing a loose T-shirt that says EAT ME on the front, worn jeans, and enough stubble to basically be a beard. “Come sit on my lap and tell Daddy what’s wrong, big guy.”

  When I don’t move from the opposite couch, don’t laugh, and don’t straddle the guy’s lap just to remind him who’s the biggest dipshit of them all, he sits back and lets out a slow breath. “Damn, man. That bad?”

  I rub at the numb spot at the center of my chest. “I think it might be.”

  “This have anything to do with a certain sports reporter you absolutely aren’t dating?” He reads my look and nods. “So we gonna talk about it or get fucked up?”

  This time I do laugh.

  I don’t even know how many hours later it is, but Rux’s place is filled with guys from the team and enough puck bunnies, I’m wondering if he went on the boards with an open call.

  Everyone looks like they’re having fun, but all I feel is rotten. Even half-drunk, or possibly more than half, my moment of clarity has come.

  I can’t stop thinking about that look of utter confusion on Julia’s face earlier today, and then the hurt in her eyes when we said goodbye. I shouldn’t have left like I did, but I was panicking. I shouldn’t have come to Rux’s, but the idea of going back was more than I could handle. I shouldn’t have spent the night trying to look for answers in the bottom of a bottle when the only answer I need is probably sitting alone in her apartment wondering why the fuck she ever let me into her body like she did.

  I hate it. Hate the idea of her being alone. The thought that she might be doubting what we did.

  I need to call her.

  Pulling out my phone, I head toward one of the back bedrooms for some privacy. I’ve fucked everything else up today, but the least I can do is tell her I’m sorry. Ask if I can come over and talk tomorrow morning.

  Halfway down the hall, two huge hands grab my shoulders, stopping me where I am. I’ve had enough to drink that it takes me a step or two to steady myself, and when I do, I find Rux grinning at me, flanked by bunnies on either side.

  “No way, dude. Superior players don’t let their wannabes drunk dial the chick causing said wannabe’s heartache.”

  “What?”

  The bunny on the right giggles and rolls her eyes. “He’s saying wait until morning to call, or whatever shit you’re in with this girl will only get deeper.”

  I look a little closer at the girl who was just talking, and Rux’s arm tightens around her shoulder, pulling her in to his chest. “Nah-uh, man. Tawny’s with me. But her friends, Bethie and Autumn, have been dying to distract you some.”

  Whoa. I’m not interested in Tawny, or anyone else for that matter. But they’re right about one thing. Getting in touch with Julia while I’m trashed isn’t going to help.

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I won’t call.”

  Rux nods, but before he can push the girls on me, I cut them off.

  “As nice as it would be to talk with you girls, it’s going to have to be another time. I’m wiped and about to go crash in Rux’s guest bedroom.”

  The girls put on a show of pouting, but Rux gives me a nod. “Third door on the right.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  When I get to the door, it swings open before I can even turn the knob, and another blonde stumbles into me.

  “Hey, you okay?” I ask, reaching out to steady her as I try to get a look at her eyes to make sure she’s all right.

  She sways forward and back, and my oh-shit meter starts to ping. Rex has already noticed and is on his way down the hall. The girl’s unfocused eyes meet mine, and she smiles… just before she pukes down my chest and arm… and phone.

  Rux’s meaty hand flies to his mouth, and the chain reaction is on.

  Julia

  “You okay?” Cammy presses through my headphones as I zip around the kitchen. I pull orange juice, yogurt, and a pint of fresh berries from the fridge.

  “Actually, I think I am.” It’s probably not true, but I’m too numb to be sure, so I’m going with what I wish was the case.

  “God, I can’t stop looking.” She’s talking about the pictures of Greg that started showing up at about two this morning.

  Pictures of Greg at a party with most of his team and what looks like every female fan from the Chicago area in attendance.

  Greg and the little blonde with her Ace-bandage-size skirt and her hands on his chest… and his hands on her waist.

  Greg with his big back to the camera, the little blonde’s arms around his neck as he gives her a princess-style carry down some hall.

  Greg with his shirt off, the little blonde mostly hidden behind him, but shown enough to see them leaning against the wall as she clutches the side of his jeans.

  I swallow hard, forcing back what I can only assume is an emotional response. I’m not ready for it.

  Cammy sighs. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “You’d think I wouldn’t, right? At first, I couldn’t sleep.” I was so upset about not hearing from Greg, so worried about the fact that he hadn’t called. “But then I got online and, lo and behold, I found this. I gave Greg a half-hour to call and explain that even though he was wearing the exact same clothes he’d had on when he was here earlier, these pictures were actually from a year ago. Or that somehow they’d been photoshopped, and he was standing there talking to a cactus. But he never called. So I turned off my phone, and when my head hit the pillow, I was out like a blown fuse.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” After a breath, she whispers, “Have you seen the segment?”

  I nod. “It’s going to be fine.”

  It will.

  Another push at my throat, but I fight it back, refusing to think about the four-million-plus viewers tuned in to what will inevitably go down as one of the greatest humiliations in network history. No. I’m not going to think about it. And with my phone still on Do Not Disturb, I’ve probably got at least another hour before my boss sends Agnes over here for damage control.

  I take a bite of the breakfast I’ve just made and can’t even taste it. Looking at the pint of organic berries I’d all but drooled over when I bought them, I feel the burn of tears in the back of my throat, working up my nose, and then leaking from my eyes. The dam bursts. Every part of me feels broken, and I can barely breathe through the pain.

  “Aww, Julia, no. Don’t cry.”

  “H-he r-ruined m
y breakfast.”

  She sighs. “I know he did. Asshole.”

  What was I thinking, letting him in the way I did?

  Greg

  “Dude! Greg, get up, man!”

  Prying my eyes open, I turn to glare at the door Rux is barking at me through. Flashes from the night before start ping-ponging around my head, and I blow a slow calming breath through my nose.

  “Greg!”

  “I’m up, dickhead,” I growl, swinging my legs out of his guest bed. I’m wearing a pair of his sweats and not one fucking thing more, thanks to Angela hurling all over me.

  The nightstand is empty, and I feel around for my phone before remembering it too was a casualty of what smelled like half a bottle of SoCo. Right, and now I see the bag of brown rice on the floor with my phone in it.

  I should have called Julia. In the light of day, a call when I was a little drunk seems like the lesser evil to not calling at all, especially considering the way the night actually played out.

  “What?” I yank the door open, but the look on Rux’s face is every kind of freaked out. “Shit. What’s wrong? Is Angela okay? Vsev and Miser were going to make sure she got home—”

  “She’s fine. But uhh, Baxter, you been online at all this morning?”

  Lead lands in my gut, because for Rux to be looking at me like he is, whatever it is… it’s bad.

  “What?”

  He starts to hand me his phone but at the last second tries to pull it back. Not in the mood, I grab it anyway.

  The air leaves my lungs in a punch as my eyes move from the headline “Slayers center Greg Baxter stepping out on NFL reporter Julia Wesley” to the sequence of pictures I can’t make sense of. Because I know what happened, and this sure as shit doesn’t look like Angela all but passing out in the hall, me carrying her to the bathroom while we were both dripping with chunks of her dinner, and then me trying to get a hold of her when she kept slipping out of my puke-slicked arms so her girlfriend could get her cleaned up enough to put her in a car.