by Koko Brown
* * * * *
Yvonne waited until she and Robbie were in the stadium parking lot before she bombarded him with questions.
“What’s going on between you and Paolo Saito?”
Robbie’s head whipped around. “What do you mean? Who have you been talking to?”
“While I was waiting for you, Il Duca held court in the stadium tunnel. One of the reporters asked his opinion of you and he offered up some polite crap that needed a doggy bag.”
Robbie chuckled as he rummaged through his jean pocket for his keys. Finding them, he pressed the key fob, unlocking the doors to his silver Range Rover. “Paolo Saito is a great player,” he said, opening the passenger door for her.
Yvonne didn’t get in. “You’re giving me the same bag of poop? I thought we went way back, Robbie.”
“Way back. You dragged me along when you picked out your first training bra.”
Yvonne crossed her arms. “If you don’t fess up, we’ll be standing here until next Saturday’s game.”
Robbie pretended to bash his forehead against the door panel. “How much am I paying you to pose as my beard…I mean fiancée,” he corrected when she reached out to pinch him.
“For six months of my time, one year’s salary and the down payment on a condo,” Yvonne replied without any qualms. “Totally beside the point! This is a conversation between best friends not business associates.”
Robbie’s brown eyes met hers. “If I promise to come clean, will you get in?”
Yvonne placed her foot on the truck’s running board.
“Get in. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home. I don’t want to take the chance of someone overhearing this.”
Knowing Robbie would honor his promise, Yvonne climbed into the cab. Robbie shut the door, walked around the car and then got in next to her. He put the key in the ignition, but before starting the car, he turned to her.
She watched him deliberate for several seconds then exhale. “Paolo’s giving me a hard time. Unlike most of the players he hasn’t been very welcoming. He does his best to exclude me from key plays or he contradicts me in team meetings and he barely speaks to me off the pitch.”
Yvonne felt her anger boiling. Paolo Saito might be beautiful and sexy, but that didn’t stop him from being a complete and utter asshole.
Robbie patted her knee, pulling her out of her whoop-ass mood. “Now don’t get your granny panties in a bunch, mama bear. The guy isn’t all bad.”
Yvonne’s anger waned. Robbie had given her the nickname when they were both kids. Usually even tempered, she also had a tendency to fly off the handle when it came to her family and friends. To say she was loyal and would fight like a mother bear to protect those she loved was an understatement.
And Robbie had always needed defending ever since his Dominican family moved into their all-black neighborhood when he was eight and she eleven. Not only was he the only non-black kid on the block, he’d taken to soccer and shied away from playing with the other boys.
“I just hate players who hate.”
Robbie shook his head. “I doubt Paolo’s jealous of me. I believe his anger stems more from how I came to play on the team than the why.”
“You’re a phenomenal soccer player that’s why you landed a position on the team.”
“It’s great to have someone over here who has my back.” When Robbie squeezed her knee, Yvonne placed her hand over his and threaded their fingers together. “I think Paolo’s grievance lies in the fact that I replaced his best friend João Schmitt.”
Yvonne remembered the name from the press conference. “He’s holding a grudge against you because the club decided to start you and not him?”
“There’s more to the story,” Robbie said looking out the windshield. “João was cut from the team. He went into some sort of decline, to the point no other team would pick him up. He returned home and committed suicide.”
Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. “He killed himself over not being able to play soccer?
Chuckling, Robbie shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you? Outside the United States, soccer is like a religion. People live, breathe and die over the sport.”
And João Schmitt was sure-fire proof, Yvonne mused. Robbie wasn’t much different. Over the years, he’d given up friendships, missed family get-togethers and even lost a few boyfriends all because of soccer.
And to ink a lucrative multi-year professional soccer contract, he’d come up with this elaborate scheme to fool the press, flown her half way around the world and ensconced her in his home.
As if sensing her train of thought, Robbie said, “Have I told you I appreciate what you’re doing for me, mama bear?”
“Every day.” Yvonne nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’ve heard the paparazzi can be pretty persistent, but it couldn’t have been that bad?”
“They’re beyond persistent,” Robbie sighed. “They hound me day and night, they camp out in front of my house, follow me to the grocery store, to the gym, out to eat, everywhere. They’re like the plague. There are times when I don’t even know they’ve followed me until I run across my picture in the local gossip rags.”
“They started crossing the line and delving into certain details of my private life. They were printing pictures of me with Chris. Fed up, I snapped. I attacked a couple of paparazzi, no bodily harm just damaged a few cameras,” he added at Yvonne’s shocked look. “I’ve been warned by the Club. One more incident like that or an unfavorable report in the press and my contract will not be picked up for next season.”
“But you’ve never been ashamed of your relationships.”
“You know I know that, but Rome is still stuck in the nineteenth century. They might have women exercising in the nude on television, but if you’re openly gay you’re committing blasphemy.
And it doesn’t help I live and work right on the Pope’s front door step,” Robbie snorted, finally finding the humor in his predicament.
“This is the twenty-first century. People are more accepting than they were just twenty years ago.”
“Yeah, but this is the home of the Italian stallion. And according to the general populace, the stallion shouldn’t be mounting another stallion.”
“I still say you should have let me open a can of whoop ass rather than pretend to be your fiancée until you ink what we hope will be a seven figure contract.”
Robbie’s lips curled. “Are you sure you aren’t gay? You’ve always had masculine tendencies.”
Not judging by the way her body reacted to Paolo Saito. “No way, hombre. This beard is strictly dickly.”
Robbie’s shoulders bounced with laughter. “So are you still in?”
“Isn’t what we’re doing a little extreme?” Yvonne asked, enunciating her words carefully, as if she spoke to a child.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m about to lose my dream. I only have a few more months to prove myself by helping the team win the European Cup. I can’t do that with the media speculating on who I’m sleeping with.”
Although deeply touched by his single-minded pursuit, Yvonne still needed to point out a more rational alternative. “Couldn’t you have taken your relationship underground or stopped seeing Chris for a while? At least until things died down.”
“I did that. Chris returned to the states, soon after the first pictures came out. The media just started wondering why I kept to myself and why I haven’t picked up one of the hundreds of beautiful women who flock around the team.”
“Why didn’t you fake the funk and grab some groupie to play house?”
“There’s no one in the world I trust as much as I trust you. Plus, I’m not a douche. No way am I stringing along some woman to only drop her for my boyfriend again.”
At least he wasn’t heartless. Maybe certifiably insane for coming up with such a ludicrous plan which landed her four thousand miles from home.
“Come on, Yvonne. You’re in Rome, the city of love. Enjoy the
opportunity to live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And think about the money you’ll earn to pay off your student loans.”
“Ouch, you really know how to go for the jugular.”
Smiling broadly, Robbie reached up and slid his finger across his throat.
“You were that sure I would drop everything and fly across the ocean to lay up with you?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but I was really lucky to catch you at the right time. You only have one semester left to earn your MBA and your love life is on hold right now. So I figured it would be a win-win situation for the both of us.”
Reminded of her lack of a love life, Yvonne groaned, she’d been celibate for over two years.
“Are you going to stick to the script or are you going home?”
Not one to leave a friend in a lurch, Yvonne resigned herself to her fate. “Like glue,” she said, sitting back in the SUV’s hand-tailored leather. Yvonne took several deep breaths, releasing her past and accepting her future. “We’ve made our bed so it’s time to lie in it.”
“Stop sounding like Ms. Doom and Gloom.” Robbie started the car and placed it in reverse. “This will be like old times—two fierce bitches hitting the town.”
Yvonne chuckled. “I don’t mind hitting the town. I’m just worried about the repercussions.”
Without taking his eyes off the road, Robbie reached out and chucked the bottom of her chin. “If there are any, I’m prepared to carry the full weight.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. You have way more to lose than I do.”
Yvonne expected Robbie to counter her claims with more of his optimism, he didn’t. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road.
To purchase Player’s Ultimatum visit kokobrown.net
NERDS ARE FREAKS TOO
By Koko Brown
CHAPTER one
“What qualities are you looking for in your Mr. Right?”
Roxanne glanced up at the bakery’s carnation-pink ceiling and pretended to mull over the question. “I think he should be young, hung and full of cum.”
Apparently not amused, her best friend Leonidas slammed his laptop shut. “I’m out of here.” He began to stand but Roxanne grabbed his hand.
“I’m only teasing, Leo. Please don’t leave.” Roxanne glanced at the booth next to theirs. A group of Catholic schoolgirls sat across from them. They munched on chocolate cupcakes and giggled over the current issue of some bubble gum magazine, but Roxanne leaned forward just in case.
“I’m nervous about this whole online dating thing. If you don’t help me, I’ll end up with some bald, sixty-year-old guy with a postage stamp fetish.”
A smirk lifted one corner of Leo’s mouth as he pushed his black Buddy Holly-esque glasses up the bridge of his nose. The thick glass magnified the size of his beautiful blue eyes.
For the thousandth time, Roxanne wished he’d ditch them. His baby blues rivaled Jake Gyllenhaal’s.
“If you’re so skittish about online dating, why sign up? You’ve never had an issue meeting men.”
True. With her Coke-bottle size-twelve curves, gregarious personality and confidence equivalent to a she-lion’s, Roxanne never had trouble meeting men. Just not the right man. Silently cursing how well he knew her, Roxanne pulled on her earlobe.
“Roxie…” Leo coaxed.
She wanted to squirm. Talking to a guy with a Mensa-certified I.Q. of one hundred and fifty-one about needing more variety in your sex life seemed so trivial. “You don’t want to hear the boring details.”
“Try me,” he replied, relaxing back into the booth.
Roxanne caught his gaze and held it. “No judgments?”
“Have I ever judged you?”
Actually, no. Despite all the tomfoolery she’d committed over the years, Leo had always been tolerant.
“I’m hornier than a private during Marine Week.” She sighed dramatically. “I haven’t had sex in—”
“Eight months, three days and…” Leo glanced down at his watch. Roxanne had given him the titanium timepiece for landing his first client several years ago. “Sixteen minutes and forty-five seconds.”
Roxanne wrinkled her nose to keep from laughing. “You’re exaggerating the minutes and seconds.” Leaning forward, she pulled the sugar shaker toward her and fingered the rim. “I guess I’ve over shared one too many times.”
Leo inched his index finger toward his thumb. “I’m this close to handing out ‘Get Roxanne Laid’ campaign buttons.” His perfectly timed humor made Roxanne chuckle. “Jokes and horniness aside,” he continued, “I believe the ‘why’ is more important than the ‘how long’.”
Damn he’s good! Roxanne sat back, wavering between confession and mule-headed secrecy. She drummed her polished nails against the chrome tabletop, trying to buy herself some time. But Leo’s I-can-outlast-you-any-day look obliterated her game plan. “My sex life is missing something.”
“Missing what?”
Roxanne glanced at the teen-pop crowd again. “Actually, my sex life is abysmal,” she muttered.
Leo’s eyebrows jutted above the frames of his black spectacles. “How abysmal?”
“Black-hole, Deep Impact abysmal.”
Leo rubbed his hand over his mouth and regarded her with what looked like disbelief. “Deep Impact?” Roxanne nodded. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Not from the poster girl for young, black and fabulously single in the Windy City. Up until several months ago, you ran through men faster than the NFL draft.”
Roxanne winced. She hadn’t been that free with the milk, had she? “You make me sound like a two-piece-chicken-and-biscuit whore.”
Leo chuckled. They’d come up with the term in college to define all the co-eds who’d put out for the cheap two-dollar meal from Ray’s Bar-B-Que, a popular late-night hangout.
“You know I’ve always followed the motto, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” His voice dropped an octave. “So, let me get this straight. You stopped having sex because whoever was doing it to you wasn’t doing it for you?”
Roxanne smiled. Leo had such a way of putting things. “All of them gave it their best. I think they were just too…” Roxanne paused, hunting for the right word to describe her whitewashed sex life.
“Vanilla?”
Roxanne rapped her knuckles against the table and Leo’s eyebrows rose another inch. Any higher and they’d blend into his hairline. “Jessina says I need a take-charge kind of guy. A macho man who’ll push me to the edge, make me beg for it.”
During her sexual confessional, Leo’s expression grew increasingly pensive. As the seconds of complete silence stretched between them, Roxanne’s insides twisted. For someone who considered herself a sexual being, her lack of a decent sex life made her feel a little inadequate.
“If you’re looking for what I think you’re looking for, you’re wasting your time on a traditional dating website.” He slipped out of the booth and moved to her side, sliding in next to her. “You need to go directly to the source,” he continued, swiveling his laptop around to face them.
With a few quick strokes and a click of the mouse, he pulled up a website with a black background and deep red fonts. The site had the prerequisite smiling couple as its blissful mascot.
Instead of the innocent hugging pose, the man wore a half-mask and lay handcuffed to a platform bed while his female companion stood over him with a braided flogger.
“WhipADate.com?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the computer screen. “Why have I never heard about this?”
“You’re vanilla, remember?” Leo maneuvered the cursor over the member profile link and clicked enter.
“Oh my,” Roxanne breathed as a portal unlike any she’d ever seen unfolded on the screen.
“What are those? Sexual fantasies?” she asked, pointing to a sidebar with scrolling text.
“Member testimonials of fantasies fulfilled.”
Roxanne sat forward. Her eyes devoured a catalogu
e of member photos featuring full-frontal nudity, skin pinched with wooden clothespins, limbs entwined in rope and chains, and mouths stretched with rubber balls.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmured aloud and then shook her head. It was one thing to talk shit, quite another to walk the walk.
“Everything on this site is real and hardcore. And you’d better be as well, or at least serious about your intentions, because the membership has a tendency to out those who are simply window shopping. If they do, you’re dead in the water and you’ll be using your vibrator for another eight months.”
Roxanne stiffened. She and Leo discussed pretty much everything, but never the most intimate details of their sex lives.
“You’ve never used a sex toy, have you?”
Groaning loudly, Roxanne sat back. “It’s confirmed, Houston. I’m vanilla.”
Leo drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Do you think you’ll be able to let someone else bend you to their every whim?”
She might not have a submissive bone in her body, but for some reason the idea of being compliant to someone else’s every wish and command pulled at something deep inside her.
“You know, there’s a more sensible alternative.”
“There is?” Roxanne hated that she sounded so eager.
Leo nodded. “You could start out slow with someone you know. I think―”
“Only one problem,” she interjected. “I’ve never backtracked, and I’m not dating anyone currently.”
Leo turned toward her and propped his arm on the back of the booth. When his thigh brushed against hers, Roxanne didn’t think anything of it. While in college, they’d often slept in the same bed. However, when Leo didn’t say anything…just sat there staring at her…she started to fidget.
“I don’t want you to do this with anyone else, Roxie. I want to introduce you.”
Roxanne slapped his thigh. “Ha ha, good one!”