Sidelined

by Marquita Valentine

  “Isn’t that sweet of you?” He thumps his chest. “It’s like you’re actually human or something.”

  “Fuck off.” Being human isn’t my problem. It’s the type of leadership I employ. The only way I know how to lead is with my ball-handling skills and being a dick. The guys respect me on the field, and they are a cohesive group because they all hate me.

  “You fahk awf,” he says, mimicking my accent. “Anyway, I plan on having a party at my place. You’re invited.”

  “When?”

  “Saturday night.”

  Will Layton be there, I wonder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Bring a date. Paige wants to make this a couples’ thing.”

  “I don’t do dates.” I slow up, my breathing easier now. “I mean, I do dates, but—”

  “Nah, you meant what you said the first time.” Dallas’s eyes gleam. “Heard a rumor about you the other day.”

  “As much as you wish you could get with this, you’re not my type.”

  “Not that rumor. The one about your seasonal celibacy.”

  That stops me cold. “My what?”

  Dallas holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t kill the messenger. I’m only sharing what everyone is saying.”

  “Define everyone.”

  “Me.”

  I roll my eyes. “You need a new hobby.”

  “It’s shark week, dude, so I get to listen to all the gossip instead of seeing to Paige’s other needs.”

  “Fuck, man.” I make a face, and Kelly blows the whistle again, then yells at us to hit the showers. “I did not need to know that.”

  “Whatever, brother. Anyway, the ladies are saying that you’re not actually delivering the TDs like everyone says you are.”

  “My game is straight.”

  “Your bedroom game is nonexistent.”

  His voice is so loud that I grab his arm, yanking him to the side. “If you shut up, I’ll tell you what’s up.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You and Dumbo,” I mutter.

  Dallas touches his lobes. “They don’t stick out that far,” he mutters.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, will you stop being a fucking diva for five seconds?” It’s not a request.

  He drops his hands. “Hit me.”

  I want to hit him all right. “It’s... true.” His eyes widen, but for once he keeps his stupid mouth shut. “During the season, I’m celibate, but I don’t put it out there for everyone to know. Most women don’t care because I always have a backup ready.”

  “Sharing is caring, dude. Why in the hell would you forgo—?”

  “We’re done.”

  “You can’t leave me hanging.”

  “Watch me.” I walk inside.

  “What about Saturday night, baby?” he calls out, not even close to getting the message that he gets on my motherfucking nerves.

  “Hard pass, sweetheart.”

  Sam pats me on the back as he cuts in front of me. “Good to see you two getting along so well. Sets a good example for the team.”

  I grab my sack. “I got your good example right here.”

  “Cheating on me, McHugh?” Dallas says as he swaggers inside. “I’m hurt.”

  Sam steps in front of me before I can take a swing. “Hey. You up to going over last week’s game with me tonight? Already uploaded film to my iPad.”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever,” I say, hoping he’ll leave me the hell alone already.

  Dallas blows me a kiss.

  I flip him the bird.

  The fucker pretends to catch it, then presses it to his cheek. “Best present ever.”

  “There’s something very wrong with you.”

  “Leave him be. He’s a man in love,” Sam says, as if that’s an excuse for everything Dallas has ever done or said.

  “What was his excuse before that?”

  Sam shrugs. “What’s your excuse?”

  I have two choices right now. Punch Sam in the kisser and tell him to forget about going over the game, or punch Sam in the kisser and say nothing.

  The entire team files in, expectant gazes on Dallas, Sam, and me. A few of them whisper to each other. The not-so-subtle ones groan, and let their feelings be known.

  “Here we go again.”

  “The man can’t stop stepping on his own dick.”

  Dallas looks away.

  Sam keeps staring at me like I’m Obi Wan or Yoda. Unfortunately for him, I’m neither. He’s too damn old to need me as a mentor. And I’m too damn old to let things go on like they have.

  Fucking pride wouldn’t let me stop being a dick, but that doesn’t mean I can’t turn over a new leaf.

  “I don’t have one.” I push past him to go to my locker. “Be at my place at six.”

  ON MY WAY HOME, I SWING by Gideon’s house. His mom texted last night to let me know that he’d been having bad days at school and needed someone to talk to.

  When I pull up to their small house, Gideon is outside, sitting on the front porch with Beats covering his ears. He’s got his head down and his attitude dialed up to ten.

  “Yo. What’s up?”

  He barely gives me a second glance, but I notice he moves over so I can sit beside him.

  “Your mom said you’ve been having a rough time at school.”

  He moves the Beats I got him for Christmas so that they hang around his neck. “So what? That’s every day I’m not playing ball.”

  The kid’s a good one—smart, driven, and can handle a ball with ease. He’s just been dealt a shitty hand. A mom who works her ass off to support him, and a dad he’s never met. His prime examples of role models are confined to the few male teachers at his school and the guys who end up like the ones I know back home. Gang-banging and having kids they don’t take care of.

  “I hear ya.” I look around the yard. “Where’s your ball?”

  “Stolen.”

  I jog to my truck and grab one from my bag in the bed.

  Normally, I drive a Porsche 911, but if there’s a chance I can stop by to see Gideon or have a day planned with him, I opt for this. There’s nothing wrong with being successful, but only an arrogant asshole shows up in a working-class neighborhood driving something so slick.

  “Go long, kid.” I throw the ball to him, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder.

  He catches it with ease and we toss it back and forth for a while, not really talking about anything serious.

  “They’re having a dad’s breakfast at school, and I don’t know how to tie a fucking tie,” he blurts, his cheeks red from the cold and exercise. He pushes his blond hair away from his face, then stares at his feet. His kicks look like they still fit him. I got him a pair of the latest and greatest, despite the fact I thought he’d get jumped for them, for Christmas.

  “Come again?”

  He goes back to the front porch and plops down. “At school, for the seniors. We’re having a stupid Breakfast with Dad, and we have to wear a shirt and tie. My old one’s too short now.”

  His old one clipped onto the collar of his shirt.

  “When is it?” I don’t commit to anything before checking my schedule. Although I’ve been his big brother through the YMCA since he was in sixth grade and I think he’d understand, I don’t fuck with his head by cancelling on him unless I’m dead or dying.

  Gideon texts me the date. “Check your calendar.” He grins a little. “But that doesn’t solve my problem about the tie. My mom got me a legit one, but neither of us know how to tie it, and YouTube is no help.”

  “No problem. I’ll take care of that, too.”

  He looks up at me, something he doesn’t have to lift his head very far to do. Damn, he’s gotten tall in the last month. Maybe I should check with his ma to see if he needs new clothes for school.

  It helps that he wears a uniform, but it doesn’t help that he goes to a school where most of the kids have two parents who can go to stuff like Breakfast with Dad. That’s not anyone’s fault, r
eally, but I don’t think a kid should be penalized for shit out of their control.

  “For reals?”

  I nod. “Yup.”

  “Can you pick me up in the Porsche?”

  “I’ll do you one better and let you drive us.”

  His eyes get so big they almost make the rest of his face diminish in size. “You’re shitting me.”

  “What’s the good in a driver’s license you never get to use?” I punch him in the shoulder. Taking a stab at why he’s moodier than usual, I follow up with, “Who’s the girl?”

  “Kristin.” He blushes. “She’s out of my league, man. We have the same Calculus II class and she’s a sophomore.”

  “Smart girl, huh?”

  “Extremely. She doesn’t like football players, either.”

  In my experience, all women like football players, even the ones who say they don’t. “You sure about that?”

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t seem to impress her much.”

  I stroke my jaw. “Might be a good thing.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “What I mean is that when she gets to know you, it will be because she wants to know you, Gideon, not you, the badass quarterback of the Warriors,” I clarify.

  “I guess.”

  “Any other troubles we need to solve today?”

  Gideon’s ma burst through the front door. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m late. Supper’s in the freezer—I think.” She leans down, kissing him on the head and squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “Sorry, honey. I know I promised, but uh—” She digs through her purse, her forehead furrowed, reminding me of my own mother when she’d pray that somehow there would be extra money in her wallet. “You take this. I’ll eat later.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m good, Momma. Got my first paycheck this week, remember?”

  “I remember that you need to thank Aiden for helping you get that job,” she says pointedly, keeping one eye on the bus stop that’s on the corner.

  “Would you mind if I take Gideon to dinner with me? We need to go over some football plays that could help him next year at State,” I say so I don’t damage her pride or his.

  “Yeah. Sure.” She looks over his head, mouthing, “Thank you,” before she jogs down to the bus stop just as it pulls up.

  I smile, then turn my attention to Gideon. “Ready to go?”

  “Starving.”

  “Good, because you’re buying.”

  Chapter 7

  Layton

  YOU KNOW WHAT'S BETTER than sitting at home on a Friday night with your best friend while her fiancé makes the two of you drinks?

  Nothing.

  Right now, we're sitting on the sofa debating which Chris—Hemsworth, Pine, Pratt, or Evans—is the best Chris. My position is that all the Chrises are created equal, and no woman should be forced to choose.

  Paige thinks that Hemsworth is the best, but I'm pretty sure she thinks that because Dallas bears a vague resemblance to him. A very vague resemblance, but I won’t share that with her because who am I to burst someone's happy, love bubble?

  “Can we get more drinks, bartender?” Paige yells, but it’s a nice shout because Dallas grins.

  “They’re coming, bright eyes.”

  Paige giggles.

  “Are you sure we need to drink this much?” I ask.

  She arches a brow. “Did you agree to do exactly as I say for the next six months, or not?”

  “It was in a moment of weakness.” I make a face. “Stupid chocolate truffles.”

  “You can always say no to chocolate, Layton.”

  “When have I ever said no to chocolate?” I counter.

  “Good point.” She smiles as Dallas brings us fresh Pina coladas. “Thanks, honey.”

  He winks. “Whatever you need, bright eyes.”

  “Oh my Lord,” I groan, envious as anything. “The two of you make me want to puke and smile.”

  Dallas gets a panicked look on his face. “Not on the sofa, okay?”

  “She didn’t mean literally,” Paige assures him.

  I nod in agreement. “Nope, I’m only here to make a list or two.” Possibly three.

  “No lists either,” Paige admonishes.

  With a gasp of outrage, I shake my pad of paper at her. It’s monogrammed at the top with my initials, and it’s my favorite colors—pink, white, and green. “This is the last of its kind, and we’re going to put it to good use.”

  “I doubt it’s the—”

  “The last,” I insist, then lower my voice. “My new stuff has my other initials on them.”

  Her eyes get all sympathetic. “I see.”

  “Yeah, so this one it is,” I say brightly.

  “I’m confused,” Dallas says.

  Instead of clearing things up for him, I take a gulp of my drink. It goes down smooth until the end. I cough. “Nice kick you added.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Layton wants to make a list of eligible bachelors.”

  “Nuh-uh. That was your idea.” I set my drink down. “I want to make a list of ways to get back at Joe.”

  Paige raises a brow. “My rules.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I set my pad of paper down, but Dallas surprises us by picking it up and wandering off with it. “Don’t go too far, sugar.”

  In a couple of minutes, he returns with a pen and sits in a recliner. “I put Hernandez at the top of the list.”

  “I thought you said Hernandez was a womanizer,” Paige points out.

  “And? She’s looking for a good time, not another commitment.”

  I nod like a bobble head. “He’s right, but my good time only included the maiming and torturing of Joe’s man parts.”

  “Maybe next time,” Paige says with a pat of her hand on my arm. “However, let’s take things a little slower and find you a date instead.”

  “I can’t go on a date; I'm not even divorced.” Besides, I can't possibly be thinking about dating anyone.” Or can I? Maybe that's exactly what I need to do. The last I heard, my soon-to-be ex-husband and his little tart are living it up in Key West while I'm stuck in Raleigh in below-freezing temperatures and going on job interviews to places that have no intention of hiring me.

  My life is so awesome.

  “What about Sam?” Paige asks. “He’s sweet, not a manwhore, and—”

  Dallas closes his eyes and snores.

  “Okay, then.” I blow out a breath. “Tell me more about the other guys.”

  “Let’s see.” He eyes Paige until she gets up from her spot beside me and marches to him, grabbing the list out of his hands. “I wasn’t done with that.”

  “You are now.” She peruses his list. “Nope. Nope. Seriously, Dallas... you told me about what Smith had gotten up to in Vegas over bye week.”

  “And that was?”

  “Not fit for mixed company,” Paige says, not taking her eyes on the list. “This one might be a possibility, but she won’t like. I don’t like it.”

  Dallas cranes his neck, a smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “He’s perfectly harmless.”

  “The rumors are true?” she asks, her eyes rounding.

  Dallas shrugs.

  I stand up and move closer to them, trying to read the name of the guy they’re being so vague about, but Paige holds the list away from me with her ridiculously long Amazonian arms.

  “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stomp back to the sofa and plop down. At least I have my drink to finish. “You never, ever leave me when I’m in need.”

  “Drinks aren’t people, honey,” Paige calls out.

  I keep staring at my glass. “Don’t listen to her. You’re the best drink ever.”

  Paige clears her throat. I peer at her over the rim of my glass. “How would you feel about going out with Aiden McHugh?”

  I make a face. “Like I’d rather get my hair wet and not have access to a comb.”

  “Damn, that’s pretty bad, bright eyes.”

  Paige frowns. “Sh
e’s being dramatic.”

  “I’m being honest.” It’s true. I hate getting my hair wet without proper preparation first. It’s so flipping thick, curly, and long that it’s a pain to not braid it first. “Anyway, back to the list.”

  “We’re having a party Saturday night. I think it would be great to have you and Aiden come together as a couple.”

  A warm buzz flows through me as I take another gulp of my Pina colada. “That sounds like something serious couples do, not a woman who needs a rebound.”

  Dallas laughs. “Told you Hernandez would be perfect for her.”

  Paige smacks his shoulder. “I think Aiden would be perfect.”

  I snort. “I think you’re drunk to consider him.”

  “He’s safe.”

  Nodding, I wink at her. “Whatever you say.”

  She sighs. “Now you want to be agreeable.”

  “Who cares? At least she’s a nice drunk.” Dallas gets up from his chair and kisses Paige lightly on the lips. “Layton, you can stay or get an Uber to take you home. I’m hitting the sack.”

  “Sleepover,” I sing out.

  “Goodie. More alone time for me,” he mutters.

  “Promise to make it up to you,” Paige whispers loudly. She has to be as drunk as I’m feeling right now, because she’s very private about intimate details.

  “Damn straight you will.” Another sweet kiss, that makes me want to cry, is exchanged before he leaves.

  “Say I do proposition Aiden... do you think your sister will care?” I ask. Finley and Aiden broke up in college, but I want to make sure.

  “Please. She’s dating Captain America’s twin.”

  We sigh dreamily in unison, then I turn sober for a second.

  “I really don't want to cause problems. Finley’s like the big sister I never had.”

  “Trust me; you won’t.” She hands over the list, and I chuck it into my purse. “When do you want to ask him to help you get over Joe?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  She gasps. “I have the best outfit you can wear.”

  “I can’t wear your clothes. You’re a goddess, and I’m the cute but frumpy sidekick.”

  “Pretty sure you meant funny.”

  “Oh yeah, I did.” I run my hand down my side. “I’m pretty damn hot.”