“But I’ll tell you girls,” she says, sitting down. “Looks fade. And they fade fast. One day you’re strutting down Hollywood Boulevard getting cat-called by Marlon Brando and the next day you’re shopping for push-up bras and mourning the loss of your perky caboose.”
“There’s more to life than having a nice ass, Aunt Rue,” Daphne says. She places her hand across her heart. “But thank you for the insight. I’ll treasure your words until the end of my days.”
“Plenty more where that came from.” Rue lifts her dirty martini, toasting mid-air, and takes a sip. “Did you have a nice flight?”
“I did.” Daphne spreads her napkin over her lap, and a server approaches to take our drink orders.
“So, what do people drink in Paris?”
“It depends on the occasion, I suppose.” Daphne orders a glass of cabernet. “Coffee or tea in the morning. A glass of wine at dinner. They always drink with food and never drink to get drunk. Getting hammered is actually poor taste in certain circles.”
“Fascinating.” Rue brings her martini glass to her lips. “So what are you girls going to do this weekend?”
“I thought I’d take Daphne to South Beach,” I say. “We could stay at this really nice hotel on the water and go out for drinks and dancing. Catch up. Maybe do some shopping. Just a nice girls’ weekend.”
“Sounds lovely.” Rue smiles, head tilted. “I’d love to join you, but I’m hosting a silent auction this weekend for Ethel French’s literacy foundation. I’ll be there in spirit.”
“You ever going to slow down, Aunt Rue?” Daphne asks.
“Maybe when I’m dead.” She takes a sip of her cocktail, flashing us a wink. “And that’s still a big maybe.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Daphne grabs her bag, excusing herself and making a beeline for the ladies’ room.
From the corner of my eye, I scan the clubhouse for Zane. It’s not like I want to run into him, nor do I think he’d be hanging around Laguna Palms on a Friday night, but all week I’ve been looking over my shoulder, wondering when I’m going to bump into him again because it’s only a matter of time.
The host breezes past our table, a small group of people in tow, and I have to blink twice when I recognize one of them as Zane’s stalker.
Nearly choking on my drink, I glance away before I accidentally make eye contact with her.
“Oh, hi there.” It’s too late. Carissa spots me. She stops at our table, her hand resting on the back of my chair as the other one flips her long dark hair over a bony shoulder. “Hi, Rue. How are you?”
Carissa knows Rue?
“Hi, darling,” Rue says. “Have you met my great-niece, Delilah? She’s visiting from upstate New York, helping me sell my house.”
Carissa flashes a mega-watt smile and turns to me. “Yes, actually. We met the other day at Zane’s.”
My jaw falls.
No. She. Didn’t.
Rue’s gaze sharpens in my direction before lifting to Carissa’s. “You know better than to associate with that filthy rat, Carissa. You’re better than that. You don’t let a man break your heart and then give him the pleasure of sticking around for his convenience.”
“Believe me, it’s nothing like that,” Carissa says. “I happened to be in the neighborhood visiting some family. Just wanted to say hi. As a friend. Didn’t realize he had . . . company.”
Carissa is wearing a skintight dress, red-bottomed heels, and a phony smile. Her gaze is pointed in my direction.
“So what are you ladies up to this weekend? If you need any fun recommendations, let me know. These are my stomping grounds, and I’d be more than happy to endorse a few hot spots.” Carissa’s eyes squint as she speaks, as if it’s physically challenging for her to hold a genuine expression in her faux act of kindness.
“We’re going to South Beach,” I say. “My sister’s here. We’re taking a girls’ trip.”
“Love South Beach.” Carissa lifts her manicured hand to her bony décolletage. “You should go to Club Azul. You won’t regret it. Anyway, I’ll let you carry on with your dinner. It’s been lovely seeing you all.”
She slinks away, following an elderly couple as they’re seated in a corner booth.
“I just love her. The epitome of elegance and refinement.” Rue smiles, watching her walk off. “Her father owns the Cougars, you know. That family bleeds navy and gold.”
“I didn’t know that.” I glance around for our waiter. It’s nearly impossible to swallow the dry lump in my throat without something to wash it down.
“She and Zane were an item for a while,” Rue says. “After things went south with his last girlfriend.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, although part of me is curious to hear the flipside of the story. There’s always the possibility that she wasn’t a stalker – that Zane lied.
Daphne returns to our table, her lips coated in fresh gloss just as the server comes by with a basket of bread balanced on a tray of drinks. We both dive in like ravenous hawks, tearing at the baguette.
“Because you should know what you’re getting yourself into.” Rue blows a winded breath and presses her lips together. “I know I can’t keep you away from Zane, but I just wish you’d listen when I tell you he’s no good. He’s a heartbreaker. And he needs to learn a thing or two about respect. The man doesn’t respect women. Or his own damn football team. Or the HOA.”
Daphne snickers behind her drink as she realizes the topic of conversation. If someone defies the Laguna Palms Home Owner’s Association, Rue takes it personally. I’m pretty sure I came across an actual Shit List in her junk drawer the other day.
“The way you talk about him, I almost wonder if he broke your heart,” Daphne says to Aunt Rue.
Rue’s shoulders sag as she spins her empty martini glass and stares off to the side.
“I liked that kid when he first moved here,” she says. “But he had me fooled. He had us all fooled. He’s caused nothing but problems.”
Chapter 10
Zane
“You’re killing me here.” Kai stands in front of my foyer mirror, flexing his quarterback biceps and grinning from ear to ear. “Live a little.”
“Can’t. You know that.” I rest my hands on my hips and glance at my bored reflection. Weston, one of our linebackers, is seated in my living room looking lost in thought. Or maybe he’s bored too.
“Weston’s depressed. You’re no fun anymore.” Kai’s smile fades as he turns to me. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? You’re my bros. You’re my partners in crime.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone can be Gainesville’s Golden Boy,” I say, moving to the other room. I plop down in an overstuffed armchair, and Weston doesn’t so much as look up. Kai Santana’s penchant for booze and women far exceed my own, but I’m the one who got stuck under the PR microscope. And trapped by the owner’s daughter.
“Dude,” Kai says to Weston. “You need to man up. Move on. Elle did.”
Weston glances up, his meaty fists clenching in a rare show of ire.
“Find some new pussy, pound the hell out of it, be a fucking man, and shake that shit off.” Kai shrugs. “Let’s get the hell out of here tonight. We need to do something fun.”
“Such as?” Weston huffs.
“I don’t know. Options are limited since Pony Boy here can’t be seen with liquor and girls . . .” Kai’s mouth draws into a mischievous leer. “I know. South Beach. My cousin owns a club down there. Azul. We can get into the VIP room, slip in through the back door, and have ourselves a night. No one will even know we left Gainesville.”
Six months ago, I’d have been all over Kai’s proposal.
But six months ago, my career and everything I’ve ever worked for wasn’t on the line.
“I don’t know.” I lean back, slipping my hands behind my head and staring out the window toward Rue’s house. I’d give anything to know what Delilah was up to tonight.
Last I knew, her twin sister
was coming to stay for a while, and ever since we fucked, I’ve given her space because I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be some moronic, pussy-whipped freak who’s suddenly obsessed with her all because her pussy’s made of 24-karat gold and cashmere.
“Come on.” Kai groans, grabbing a football from behind the couch and tossing it in the air. Not sure how that got there. If it weren’t for my cleaning lady, this place would look like a frat house. “I’ll drive. All I have to do is make a few phone calls and we’re in. We don’t even have to get crazy tonight. We’re just some guys going out for some drinks in the comfort and privacy of my cousin’s VIP room.”
“I’ve never known a night with you to not be crazy,” Weston says.
“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” I say.
“Fine.” Kai drops the ball, his lips pursed in a hard line as he points his finger at us. “You motherfuckers are lame and pathetic. You can just sit here and watch Downtown fucking Abbey in your pajamas. I’m going out.”
“Downton,” Weston says. “Not downtown.”
“Of course you’d know that.” Kai rolls his eyes.
Weston turns to me. “Maybe we should.”
“Are you fucking insane?” I spit back. “If I get caught, I’m off the team.”
Kai checks his watch. “I’m leaving in five minutes, so.”
“If you don’t drink and you don’t hook up with any girls, you’re not violating Coach’s orders.” Weston has a point. “It’s either that or you sit at home doing nothing on a Saturday night.”
“Shit.” I drag my hand down my face. “You’re right.”
Kai claps his hands together and releases a triumphant laugh that booms throughout my main floor.
“Come on, assholes.” Kai jangles his keys. “It’s a five-hour drive, and it’s two o’clock now. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
“I still have to pack,” Weston says.
“Me too,” I say.
“This isn’t a goddamned vacation.” Kai groans. “Throw some shit in a bag and call it good.”
For once, Kai Santana kept his word.
His cousin did, in fact, own a bar in South Beach and that bar did, in fact, have a VIP room and so far we were, in fact, keeping a low profile.
It’s different coming here. No one knows us. We’re not instantly recognizable thanks to it being the off-season and our pictures aren’t plastered all over sports news channels in every bar in North America.
Tonight there aren’t any swarms of football bunnies and groupies chasing us around, begging for pictures and slipping us numbers.
It’s just us guys.
We’re tucked away in a lounge the color of the bottom of the ocean, the two of them sipping drinks that cost more than a drink should even with Kai’s cousin’s “family discount.” Music is pulsing through the club and every so often, people wander past the red velvet ropes, peeking in to see who’s here, but it’s too dark and they’re too smashed to make any sort of connection.
I haven’t known this kind of anonymity since my rookie year. I’d forgotten how good it felt.
“So.” Weston takes a sip of his Scotch, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks bored, but getting away from Gainesville was probably in his best interest tonight anyway.
We glance at Kai who’s standing on the other side of the velvet rope, chatting it up with a fake-titted cocktail waitress who can’t stop giggling in his presence, and we both know Kai’s not that funny.
“That fucker’s going to bring her back to the hotel tonight. Just watch,” Weston says.
“I don’t know why we’re sharing a room anyway.” I take a drink from my overpriced bottle of artisanal water.
“Because Kai’s the cheapest son of a bitch this side of the Atlantic.” Weston shakes his head. “Remember the fake Rolex he bought a couple years ago?”
We laugh and observe as Kai takes his phone from his pocket and programs in the waitress’ number before returning.
“Thought it was just a guys’ night?” Weston says when Kai returns.
“Fuck you guys. I’m getting laid.” Kai adjusts the collar of his shirt and glances toward the bar crowd. He hates not being seen. This is driving him crazy. “I gotta find the pisser.”
“Right,” I say, watching him leave.
“He doesn’t have to piss. He just wants attention,” Weston says.
“Should’ve fucking known. He’s going to blow my cover.”
Weston shrugs. “As long as you’re not drinking or getting crazy, you’ll be fine, man. Don’t sweat it.”
We look like lame fucking morons sitting in here alone. Just the two of us. Not socializing. Looking bored as hell.
But I guess it beats the alternative, and we drove five hours to get here, so nothing we can do about it.
Kai returns twenty minutes later, two drinks in his hand and a dopey smile on his face.
“We gotta get out of here. There’s a smoking hot blonde at the bar begging for a good fuck, and I have to make this happen tonight,” he says.
“Nah, man.” I place my hand up. “We’re not doing that. We didn’t come here for that.”
Kai sits his drinks to the side and holds his hands in front of his chest. “Huge fucking tits. Angelina Jolie lips. Long legs. I call dibs.”
Weston looks my way. That goddamned traitor’s considering it.
“Come on.” Weston points to my water. “You need a refill anyway.”
Groaning, I follow them outside the velvet ropes, toward the bar, and take a seat at an empty bar stool on the end.
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice fills my ear a moment later. “Aren’t you on the Gainesville Cougars?”
I turn to face her, smiling and nodding. “Yep.”
“I’m a huge fan,” she says, leaning in closer to my ear. It’s a hell of a lot louder out here than it was in the VIP lounge. “Can I be annoying and ask for a selfie with you? I’m your biggest fan. I have season tickets and everything. I haven’t missed a home game in three years. I know all your stats. You’re even on my fantasy football team.”
It breaks my damn heart to tell her no, but I don’t have a choice. A photo of me at a bar with a pretty girl like her would be a huge liability, and there’s no way I could explain myself out of that if Coach caught wind of it. Besides, who knows what kind of caption this chick would place beside a photo of us? If there’s anything I’ve learned these last few years, it’s that some people seem perfectly normal at first glance when they’re anything but.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “It’s not allowed. Thank you for being a fan though.”
Her sweet smile fades and her eyes flash dark. She doesn’t believe me, and I can’t blame her. It sounds like total bullshit.
“Screw you.” She storms off, not noticing Kai or Weston.
The pop and clink of breaking glass pulls my attention to my right, where a red-faced Kai is shouting over the music, his shirt doused in liquid and a broken martini glass at his feet.
“That fucking bitch,” he seethes.
I slide off the bar stool and make my way to where Weston is attempting to calm him down.
“Dude. Chill.” Weston grabs a towel from the bartender and hands it over. Kai dabs at his shirt, barely making a difference. Whatever he’s muttering under his breath is drowned out by the pulse of club music.
“What happened?” I ask, sensing the heavy stares of on-lookers around us.
“Apparently the blonde wasn’t feeling him,” Weston says, leaning in. “Tossed a drink in his face.”
“So who broke the glass?”
“Who do you think?” Weston huffs. “Our boy’s got to control his temper.”
“He doesn’t handle rejection well.”
“I’m going to find the blonde and apologize,” Weston says. “Do a little damage control before any of this gets out.”
I scoff. “Good luck. I’m going to get him back to the VIP lounge before he pulls any more shit.�
��
Thirty minutes pass with no sign of Weston. It’s just me and Kai in the VIP lounge, me nursing a frosty bottled water and him nursing a bruised ego.
“Hey, guys.” Weston appears from the other side of the rope, stepping through with a dopey grin on his face. “You’re not going to believe this, but the blonde? That’s Delilah Rosewood’s sister. They’re here.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. Never in a million years did I expect to run into them here – five hours from Gainesville – at some random bar in South Beach.
“Mind if they hang out with us for a bit?” Weston asks.
“No fucking way,” Kai grumbles and faces away.
“You were saying some pretty vulgar shit, Kai,” Weston says. “You can’t blame her for throwing a drink in your face.”
“She’s not coming in here.” Kai folds his arms, peering down his nose. “Fuck her.”
“Hey.” I smack him on the arm. “Grow the fuck up, man. Be the bigger person and let them in here. Show her you don’t care.”
Kai sits up straight, and for a moment, I think he’s coming around. Only the second Weston waves the girls in, Kai storms away, leaving the four of us alone.
“Hi.” The blonde takes a seat between Weston and me. “You must be Zane.”
“And you’re Daphne,” I say.
I glance over at Delilah who’s standing there, her arms folded at her waist and her face pinched as she studies me. I flash her a smile and hope to God I’m not showing all of my cards, but I’m actually stupid-happy to see her.
Daphne motions for her to sit down, pointing to my opposite side, but Delilah hesitates.
“We’re supposed to be having a sisters’ night out,” she says. “This wasn’t part of the plan. I don’t think she’s too thrilled about it.”
I pat the spot besides me. “You just going to stand there and stare?”
Delilah finally makes a move, plunking herself beside me as if it’s the last place she wants to be.
FILTHY - a Football Romance Page 9