He looked away momentarily as the young woman beside him called his name and started talking again. She grabbed his arms and smiled brightly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her juicy red lips, which matched her vibrant red dress, puckered then pouted. She said something that didn’t matter much, so he spared another glance across the room. Jazz was looking at him now. He smiled and half nodded. She looked away casually, as if she’d been looking at someone beside him. But he knew better. She was staring at him just as he was staring at her.
Women drifted in and out of his life constantly. They appeared out of nowhere and made their intentions abundantly clear. It was a fact of nature in his profession. There was a blur of pretty faces and lovely bodies, but after a while even the most attractive women faded. They were interested in his fame and celebrity, and then they were gone. Few had ever kept his attention longer than a month or two, and none had gotten his complete attention until now.
He glanced across the room again. The same man was still with her, and another had joined them. It was obvious they flocked to her like hounds to a bone. He decided to take a different approach. He did what he got paid to do on the football field. Timing was everything, so he waited.
Melanie brought a woman over to meet him. They talked a few minutes, but he felt absolutely no chemistry. Jessica introduced him to two other women. The result was the same. There was still no chemistry, and they seemed too young and oblivious to anything other than money and status. Later he mingled, greeting a few friends, and walked around meeting other guests. He glanced over each time a man came up to her. His gut tightened until he witnessed them walking away. He smiled. They didn’t have a chance. The time was right. He walked over.
Chapter 2
EXTERIOR PARTY—NIGHT
The party continued, and Jazz did her best to remain cheery and cordial. Surrounded constantly she talked easily with guests, with the grace and charm of the seasoned actress she was. She shared funny backstage stories and amusing anecdotes and those around her loved it. But she’d never stay too long with any one group. She kept moving, sometimes meeting men who wanted more than friendly conversation.
One after another they tried their best to impress her. They failed. Businessmen, professionals, millionaires, they all gave her their best pickup lines. She shot them all down. She wasn’t interested. Deciding that she needed a break, she headed for the patio. As she turned to head outside, her path was obstructed. Jazz looked up right into the face of Devon Hayes. He stood just inches away. His smile was mesmerizing, like he knew something everyone else didn’t. Her senses escaped her for a brief moment. “Excuse me,” Jazz said, angling to get around him.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Devon asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Do we know each other?” he asked.
“No, we don’t. Excuse me,” she repeated, then took a step back to walk around him.
“Are you sure?” Devon asked, stepping directly into her path again.
She looked up at him and smiled, knowing a pickup line when she heard one. “Positive,” she said, then stepped around him.
“Because,” he said, turning to face her. Jazz stopped and turned back to him. He leaned close and spoke softly, in nearly a whisper. “From the way you were staring at me all evening, I assumed we knew each other.”
She chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said quietly.
“So you’re saying that you weren’t staring at me all evening?”
“On the contrary, it’s the other way round. You were staring at me. But then, you already knew that.” She glanced momentarily behind him, seeing a woman standing, obviously waiting for his attention. Devon didn’t have to turn around. He knew there was someone—there was always someone. Jazz smiled knowingly. “I believe your fan club is waiting for you. Excuse me.” She began to walk away again.
“Oh, okay. I get it, typical diva,” he said softly, knowing she’d hear him.
She did. She turned again and moved closer. “I beg your pardon,” Jazz said stiffly. Being called a diva was something that always annoyed her. She was anything but a diva, but somehow the word always circled around.
“I know you heard me, sweetheart,” Devon said. He stepped closer and lowered his mouth to her ear. His voice trembled low and deep. “You stare at me all evening and then when I come over to talk, you blow me off. Yeah, that’s typical diva behavior.”
Jazz shuddered. His hot breath near her ear and neck sent a quiver through her body. She steadied herself quickly. “First of all, there’s nothing typical about me, and secondly, I am certainly not a diva. If by chance I was looking in your direction earlier, put on your big-boy pants and chalk it up to coincidence.” She stepped back and glanced behind him again. The young woman waiting seemed impatient. “But I guess with the groupie-fest going on, I can certainly see how you got confused.”
“My apologies. I assumed you wanted me—” he paused purposefully “—to come over.”
“You know, given your bad-boy status, I expected your pickup line would be a bit more toe-curling. ‘Do we know each other’ is pretty pathetic.”
Devon laughed heartily, drawing polite smiles from guests standing nearby. “Sorry to disappoint, but it wasn’t a pickup line. I was curious. You were staring at me, so I naturally assumed that perhaps we’d met before and I should know you.”
“No, trust me, you shouldn’t know me,” she said.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because the only reason you want to get to know me is so that you can get into my pretty black-lace panties, and, of course, add another notch to your belt.”
He chuckled. “That’s a wildly outrageous assumption and also the sexiest invitation I’ve gotten in a long time.”
“It wasn’t an invitation,” she assured him.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Positive.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, then smiled that smile she knew made women buckle at the knees, “because I really like pretty black lace. And for the record I don’t do notches.”
“Yeah, right, all athletes do notches.”
“I’m not that guy,” he said very seriously.
The stern seriousness in his voice gave her pause. “Okay, if you’re not that guy, then you need to let me pass.” He immediately stepped aside, allowing her to pass. “Thank you.” He didn’t reply, and she didn’t wait around to hear one. Just twenty more feet away and she’d be outside. Suddenly the guy from earlier was back.
Smooth as crinkled sandpaper, Larry continued their previous conversation. He prattled on about his business, his money and himself, none of which seemed of particular interest to anyone except him. He laughed at his jokes and answered his own questions. Still Jazz smiled at all the right times and faked vague interest out of politeness. She knew Devon was still watching, so she kept up the pretense. Thankfully, Vincent walked over.
“Hey, there you are. You look stunning,” Vincent said.
Her once-plastered smile turned genuine instantly as she greeted Vincent with a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. You look handsome yourself. I assume you know Larry.”
“Of course, Larry’s a good friend. Jazz, if you’ll excuse Larry, Jessica has someone she’d like him to meet. Larry, Jessica’s waiting for you in the library.” Larry nodded grudgingly and left. Vincent turned his attention back to Jazz. “So, having a good time?” he asked.
Jazz nodded. “Yes. That’s two I owe your sister,” Jazz said.
“Two. What’s the first one?”
“Never mind. I think I need to step outside and get some air. It’s getting a little too stuffy in here. I’ve been hit on by practically every man in the room.”
“You’re a hot commodity.”
“Oh, that makes me feel much better,” she quipped.
Vincent chuckled. “A’ight, I get it. Come on,” he said as he guided her toward the open patio doors. “Do you want some company?”
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“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to get out of here for a few minutes.”
He nodded. “Here, take this—you’ll look less conspicuous,” Vincent said, offering her a glass of champagne.
She accepted it with a broad smile. “Thanks.”
They stopped at the open doors and talked a few more minutes. Then, after one last glance across the room, Jazz casually continued outside as Vincent turned to rejoin the party. She only stopped once more, quickly dismissed the extralarge man who approached, and then passed nearly unnoticed through the French doors and onto the patio.
A sense of freedom washed over her instantly. Looking around, she noticed there were several other guests already outside. She breezed past them, smiling pleasantly, and continued toward the secluded gazebo near the far end of the property. Laughter rang out. She turned, glancing back at the party going on inside. The place was packed, but she would have expected nothing less. Few parties in Sag Harbor could rival those given by famed matchmaker Melanie Harte.
She continued walking down the path, admiring the veranda aglow with tiny white lights as she went. Candles floated in the pool, and the garden path was brilliantly illuminated. It was dazzling. When Melanie throws a party, you can best believe it’s going to be fabulous. She stood at the entrance to the gazebo.
Fortunately she was alone. The air stilled around her. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Alone wasn’t so bad.
She stepped up onto the platform and leaned back against the far post, then took another deep breath. The sweet, salt-air filled her lungs. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she felt peaceful and contented. It was too long ago to even remember. All she could think about was her loss. It didn’t help that today was her mother’s birthday. Tears threatened. Thankfully no one noticed she’d left.
Devon walked over to the bar as he watched Jazz head toward the patio doors. Midway there she was stopped by the same man she’d been talking to all evening. Devon was tempted to go over again, but he stopped himself as he heard a familiar voice. “Yo, man, what up?” He turned to see his friends Scott Rembrandt and Armand Fuller walk up. Two women followed closely, but stopped just short of approaching them. The three men pounded fists and bumped shoulders in greeting. “So, how you doing, man? Ready to get back on the field?” Armand asked as he finished his drink and ordered another.
“Definitely,” Devon said.
“I know you are. Last season was ugly, man, ugly. What was the ending, nine, ten losses, something like that,” Scott said. Both Devon and Armand looked at him sternly. The rule was never look back at a losing season; he knew that. “Hey, I’m just saying,” Scott added defensively.
Scott was part Irish, Italian, French Creole and German. He was hard and fierce. Meeting him across the line scared most men to death. He grew up in Compton with an attitude to match his massive size. Few knew and even fewer saw his friendlier side.
“Yo, so what are you doing here, man? I thought you’d be back in L.A. selling your soul for that fat contract they’re offering you,” Armand said.
“Offering?” Scott quipped jokingly. “I hear they’re pinning you to the wall with some bogus threats. Rumor has it they’re holding up your contract in negotiations until you get your act together.”
“What’s up with that?” Armand asked, looking at Devon.
Scott answered quickly. “It’s the same thing they tried to do to me, man. They dumped some morals clause in my last contract. Fools wanted me married and out of trouble. They said I was in the papers too much. Stay out of the spotlight, get married, settle down.” He laughed loudly. Several guests nearby turned and smiled. “Like that’s gonna stop me from being me. I hear they’re doing the same thing to you. So, is that why you signed up? Looking for a wife, right?”
Devon scoffed. Scott was loud and obnoxious, but as a defensive lineman there was no one scarier. His personal life was a mess, and he loved living in the spotlight. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Devon said dismissively, neither confirming nor denying the rumors. But most people knew his contract was in trouble and his personal life was an issue. The team owners felt he’d lost focus. It was his job now to prove them wrong.
Armand chuckled. “Yeah, that’s right. Everybody knows Devon’s got it like that. So his personal life took a couple of hits last year. He’ll recover.”
Devon nodded. Armand had been his mentor when he first entered the NFL. He and his wife, Shelia, were the best. Unfortunately, they were no longer together. Armand was an old-school player. He was the personification of charming. Women fell at his feet constantly, and he loved it. He had girlfriends in nearly every city he played. His wife finally divorced him.
“So, for real, why are you not in L.A. takin’ care of your business?” Scott asked.
“That’s why I hire agents, lawyers and managers, so I don’t have to stress the small stuff,” Devon said cockily.
“I heard that,” Armand said, pounding Devon’s fist again as he scanned the room for anyone interesting.
“Still, man,” Scott said, “they’ve come down hard on players lately. That morals clause is some bull. I lose five thousand dollars for every negative article, fifty thousand if it’s a major scandal. That’s some bull. They had me walking down the aisle for a contract. Like that’s supposed to stop me from doing my thing.”
“Scott, just stay out of the tabloids,” Devon said simply.
“They hound me, man. They’re always on my case looking for dirt. Nah, they thought I was gonna be stepping to their tune.” He chuckled then laughed again. “Listen here, as soon as that signature ink on the contract dried, all bets were off. All that dictating my life off the field is a bunch of bull,” he stressed.
“Well, at least y’all two got a contract,” Armand said dryly. “Yo, retirement is a joke, for real. I’m ready to grab my helmet again.”
“You must be joking,” Devon said.
“I’m serious,” Armand assured him.
“I don’t know about ya’ll two, but I’m serious about needing me some food. I gotta find me something to eat. A brother be starving up in here,” Scott said then immediately headed to the buffet table across the room.
“So, what are you doing here? Three years retired and you’re getting bored already? I thought you were headed to Hawaii to lie out on the beach for the next forty years,” Devon said.
Armand shrugged. “I changed my mind. I figure that I have a few more years in me, so why not. I talked to some people, got myself a trainer to get me back in shape, I got the knees feeling good and I’m about to be stepping up in training camp next month. Can’t have you keep getting all the glory.”
“Training camp, whoa, man you’ve been in the league for almost fifteen years then out for three. Why are you talking about trying out at training camp?”
“A brotha’s got to do what a brotha’s gotta do. Besides, I’ve seen some of these wet-neck rookies coming into the league. They look all pumped up on roids. Trust, they’ll deflate during camp, I’ll make sure of that. It’ll be all over for them.”
“Yeah, I know the steroids and all, but some of these rookies look like they’ve been pumping iron since birth.”
“A’int nothing to them, trust me,” Armand said confidently shrugging it off. “Don’t worry, Bolt, I’ll be taking the ball from your tired butt as soon as the season starts.”
“Man, it’s a different game out there,” Devon warned.
“Yo, I got that. I’m about to hit it large. Get me some bank and be right back up there. This time I’ma do it right. No more skanks to turn my head. I’ma get my lady back same as how I got her before. She’s gonna see me on the gridiron, and bam, we’ll hook up all over again.”
“Yeah, I heard about Shelia walking out. I’m sorry, man.”
“Ain’t nothing I can’t fix. Ya see, I wasn’t focused on what was important. I know now.” He downed his drink and ordered another from the bartender. He took a deep gulp an
d continued. “Look here, take a tip from somebody who’s been around the block. You find that one lady, keep her, no matter what. Don’t let all that other stuff turn you around. There’s nothing more important than finding love and keeping it.”
Devon nodded and glanced across the room. “Yeah, love, important, got it. Just watch your back and your knees.”
“Oh, you know that. Here’s to having it all, and then getting some more,” Armand said, raising his half-empty glass to toast. Devon nodded, clinking his glass. Armand finished his drink and got another.
“You’re hitting that pretty hard. Did you drive tonight?”
“Me? Nah, man, I’m fine,” Armand said, smiling.
Devon frowned, and then nodded skeptically, not quite sure he believed his friend. He knew that since his wife left him he’d been having problems. He’d even gotten stopped on a DUI a month ago, but an ex-teammate covered it up and made it go away.
Devon hated seeing his friend like this. Armand was devastated when his marriage ended, and it seemed that he was still hurting. But now he thought he had a second chance. Devon hated to burst his bubble. Still, he knew that he needed to say something. “Armand, drinking isn’t helping this. If you’re in condition and training, you shouldn’t be drinking. You know that.”
“Come on, Devon, back off. I know what I’m doing, man.”
“Armand…”
“Shelia will come back to me, and everything will be like it was before.”
“I hope so. But do me a favor and chill with the drinking, okay?”
“Cool.” He downed the last of his drink and then ordered a diet soda. “Is that better?” he asked.
Devon nodded and smiled. Armand was much different than the man he met years ago. Living alone had changed him. Moments later, Scott walked back over with three plates filled high. “Whoa, man, you got enough on those plates,” Armand said, knowing that Scott, at nearly three hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, ate like a vacuum. He knew he didn’t bring the three plates back for them.
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