The Playbook

by Emilia Beaumont

  “You don’t even have to answer now,” she said, grinning. “It’s written all over your face. Damn, maybe I should date a player, as well.”

  “What am I going to do?” I asked, feeling miserable. “What if he tells everyone? My father will kill me, Cara, and I will lose my job.”

  “It’s interesting that you bring that up, ’cause I think I might be able to solve all your problems,” she replied, a gleam in her eye.

  “Really? Can you erase my memory of what happened, or better yet his?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sure you don’t want to forget what happened. From the look on your face before, it seemed like it had been one of the best nights of your life?”

  “Maybe,” I said with a sheepish grin. “God, it was amazing… but I want to know, how are you supposedly going to fix this?”

  “Well, I have decided that I am moving here, to Jupiter, and starting my own practice. And I want to know, would you like to join me? Be my partner?”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, surprised. This was the last thing I was expecting her to say. “What happened to the practice in L.A.?” Cara had joined a psychiatry practice in California that centered primarily on marriage counseling and also children’s services. I had thought she loved her job, and she was very good at what she did, but something had happened. I could see it in her eyes.

  She shrugged, her expression growing dark for a moment. “There was this widower who was bringing his daughter in for treatment. We had a thing, but it fizzled out, so here I am.”

  I watched the range of emotions that played across her face, knowing that there was probably more to the story.

  “You need to talk about it, hon?”

  “No, I’m good, really. Just need a fresh start, you know.”

  I nodded. She would tell me when she was ready and in her own good time; I wasn’t about to pressure her into saying what was on her mind. Especially when I hadn’t told her everything about Jacob, either… like the parts where I was started to fall for him, regardless of his macho-caveman attitude and his comments from earlier in the day. I didn’t want to see her pitying looks or listen to her lecture on how I shouldn’t fall for every guy I slept with. “So,” I said instead. “What are you going to do? What’s the plan?”

  “The plan? It’s pretty simple, really. First we’re going to get smashed.” Cara paused, taking a sip of her beer after we clinked bottles. “Then I’m going to open my own practice, and you’re going to join me. Simple,” she said with a nod as if it were a done deal. I had to admit it was a pretty tempting offer.

  “Seriously? Easy as that?” I asked. Cara nodded again and fiddled with the label on her beer bottle. When we were going into our final year of grad school, she and I had thrown around the notion of opening a practice together, but without any experience under our belts, we both felt it was too ambitious.

  “Yeah, I think we would be good partners, you know? Think about it, Lucia. We can be our own bosses, choose our clients—concentrate on different areas of expertise if we wanted to. But saying that, I’ve already done the research. There are hardly any private practices for children around here, and you already excel with the sports clientele.”

  “No I don’t,” I muttered, thinking of all my failures lately. It was something I liked to do, though, being around the stadium so much of my life. I could broaden it to baseball players, golfers, or even go the other way, target high-profile business people, stockbrokers, politicians… the possibilities were endless. No more coaches with God complexes breathing down my neck, no more smart-ass football players who were forced to come see me, who all thought it was a big joke and a waste of time. Instead, the client would come voluntarily and want the help I could provide.

  “Just think about it, okay?” Cara was saying, a smile playing on her lips as if she knew I was already doing just that.

  “I’ll definitely think about it,” I replied. I lifted up my drink and took a healthy swig. This could be the opportunity I was looking for.

  15

  Jacob

  I was in a foul mood and not really wanting to talk with anyone. I’d received three more calls from him. The first two I’d left to go to voicemail, but the last one caught me off guard. I was hurrying to the locker room, running late, thinking perhaps it was Coach, and without checking the I.D. I picked up.

  “It’s about goddamn time you answered.” The voice ran through me like ice. “Don’t even think about hanging up. We have a lot to discuss. Like where’s my fucking money, you piece of shit?” Old habits die hard, and the little boy in me couldn’t make the move to end the call.

  “What do you want?” I asked, my brain unable to function.

  “Are you deaf as well as stupid? I want my money. I want what I’m owed! And if you don’t pay up, I’m coming to get it.”

  The sounds of other players, loud with chatter, bounced noisily around the locker room, finally bringing me out of my dazed state. I closed my eyes and willed myself to say the words. “You’re not getting a damn cent from me,” I said and ended the call.

  I sat heavily on the wooden bench beside my locker and tried to close up the anger and frustration that had leaked out in the last few minutes. But that wasn’t all that was on my mind. I had more pressing things to worry about. It had been nearly four weeks since I had spoken with Lucia, and dammit, my dreams were filled with her. There were many times I had picked up the phone to call her or text her, even, but I chickened out each time, not really sure what to say. All I knew was that I was damn miserable without seeing her at least one time in last few weeks. I had screwed up, and I didn’t know how to fix it in the slightest. At least, though, thinking of her was distracting me from the other relentless phone calls and stupid notes I kept receiving from my admirer.

  Another note had appeared on my windshield that morning, the envelope containing one naked photograph of a woman with huge knockers bending seductively for the camera. Her number was on the back. She was hot but reeked of desperation.

  “Yo, Jacob, what’s kicking?”

  I looked up to find Terrence next to me, his smiling face irritating me even more. Hell, he was part of the reason I was in such a mess in the first place. Him and that damn playbook of his. The only good thing was that he had paid me his grand already, or I would have planted a fist in his face. “What?”

  “Whoa,” Terrence replied, holding up his hands in surrender. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I grumbled as we made it to our lockers, thinking that I needed something more than a beer to calm my nerves. But I shook off the temptation to ask him to borrow the playbook for a moment. An easy lay would take the edge off, yet I had a feeling that still wouldn’t do the trick. No, I needed to focus on the game and the following practice, which was going to get me the top spot. “Think Coach will run our asses off today?”

  Terrence shrugged as he threw his bag into his locker, clearly not worried about it. After all, that was what he was paid to do. “You can’t fool me, Jake. You’ve been moody as hell for weeks. Is this about the doctor? Aren’t you over her yet?”

  I sighed, really not wanting to talk about it at all. Lucia was my business, not the team’s. But surely I had to tell someone before I exploded?

  “You should let her roll off of your shoulders, man, go stick your dick in someone else. Take your mind of her,” he continued before I could answer, pulling his shirt over his head and saving me from embarrassing myself. “If you don’t get your head in the game, you could lose your spot. Either that or man up. Go get what you want and damn the consequences. It’s your life; you only get one.”

  I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs and rubbed my hands over my face, feeling drained. Maybe the idiot—who I’d fondly started to consider a friend—next to me was right. I could lose my job if I didn’t get my head stuck on right. Forgetting her was the right thing to do. Move on… there was more pussy around the corner, and plenty more fishes that didn’t come with all the b
aggage that she had. After all, it was clear that Lucia didn’t care about what had happened between us, either. For the most part she’d been staying clear of me.

  Grabbing my stuff, I walked out to the practice field by myself, needing the space to refocus. Pre-season was just around the corner, and if I wanted that starting position, I was going to have to work my ass off for it. I had something to prove, and I shouldn’t let some woman—a one-night stand, even—get in the way of me rising to the top.

  Practice was brutal, the sun overly hot. If I hadn’t known better I would’ve sworn it was like two hundred degrees outside instead of the ninety-degree weather that it actually was—even the grass was beginning to scorch. Wiping my face with my shirt, I walked down the hall, feeling the burn in my shoulder from the throwing reps I had done. Ahead of me Lucia walked down the passageway toward me, her attention buried in the papers in her hands. She looked gorgeous, and I felt my heart begin to race as she drew near. What was I going to say? I wanted to say something good, anything to get her attention.

  She looked up and I froze, seeing the recognition in her eyes. A myriad of emotions crossed her face, and I swallowed hard, trying to form the words on my tongue. Say something, dammit!

  Instead, I watched as she averted her gaze and hurried past me before I could say anything at all. For a moment I stood there in the hall, the smell of her sweet, addictive perfume still lingering in the air. Shit. I had blown that one. How the hell was I going to fix this? Did I want to fix it?

  My legs did the talking; I ran down the hall and grabbed her arm just before she reached her door. “Lucia, dammit, slow down. Jeez, you can walk fast when you want to.”

  She turned, and I could see tears in her eyes, socking me in the gut unexpectedly. “Just leave me alone,” she said tightly, wrenching her arm out of my grasp and walking into her office, shutting the door behind her. I heard her engage the lock and I stood there, trying ever so desperately to understand those tears. Fuck. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.

  But it was done… and she clearly didn’t want to see me again, and I wasn’t about to break down her door and get myself fired in the process. Fine. Whatever it was, it was over. I’d tried, hadn’t I?

  I retreated and collapsed on the bench in front of my locker. I sat there for a moment, my head swimming from the practice and from the close encounter with Lucia. Maybe I should pick another girl out of the book to get her off of my mind. I reached into Terrence’s locker—it was still safely stashed near the back—and I pulled it down, holding it in my hands. This book had gotten me into some pretty deep shit, and I didn’t know if I wanted to have that happen again. And a small part of me, mainly my idiotic lower region, protested giving up Lucia so quickly. She was a wonderful woman who was misunderstood, and I hated the fact that I had to be so nonchalant about our fleeting relationship now that I knew she was the owner’s daughter. I half thought about striding down to her office again, breaking the door down this time—regardless of the consequences—and hashing out this issue between us, preferably against her desk with her long legs up in the air, until we were both spent. Now that would be a therapy session I could get behind.

  Sliding my shirt over my head, I grabbed a towel and headed to the shower. A cold shower was going to be miserable but much needed, given my state.

  16

  Lucia

  I leaned against the door trying to figure out where I had gone wrong in my life to deserve such a mess. My heart was in turmoil and my brain, well, that was definitely not functioning properly. After running into Jacob in the hall, I had to retreat to my office in an effort to calm my beating heart, hating the fact that he had that kind of effect on me even though we hadn’t seen each other nor conversed in a number of weeks. I’d been good so far at avoiding him but I hadn’t realized how miserable I had been about not seeing him until now, missing him way more than I should.

  Pushing away from the door, I walked over to my chair and sat down, looking sadly at my calendar. On it were a number of red marks, signifying all of the players who had not shown up for their appointments. I didn’t know if the word had gotten out that Greg had put down stipulations on which players had to see me or not, but the only people I had seen lately were some of the other support staff, including the office personnel who worked with me every day. Not a single player.

  With a groan I laid my head on the desk and fought the urge to scream. This was not how my job was supposed to go! I wanted to help athletes, not be shunned by them! I wanted them to trust me, not laugh at me. Why had I thought that I could make a difference in this predominantly man-driven world? How did I ever think they were going to take me seriously? Without their coach believing in me or what I could provide for them, it was pointless, and as soon as my father found out about this boycott of sorts, it was going to be over. So why keep going? Cara’s offer kept flitting around in my mind, tempting me, calling to me.

  Picking my head up off the desk, I leaned back in my chair and spun it around to look out the window, tapping my fingers against the arms of the chair. Perhaps it was time to call it quits, to move on, and maybe now was the perfect time to take Cara up on her offer. It wasn’t like anyone was going to miss me here anyway. Jacob’s stone-cold expression and inability to say anything worthwhile told me all I needed to know. I had been stupid to let my guard down, to think I could find a good guy in a player. He was no different than the rest of them. I had put my faith in a man who couldn’t give me what I needed—but to be fair it was my own fault. I’d gotten my hopes up too soon, too fast, and all because of one night, some mind-blowing sex, and a few knee-knocking words whispered into my ear.

  “The team looks good, don’t they?”

  I nodded as I watched the offense on the field from the sidelines. One of the perks of being the owner’s daughter was that I had a permanent field pass for any home game (not to mention access to the owner’s private box, of course), and another pass for all the away games if I chose to travel with the team to cheer them on. And on many occasions I had flown with my father to the away games, my love of the sport just as intense as his. But tonight was just a pre-season home game, and my father and I had walked down to the field as the fourth quarter drew closer to the end, our guys up by a touchdown.

  Together we stood near the end zone, my father watching his investments closely as they trotted on and off the field, looking for any signs of injuries or any setbacks that might make the season a rough one. So far, everyone looked great; most of the starters were on the bench with the exception of the quarterback. I had waited with bated breath to see Jacob trot out on the field and show off his skill set, but Greg had only put him in to cover one play when Danny Miller, the star, needed a breather.

  “I think you have a good one, Dad, two actually,” I finally said as we watched Danny take a knee for the final play. The win was ours.

  My dad grinned and walked over to Greg to congratulate him on the win as I looked over to try and find Jacob amongst the celebrating players. He was nowhere in sight, and I frowned, wondering where he had gotten off to so quickly. We needed to talk so badly; I was tired of this helpless feeling, but perhaps this wasn’t the right time. Yet, if not now, when?

  We were both adults, and we really should be able to be civil to one another, perhaps grown-up enough to sit down at a table (one with dinner, I thought hopefully) and discuss whatever it was that was between us. It wasn’t a relationship, I knew that—I wasn’t that bloody naive—but it was far more than just a one-night stand as well. I wasn’t blind to the fact that I craved Jacob, and maybe he was feeling the same way. I shook my head. Was I really contemplating a casual relationship with a player? Was I that desperate? No, that wasn’t it. I’d just had a taste of something, and I wanted more… a lot more. And I was beginning to realize I was willing to do anything for it. For him.

  God, I was a goner.

  Greg and my father strolled back over towards me and I gave the coach the best smile I
could muster, given the circumstances of our previous meeting. “Good game, Greg.”

  “Thank you, Lucia,” he replied, very aware that he was standing next to the man who held his job in his hands. I felt like if my dad hadn’t been there, he would have persisted with his animosity. It was funny to see him pretend to like me, when I knew he couldn’t care less. He nodded to both of us, made his excuses and left in the direction of the locker room, following a long line of players hurrying off the field, leaving my father and me standing on the sideline.

  “How about I take my favorite daughter out for a meal?” my father asked, putting his hands in his pockets. He was wearing what I called his casual clothes, a pair of jeans and a golf shirt that had the team’s emblem on the left side, his reading glasses hanging around his neck. We had made him get them a few years ago, Merry complaining that he was squinting too much. He had balked at the idea, but in the end, Merry always won out.

  “I’m your only daughter,” I said with a smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m really tired, Dad. Rain check?” I finally said, not really wanting to have any company right then. I just wanted to go home, get into my pajamas, and bury my sorrows in my favorite ice cream.

  “Of course, honey,” he replied, returning my smile, though the frown line crossing his forehead never disappeared. “You go on home and rest.”

  I gave him a quick hug and decided to do just that. Remembering I had left a file in my office that I wanted to take home to dictate, I took a quick detour through the facility. The hallway was dark as I walked to my office; the place was quiet now that the game was over. But there was still a hum of activity coming from the locker room and training rooms that echoed down the corridors. Coaches and players would be in there, cooling down, going over the game and tending to any injuries before everyone could go home for the night. The actual season was a vicious cycle of extremely busy weekends as they prepped for the games, the culmination of the hard work by everyone seen on Sundays and of course Monday nights, when thousands of people in the stadium and millions worldwide enjoyed a good game of football.