by Tara Sivec
Aside from my sister and my mom, women never give me shit right back. They just fawn all over me, thinking if they constantly stroke my ego, I’ll sleep with them and buy them expensive things.
No! Bad Quinn! It doesn’t matter if she makes you feel happy, and lighthearted, and normal for the first time in months. Scratch that—years. Walk away!
“I think I need to sit down,” Emily mutters, making me realize I was still holding her damn hand when she pulls it out of mine to rub her forehead.
“Right this way.” I usher her with my arm outstretched toward the chairs I vacated when she came stumbling out here, following right behind her instead of disappearing into the house and locking myself in my room until the party is over, like a smart man would do.
I’ll just stick around for a few minutes; that’s it. Make sure she sobers up okay….
Grabbing a bottle of water out of the minifridge next to the outdoor fireplace, I hand it to her before taking a seat in the middle of the lounger opposite her. With our knees brushing up against each other, she quietly thanks me before unscrewing the cap and taking a few sips.
“Do you want some coffee or something?” I ask, suddenly trying to come up with any reason to spend more time with her instead of coming up with a reason to get the hell out of here and figure out my life.
“I think I’ve put you out enough tonight. I just wanted to come out here and apologize for being so rude earlier, but the tequila decided it should speak and walk for me.” She shrugs with that killer smile again, making me forget everything I was just thinking and want to tell her all of my problems so she can cheer me up. “I really am sorry for being such a jerk. I’m actually a really nice person, but tequila made me do it. You can go back to the party; I just need a few minutes, and I’ll be fine.”
Remembering that no one is going to die if I don’t make up my mind right this second, I stop worrying so much and just enjoy being out here away from everyone else with a woman who makes me laugh and feel like a regular, everyday guy. A woman who doesn’t freak out and ask for a million pictures together when she realizes who I am or throw herself at me, making everything awkward and uncomfortable when she won’t stop trying to give me a blowjob in the bathroom or flat out asks me how much money I make. I have seen and heard it all since I signed with the Vipers, but this spunky redhead who can tease me right back—and not be completely mortified and want to run away screaming after what happened—is a woman I want to get to know better. Even if it’s temporary.
Leaning to the side to pull my cell out of the back pocket of my jeans, I tap on the phone icon and then the number of the last call I dialed, bringing my phone up to my ear.
“What do you want?” my call is so nicely answered, making me smile.
“Can you bring two coffees out to the firepit? One the way I like it, and one…” Pulling the phone away from my mouth, I whisper to Emily, “How do you take your coffee?”
An image pops into my head of Emily’s red hair fanned out on my pillow with the bright morning sun shining on it through the window as I lean over her body in bed and ask her the same, suddenly intimate-sounding question. I have to shake my head and clear my throat to make it go away.
“Three sugars with a splash of cream, please and thank you.”
I repeat back her order before ending the call, watching the skin of her throat bob when she brings the water bottle back up to her lips and swallows a few more gulps. I try really hard and fail not to think about how she smelled like a beach vacation and sunshine when I was leaning over her, holding her hair back, wondering if the delicate skin of her neck smells the same way.
Good God, man. It’s like you’ve been locked away in prison for twenty years and haven’t touched a woman in that amount of time. What is wrong with you?
With a quickness that makes me happy I asked her to come out for a visit—before I open my mouth and say something stupid—my sister walks around the corner of the house at a clipped pace with two steaming mugs of coffee in her hands.
“Wow, it’s like magic,” Emily whispers in awe. “Call back and ask for all the puppies and a large pepperoni pizza.”
The last woman I went on a date with actually asked me to buy her a car while the appetizers were being served. Emily wants puppies and a pizza. I want to keep her forever. Also, this is not a date, you dipshit.
“That’s my sister, Rachel. There’s a side entrance off the kitchen, so she didn’t have to bother walking through all those people who are probably still watching the worst game of my career, insulting my skills, and mocking my walls.”
“Look at that, already finding humor in your sad, gray home. Good for you.” She nods while I stop counting how many times she’s made me smile since she tumbled out here.
My sister finally closes the distance to us with her head down the entire way, paying attention to her feet out here in the dark so she doesn’t trip and spill anything.
“I finished packing up the trophy room, but if you want me to—Oh shit!” Rachel curses as she comes to a stuttering stop a few feet away, finally looking up from the ground and wincing when some of the hot coffee splashes on her hand. And because of her little slip. “Sorry, Quinn. I thought you were out here with Tyler.”
I give her apology a chin lift in response, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Emily as she walks the rest of the way to us, knowing she feels bad about what she just let slip in front of a stranger. I’m still not 100 percent sure where I’m going when this season is over, but I know I’m done with California. I won’t be making a move for another few months, but this is a huge house with a lot of shit in it after fifteen years. Rachel figured she’d kill two birds with one stone while she was out here to help me make up my fucking mind already and thought she’d get a head start on helping me pack. Which she’s not supposed to discuss with anyone except me and Tyler, including our parents. We just can’t risk anything getting out until it’s time. I’ve been telling everyone my home is so boring and lifeless, as Emily so nicely put it, because I’m getting ready to redecorate. When really, Rachel already packed all the family photos I had strewn all over the walls and tables.
“Nah, Tyler left a few hours ago when I wouldn’t let him pat down all the guests,” I inform her as she stops next to Emily’s and my chairs and hands us our coffees.
“He is such a freak,” Rachel says with a roll of her eyes, giving Emily what I know as her I don’t trust you smile, when Emily quietly thanks her for the coffee.
“Rachel, this is Emily; Emily, this is my sister, Rachel,” I introduce as the two women shake hands.
“And how did you two kids meet?” Rachel asks in an overly pleasant voice that I know is complete bullshit. She’s always been protective of me, but even more so since I became a pro football player and women seem to constantly try to screw me six ways from Sunday.
“I made fun of his house and his performance at the last Super Bowl, and then I threw up a gallon of tequila in his yard,” Emily states, lifting her cup of coffee toward my sister in a cheers before taking a careful sip.
Her honesty and zero-fucks-given attitude is seriously turning me on. In front of my sister. This is awkward.
Rachel’s tense shoulders visibly relax, and her mouth slowly tips up into a grin.
“I like you. Next time, puke on his Nikes. He’s a shoe whore and has entirely too many pairs.”
“Heeey,” I complain, as Emily laughs, and Rachel gives both of us a salute before turning and disappearing around the side of the house from where she came.
“Do you have any annoying brothers or sisters?” I ask Emily as soon as Rachel is out of sight.
“I have four, actually. They live all over the place. I’m the baby of the pack and the one who has to pay for all of their mistakes,” she says, wrapping both her hands tightly around the mug and shivering a little. “I got the strict curfew, I got the strict dating rules, and I get to run the family business I hate, because they all went out and m
ade lives for themselves before I could.”
“Ouch… and here I am just feeling sorry for myself, trying to decide if I even want to play football anymo—Shit. Pretend I didn’t say that,” I tell her nervously, wondering what in the actual hell is wrong with me that I said something like that to someone I barely know.
Someone I barely know, who makes my dick hard and makes me want to sit and talk to her out here forever, but a stranger nonetheless. Rachel and Tyler would both have my ass.
“Are you forgetting what I did over in your bushes?” She laughs as I lean as far back as I can on my chair, grabbing the remote for the gas fireplace with the tips of my fingers off the stone base of it and clicking the Ignite button. “Believe me, I won’t be saying a word about anything that has happened here this evening… to anyone… ever.”
I don’t know why, but I believe her. I really hope I don’t regret it. I seem to regret every decision I ever make with the opposite sex.
“It sucks not knowing what you should do with your life,” Emily continues, a sadness coming over her voice, no longer shivering now that the fire is crackling. “Not having a crystal ball to see if the decision you make is going to be the right one or just make everything worse.”
“Exactly.” I nod, staring at her profile while she stares into the fire, the glow from the Edison lights strung through the trees above us letting me see every emotion as it plays across her face. “So, what do you do about it?”
After a few seconds, she turns her head back to look at me, giving me another smile that I seem to keep holding my breath in anticipation for.
“Cross your fingers and hope for the best. Or in my case, drink half of someone else’s top-shelf tequila, and regret all your life choices up to this point.”
We both share a laugh, sipping our coffee in silence for a few minutes, staring into the flickering flames of the fire, and listening to the quiet thumping bass coming from inside my house, where Billy must have decided to liven his party up a little. All of a sudden, Emily sets her coffee down in the grass by her feet before clapping her hands together twice.
“All right, enough of this depressing nonsense. We’re at a party, and this is my last night… to have fun before I’m doomed for all eternity with a job I hate.” I laugh at her dramatics when she presses one hand to her stomach and the back of her other hand to her forehead, pretending to swoon. “If we’re not going back inside to enjoy the party, then we need to do something fun.”
I set my cup of coffee down in the grass by hers, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, bringing myself closer to her.
“What did you have in mind?”
She mirrors my pose until our faces are just a few inches apart, my eyes focusing right in on her lips when her tongue darts out to wet them before she answers me.
I have never wanted to kiss a woman I just met more in my life. I’ve dated a handful of some of the most stunning women in the world, and I would rather kiss a woman who just puked less then fifteen minutes ago than spend even a second with any one of the others.
“Well, there’s a perfectly good basketball court over there on the other side of your pool that looks sad and pathetic, just like your walls.” Emily smirks, making that tight feeling in my chest return.
“Ha, ha,” I reply sarcastically, even though I just want to giggle like a little kid every time she speaks. It’s like she put some sort of spell on me. “You thinking about a little one-on-one?”
“I’m wearing heeled boots that go up to my thighs,” she reminds me, sitting back up and away from our close proximity to point one long, gorgeous leg wrapped in a tall, sexy black boot out to the side of us. “I can do a lot of things in heels, but running up and down a basketball court isn’t going to happen tonight. We’re playing a game of PIG.”
“Make it HORSE and you’re on,” I challenge, knowing the longer word means more shots we’ll have to take.
Giving me more time to spend with her, while I kick her ass.
“I can’t believe you beat me.”
“I can’t believe you’re being such a big baby about it. You’re a football player, not a basketball player.”
“No, it’s fine that you beat me. But you beat me in five minutes. I don’t even remember what happened. I think I blacked out. What are we doing next?”
“What, do you need to play a different game you can win, so you can feel like a man?”
“Maybe.”
“Poker?”
“I just so happen to have a set of playing cards in a drawer in the outdoor kitchen.”
“I’m being swindled.”
“What are you, an old-timey detective? I didn’t swindle you. I’m just better at poker than you are.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just want to check and make sure I still have a penis. Maybe cry for a few minutes.”
“Can you bring me another water when you’re finished?”
“What you should really be mad about right now is the fact that you spent good money on a ping-pong table to put out here by the pool, and you never even practice on it.”
“I practice! You just cheated. You have a third arm hidden under that skirt somewhere.”
“Did… Did you just accuse me of having a penis?”
“Since you turned down my idea of skinny-dipping pool races, I guess we’ll never know.”
“I’d just beat you at those too, and then you’d be a big baby and wet.”
“Darts?”
“Sure. Why not. But I’m getting hangry, so—Oh my God, did you just have a pizza delivered here to the backyard?”
“What’s funny is that you thought pizza would distract me. Pizza just fuels my fire, man.”
“Four bullseyes in a row. I just… I don’t know whether to propose or check you for batteries to see if you’re a robot.”
“Emily, kick ass. Emily, kill human now.”
“Well then, I’ll just throw you in the pool and short-circuit your battery.”
“No, no, no, put me down, Quinn. Don’t you dare throw me in the pool! Okay, fine! I won’t kill you. But I will destroy you with that set of Vipers cornhole boards I saw on the other side of your pool house.”
“Oh, now I know you’re a robot, because that’s just some bullshit I don’t understand coming out of your mouth. Game on!”
“We’re not playing rock-paper-scissors.” Emily laughs, both of us lying on our backs on the loungers by the pool, staring up at the night sky after she kicked my ass three times in cornhole. “You finally got your victory in arm-wrestling. Cheer up. Gimme a V, dot the I, curl the C, cross the T, O-R-Y.” Clap, clap, clap. “Victory!” Clap, clap, clap. “For Baaagley!”
Even with her adorable little cheer, one of many she’s chanted to me throughout the night trying to boost my spirits every damn time I lost to her, I’m still feeling a little salty after the last game.
“Arm wrestling wasn’t even a fair playing field, and now it feels like a gimme. Also, why are you so freakishly strong?”
Emily just laughs and shakes her head at me, both of us staring at a giant swan pool floaty as it goes bobbing by in the water of the in-ground pool a few feet in front of us, with five hula-hoops weighing down its neck. Five hula-hoops she effortlessly tossed around that stupid thing’s neck from twenty feet away while it moved around the pool—compared to my one. I instantly regretted buying all of those hula-hoops for Rachel’s six-year-old daughter the last time the whole family came for a visit.
I’ve jokingly thrown a fit every time she beat me at something else, and I honestly am joking every time I complain. It’s fucking badass being with someone who challenges me and doesn’t give two shits about any hits my ego might take when she can do something better than me. I will admit, the basketball game loss still stings, but watching her bend over to get the ball made everything better.
This entire night with her made everything better.
“Wha
t time do you have to be up to watch films?” Emily slowly turns her head toward me on her chair cushion, arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed at her ankles, just like I’m lying in my own chair a foot away.
“In a few hours, according to my drill sergeant who has been texting me with my schedule every half hour.” I chuckle with a roll of my eyes, Emily laughing right along with me when my phone dings with yet another text from Rachel.
Not only has she been helping me pack and trying to help me get my head on straight, but Rachel has been filling in as my assistant, keeping my schedule, and annoying the piss out of me if I’m even thirty seconds late for something. It was pretty hard not to share what Rachel was texting me about, since she kept interrupting every game Emily and I played the last few hours.
“You’re lucky you have a family who supports what you love to do,” Emily tells me.
Without going into too many details with her about the possibility of me switching teams, she let me talk through my current love/hate relationship with football while we played ping-pong. She helped me realize I’ve loved this sport since the day my dad first put a ball in my hands and I really do want to keep playing for as long as my body will allow. And I know without a doubt now that this job I have won’t stop feeling like a job and a chore unless I get away from the egos and find a brotherhood on the field.
“I don’t know where I’d be without my family,” I tell her honestly. “I wish you could let your family know how you feel.”
She brought up her family business—something in the hotel industry, I think she said—during our poker game. The frustration was clear as hell every time she’d smack a card down on the table.
“I think that ship has sailed.” She shrugs with a sad smile on her face that I do not like. “They let me try to follow my dreams for a few years, but I failed, and now I have to face the music. I’ll be fine.”