Five-Star

by J Santiago

  Rubbing his hand over the back of his head and down his neck, Tank felt the tension of the last couple of days bunch up and coil. He didn’t want to be in limbo with her. Somehow, he knew that, if he’d had her around since Tuesday, when it all came down, he’d have felt lighter. But it was a trade-off. He could opt to have her in his life, but he knew that he’d have to be able to think about her, too.

  Amber leaned forward again, suddenly very intent. “Tank, I’ve been around college football my whole life, so there are some things I just get that a lot of other people don’t. Honestly, part of me feels sorry for you guys because, for so long, everyone around you has let you think you can do no wrong and that the world will cater to you because of your ability. What happens when that stops? No one seems to want to prepare you for that.” Stopping, she looked at him. “Sorry, soapbox.”

  She paused and smiled at him—to soften the blow, he figured.

  “I chalk Sunday night up to you flexing your ego at me. But you can’t do that again. I mean…”

  “You mean?”

  “I mean, if you want…you know, if you want to be with me,” she said, meeting his eyes. Then, she quickly looked away.

  He sat back in his chair and watched her squirm. She’d totally taken him by surprise, and he was a little stunned that she’d put herself out there like that. It was so sunshiny and hopeful, somehow different than the girl who had fallen at his feet not so long ago.

  Was he any different though? If his football career weren’t on the line and he wasn’t feeling all sorry for himself, would he try to work this out with her?

  He thought about their last kiss. Then, he tried to picture himself kissing someone else. When he thought about her kissing someone else, he felt uncomfortably angry. Thinking that was as close as he was going to get to an answer, he reached over the table and grabbed her hand.

  “Come here,” he said, hauling her toward him.

  Amber stood, not even trying to resist his pull, and walked around the table to him. The hand not holding hers landed on her upper thigh, and he tugged her down until she was straddling him. His hands moved up, so he had one on the small of her back and the other on her neck, his thumb caressing the scar on the side of her mouth. An image of Tank in this exact position with a different girl on Sunday flashed through her mind. It must have been on his mind, too, because he grimaced when he felt her tense.

  “So different,” he said as he met her eyes.

  “What’s that?” she asked, wanting clarification.

  “Sunday, that girl. I wasn’t with her. I didn’t kiss her, and I definitely didn’t fuck her.”

  “I thought we hadn’t gone there,” she countered, apparently not able to let it go. So much for being mature, she thought.

  He moved her forward, gently pushing with the hand on her back and pulling slightly with the hand on her neck, placing her exactly where he wanted her on his lap. “We’re there,” he murmured.

  He drew her in, leaning up slightly to place his mouth directly on hers. He kissed her hard, like he needed to have her, their teeth grazing each other as he forced his tongue into her mouth. But it was quick, and then he moved back. Continuing to move his hand up and down her neck, he traced her scar with his thumb.

  “You just have really shitty timing,” he explained. Smiling up at her, he kissed her again. “I’d just sat on the couch, and she jumped on top of my lap. Then, you walked in. I wasn’t expecting you to show up. I was mad at you, and it was the perfect opportunity to show you.”

  “As opposed to just talking to me about it?” she asked as she leaned a bit away from him.

  Part of her appreciated that it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, not completely calculated. But the other part of her remembered the hurt, the surprise, and their interaction after.

  He shrugged and flashed a smile. “No one said I knew how to do this.”

  But she couldn’t let it go yet. “Do you know what I wanted to do?” she asked, putting distance between them by placing her hands on his chest and pushing away from him slightly.

  He cocked his head to the side, taking her in with his green eyes, and shook his head.

  “My first instinct was to walk out your door and find one of your teammates to mess around with.”

  His grip on her waist tightened, and a steely glint flashed in his eyes. “That would have been bad.”

  “I know. That is why I refrained. But that’s who you’re dealing with. Eye for an eye and all that.”

  He surprised her with a laugh. “Oh, I know it, Sunshine.”

  Something warm, like pleasure, flowed through her, lighting her up. She wasn’t sure if it was his acceptance of who she was or his complete confidence that he could handle it, but she felt something slip through her. An elusive confidence that she hadn’t had for a long time settled in around her heart, and she knew it had everything to do with him.

  She gifted him with a bright smile. He returned it right before he settled his mouth against her neck, opposite her scar.

  “Let’s just take this slow,” he murmured as he continued to kiss her neck and grind against her.

  “Slow, I can do.” She wanted to get lost in him and let him get lost in her, but she also wanted him to talk to her and tell her what had been going on. But his body was wreaking havoc on her, and she couldn’t quite string any cohesive thoughts together.

  He pulled away from her, glancing at his wrist. “I gotta go. I have class in fifteen minutes.”

  But then he kissed her, sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. She acquiesced easily, and he pushed in, invading her mouth, exploring, coaxing her to do the same, until the kiss turned so that neither one of them could control the outcome. His hands settled on her hips, maneuvering her so that she stroked him exactly how he wanted her to, moving them toward the point of no return. She felt her body open up to him, her heart following, the joy from being back in her arms spreading through her.

  “I thought you had to go,” she murmured as he kissed his way down her throat.

  He looked at his watch again. “Shit!” he said as he leaned his head against her chest, regret radiating from him as he started to disengage himself from her. “Can you meet me at twelve? I have a break before position meetings. We can grab lunch.”

  She pushed up onto her knees and placed her left leg on the ground before her right followed. It was numb from the position she’d been in and already sore from rehab. He leaned forward and rubbed his hand down her leg, from her knee to her ankle, pushing the blood back through.

  “I didn’t even think about what the position would do to your leg,” he acknowledged with a mischievous grin. He continued to help with her circulation.

  “It’s okay,” she responded. Then, she quickly added, “But that helps a lot,” so that he wouldn’t stop. “So, you want to meet for lunch. Like a date?” she teased.

  He grinned up at her, still bent over with his hands on her calf. Continuing to massage her with his left hand, he ran his right hand up the inside of her leg, from her ankle and up to her thigh, and then he moved it along the seam between her legs and placed it on her ass, pulling her forward. He kissed her stomach and looked up at her. “Yeah, like a date. But kind of a short one because I have film at two fifteen and need to be dressed.”

  She looked down at him as he gazed up at her and felt herself fall a little bit deeper. “Sounds good. Where should we meet?”

  “Marie’s. You know it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your leg better?” he asked as he went to stand up. He held on to her waist as he gently pushed her backward.

  “Yeah. Feeling has been restored.”

  Kissing her, he grabbed her hand to head out of his apartment.

  Thirty-Four

  Franco was a master at compartmentalization. Work was work; play was play. When he’d rolled out of Molly’s bed at five in the morning, after the best sex of his life, he had no qualms about the day ahead,
even knowing that Molly would hand down her verdict on Tank. He’d gently kissed her on the spot right between her ear and her jawline, promising her that he’d see her later, making sure she knew he wasn’t talking about at work. He knew, after last night, that he needed to see her again. And again.

  When he entered his office following his morning workout, Miss Beverly informed him that a nine thirty meeting had been scheduled with Molly, the general counsel, and his athletic director. His first instinct was to call Molly and ask her what was going on, but he hesitated, suddenly not knowing the protocol for dealing with his compliance director whose thighs had been wrapped around him not so long ago. Although hesitant, he picked up the phone and called Molly’s office line, but when she didn’t answer, he put it out of his mind and started his day.

  At the appointed time, he stepped into the administrative conference room, slightly apprehensive about the meeting.

  “Coach, how are you?” his athletic director, Carl Wheeler, greeted, extending his hand toward Franco.

  Franco returned the greeting. He generally liked Carl, who managed to stay out of his way on a daily basis. He didn’t micromanage or question Franco’s coaching decisions. Aside from that, Franco didn’t really have much of an impression. They’d never had a crisis that required Carl to take the lead, so Franco didn’t have a reason to look to Carl for any kind of direction. The fact that Carl didn’t push him to do so either meant he was confident in his ability to do so when warranted, or, in Franco’s experience, he didn’t have the ego to do it. He’d always treated Franco as a good ole boy rather than someone who he employed. Franco had been around college athletics long enough to know that he had his own power, and on the grid of Kensington State, Franco managed it just fine.

  Franco greeted Dr. Grant and then turned to Molly. The moment he met her gaze, he felt like he’d been trucked. His whole body felt her presence, and he almost groaned at the impact. Smiling tightly at her, he sat in the chair at the head of the table, which somehow said something about the dynamics in the room, but he dismissed it as he directed his attention to Carl.

  “We just came from the President’s office,” Carl began.

  Franco tried not to, but he looked at Molly with a hint of betrayal sliding into his eyes. “I didn’t know that was happening this morning,” he commented.

  Here, Molly interjected, “President Holdiman called the meeting this morning.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was defending herself or just filling in the gaps, but he suddenly realized that he needed a better poker face.

  Franco nodded.

  “We also spoke with the enforcement staff at the NCAA. They have requested phone records from Richard Howard, Chantel Jones, and Antony Howard.”

  Fighting to maintain his horror at that bit of information, Franco moved forward and rested his arms on the table. “Why? I thought we were charged with investigating,” he asked, directing his question to Molly.

  Franco had questioned Molly at length about the ins and outs of NCAA investigations. He’d also called Whitey.

  “There’s enough evidence at this point to move forward with the investigation. Apparently, this inquiry has been going on for quite some time. They’re looking into things.” She delivered this last sentence with a shrug.

  Franco felt his patience and composure start to slip. “How in the hell are we just finding out about this? I thought you were up-to-date on everything that was going on with the investigation,” he said, his tone accusing.

  One of the things he had always appreciated about Molly was her composure.

  She met his gaze calmly and answered, “I am.”

  Franco’s ire doubled. Frustrated, he got up from the table and moved to lean against the wall. He looked away from her and turned to Carl, suddenly sick of the meeting and feeling the need to get out of the room. “So, where are we?”

  Carl took a deep breath, which Franco didn’t take as a good sign. “On the advice of counsel, we are going to allow Tank to play this week, but as we continue to move forward with the investigation, we will reevaluate.”

  Franco cocked his head. “Reevaluate?”

  “Yes. Week by week. If we find something in the next few days that makes us think that Tank will be implicated, we will pull him from play.”

  “This is bullshit!” Franco said.

  From his peripheral vision, he saw Molly flinch at his vehemence, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he’d just cursed in front of his boss and the president’s right-hand man.

  Pushing away from the wall, he moved back toward the table and put both hands down, leaning toward the three of them. “You don’t know anything about this young man. If you did, if you took any time to know Tank Howard, you’d know that he wouldn’t jeopardize his career or the reputation of this university for something as stupid as talking to an agent at this point. He’s the best player in the country right now. Everyone knows it. He’s going to win the Heisman. He’s probably going to lead this team to an undefeated season and potentially a BCS bowl. His stock is only going up. He’d never gamble that. He’s too damn smart.

  “He grew up with the legacy of his father’s gambling scandal even though he barely had any contact with him. Since he signed with us two and a half years ago, he hasn’t talked to Richard Howard. If Richard has made some deal or been promising Tank’s signature with an agent, it’s a bogus promise. Now, I realize your job is to protect this university. But my job is more than protection. It’s about developing young men and about fighting for them. You both have an obligation to fight for our student athletes, too.” He looked at Carl and Molly. “Do your damn job!”

  With that, Franco left the room, his anger coursing through him. He was mad at himself for losing his temper. He was pissed at his athletic director for not taking a stand for Tank. He was furious at Molly for ambushing him like that. In his mind, he saw her as she’d been when he left the conference room, disappointment clearly stamped on her face, her eyes reflecting that sentiment but spiking with anger at his parting statement. Then, he saw her as she had been the night before—in her naked glory, beneath him, on top of him, moving with him, wrapping him with her in an envelope of passion like he’d never known. His body immediately responded to the images of her. Groaning in frustration, he made his way to his office, delineating everything he needed to do so that he could dispel the memories of the night before and shut out the crazy feelings he didn’t want to feel for this woman who had suddenly become his adversary.

  Molly sat in a stunned kind of silence, impatient for the mood to be broken so that she could steal away to her office, close the door, and wallow in the mess she’d just made of her life.

  Carl was the first to move. “Well, that didn’t go so well, now did it?” he said with a shaky laugh.

  She didn’t know if he was embarrassed about the confrontation because of Grant’s presence or if he felt the charge that Franco had forced on them to protect his student-athlete. Whatever it was, he looked a little ashen and definitely out of his league.

  Dr. Grant cleared his throat, maybe a little nervous. Molly wondered if he feared losing his opportunity to go onto the field the following week. She knew it was petty, but she couldn’t quite get the image of him kowtowing to Franco out of her mind. She was also pretty sure that Dr. Grant didn’t have to deal with that kind of dressing down from the members of the faculty senate.

  Oh, Dr. Grant, she thought, welcome to college athletics.

  Since no one seemed to want to pick up the mantle of the conversation, Molly took it upon herself to bring this little soiree to an end. “You had to know that Franco wasn’t going to like this decision.” She wanted to tell Carl that she’d warned him on the way back from the President’s office when they had a moment alone. But she wasn’t one to question her boss in front of someone else, so she just added that gentle reminder without the I told you so that she wanted to include. “But we all decided that this was the right way to handle this. I know
Dr. Grant agrees with me that Tank is innocent in all of this. Unfortunately, based on NCAA rules, his family is responsible for doing anything in his name. That’s going to be the biggest issue. In the end, we are probably going to have to declare Tank ineligible and have him reinstated. I wish Coach Franco had given us the opportunity to dump that into his lap today. Then, he could have gotten all of his temper tantrums out at once.”

  She could hear the bitterness and hurt in her voice, but thankfully, neither one of the men in the room knew her well enough to recognize it.

  Dr. Grant smiled weakly at what he read as an attempt at humor, but Carl didn’t even attempt a smile.

  “Cy is meeting with the university’s press people. I want to make sure we all know that this subject is off-limits with the press.” Carl said.

  Molly nodded because she felt like Carl wanted to know she understood his directive.

  Then, he dropped a bomb. “Molly, I want you to travel with them this weekend. I think it’s important to have compliance present with our team right now.”

  Molly felt the bottom drop out, and her heart went with it. There couldn’t have been a worse sentence for her. It was as if she’d committed some crime and this was her punishment. If things hadn’t gone down like they had last night, she would have completely agreed with him. It was the right decision. But she knew that Franco would resent it. And her. She also knew she couldn’t argue the point or not follow through on the directive.

  Nodding her head, she answered, “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll make sure Franco knows and that arrangements are made for you.”

  Dr. Grant and Carl stood, signaling the end of the meeting. Molly took a moment to gather her planner and pen but mostly her composure. Part of her wanted to be a fly on the wall for that conversation between Carl and Franco. She could only imagine Franco’s anger. Part of her wanted to run away.