by Tia Lewis
My mouth fell open.
He couldn’t mean …
Just then, a girl with long, black hair nearly jumped Max. She grabbed him by the jersey, turned his face to hers and gave him a big kiss, right there on national television. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she nearly pulled him to the ground. My mouth fell open even further.
A cheerleader. One of our girls.
“Well,” the broadcaster said as he turned to the camera with a grin, “I guess we don’t have to ask who that special good luck charm is. Back to the booth.”
I sat down with a thump, my heart sinking. So that was it. Max was seeing one of the cheerleaders. Why hadn’t he told me that already? He could have told me. I was used to hearing things like that coming from him. There was a girl much prettier than me, much sexier and more desirable who had caught his eye. She was his good luck charm. I should have known.
And there I was, feeling like a fool all over again.
9
Max
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I pulled away from Layla, my head spinning from that kiss. I was mortified. “That was a fucking interview you just interrupted, Layla.”
“Duh. I know. I thought the world should know that you and I are more than just a casual thing. Don’t you think so?”
“What?”
“Stop acting surprised. What’s so bad about them knowing about us?” She pouted, her eyes wide and helpless. I wanted to shake her. The only thing stopping me was the presence of hundreds of other people on the field and in the stands.
“We’re not more than just a casual thing. You’re fucking insane. Stay the hell away from me!” I pushed my way past her, wanting nothing more than a soak in one of the therapy tubs. It had been a brutal game.
“What do you mean by that? You think you can just fuck me and throw me away?” I spun around, even more mortified than before. She was causing a scene in the middle of the field, with goddamned reporters everywhere. They started to notice, too.
“Come with me.” I grabbed her by the arm and wouldn’t let her wriggle her way out of my grasp. What the hell was I thinking, hooking up with her in the first place?
“Fuck you! Let go of me,” she spat.
“Do you wanna be on the front page of the tabloids?” I asked through gritted teeth as we marched to the tunnel together. To think, I had been overjoyed at our win just a minute earlier.
“So what? All publicity is good publicity, right?”
“Yeah, and it’ll get your ass kicked right off the squad,” I muttered. That was enough to shut her up, and only when we got to the relative safety of the tunnel leading to the locker room did I let her go. “You’re fucking delusional? Don’t you every pull a stunt like that again. Ever. You hear me?”
She pouted. “You think you can just use me like a toy whenever you get bored, huh?”
“I swear to God, Layla, don’t make me say shit I’m gonna regret.” I turned away from her, walking toward the locker room by myself.
“Don’t you walk away from me, Max!” she snarled. I tried to ignore her, shaking my head. What the hell was I thinking? The bitch was crazy. She ran after me, pulling down the back of my jersey until I started choking.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I pulled away, facing her again. “We’re over. Got it? Find another guy to sleep with.”
“Fuckin’ asshole!” She threw a pompom at me. I heard a few snickers and chuckles around me. My own teammates. I hoped they were smarter than me and stayed away from her.
“You did this to yourself,” I said, pointing a finger. “You shouldn’t have kissed me out there. That was a stupid move.”
“So I made a mistake! So what?”
“I can’t trust you to chill out, that’s what. Like I said, we’re through. Delete my number.” I didn’t let her stop me that time, walking away while she ranted. She wouldn’t dare go overboard, since she knew I wasn’t lying about her getting kicked off the cheerleading squad. If she opened her mouth to the media, that would be the end of her. Good thing, too, because she was just crazy enough to do something like that. Only she wanted to be a cheerleader more than anything—that was one of the few things I’d learned about her that didn’t have to do with sex.
You just won the opener. Be happy. I reminded myself that we’d just won a tough game, probably the most important of the regular season. It was the game that would start off the entire season, and we’d started off on the right foot. The next game with Denver would be a pushover next to the one we’d just played.
I got to the locker room, where the rest of the team was already celebrating. I joined them, slapping my buddies on the back, congratulating them on solid plays. Everybody had worked hard, everybody had contributed. Yeah, I’d gotten off a few key passes, but our defense had been the reason we’d scored two of our three touchdowns thanks to turnovers—then they’d shut down the Eagles’ offense. I couldn’t take all the credit, and I was a big enough to person to know I couldn’t.
I stripped down, wrapping a white towel around my waist and heading in to rinse off in the shower before soaking. I wanted nothing more than to let the hot water soothe my aching muscles.
And I wanted to talk to Abby. I’d been wanting to talk to her ever since I overheard her and the coach talking at halftime since he asked me on the sidelines how my shoulder felt. She was the reason we’d won the damned game, and I needed to tell her that.
Chad was the only other guy in the therapy room when I walked in—a lot of the players had gotten off the field before I had since I was the one all the reporters wanted to talk to. That was a relief since I didn’t feel like having my personal life on display for everybody.
“Hey, Is this tub free?” Abby stood with her back to me and shrugged her shoulders. Okay, then. I looked at Chad, who also shrugged. So he couldn’t get a read on her, either. At least it wasn’t just me. Maybe she was waiting for me to get into the tub before turning around? That had to be it. She didn’t want to see me naked. That was something new—most women did.
I settled into the bubbling water with a sigh, relishing the way the hot water made my muscles relax almost on contact. Chad and I talked about the game, running over a few of the plays. Then we talked about what we were planning to do after we left for the day.
“Man, I don’t know,” I said. “I was thinking about getting a massage, maybe. Getting something to eat. Nothing major.”
“Not going out with Layla?” Chad asked with a laugh. I shot him a dirty look—and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abby stiffen. Was that the problem? I was used to her not liking the women I was with, so it was nothing new.
“Nah,” I said, then I waved my hand back and forth in front of my throat to signal him to shut the fuck up. I couldn’t talk about Layla in front of Abby, especially after the mess in the tunnel. I never wanted to see that bitch again. Chad nodded, understanding.
“Well, a bunch of us were gonna go out,” he said. “Just a dinner type thing. Garrett’s fiancée is putting it together. She wants a headcount for the restaurant.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” I watched Abby as she wasted time stacking and re-stacking things. She wouldn’t turn around.
“You in, bro?”
“Uh, which restaurant?” I asked, only half paying attention.
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Garrett.”
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good, I guess.” I looked at him, nodding my head in Abby’s direction. He shrugged.
“Hey, Abby? Wanna come with us to dinner tonight?” he asked.
She turned around with a smile. “That’s really nice,” she said. “Thanks for asking. I don’t know, though—won’t I be totally outnumbered by you guys?”
Was she flirting with him? I’d seen flirting in my time—a lot of it—and it definitely looked like she was coming on to him from the way she stood, the way her eyes traveled over the upper half of his body. I glanced at him and saw the way he smiled.
“Nothing wro
ng with that. You’ll have your pick of us.” He smirked.
“Hmm, I like those odds,” she murmured with a wink. What the fuck had I walked into? Bizarro world?
“Besides,” he added, “anybody with a girlfriend or wife will have their woman with them.”
“Oh.” She pouted. He laughed. I had a hard time understanding what the hell was happening.
She turned to me. “I guess you’ll bring your cheerleader?”
“Huh?” Chad snorted, and I ignored him.
“The one who stuck her tongue down your throat on national TV. I assumed that was your girlfriend, just like everybody else who was watching.”
“Well, this is awkward.” Chad chuckled.
I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of answering. Let her think I was with Layla, it didn’t matter. She was too busy being a bitch to be my friend. I guessed it was stupid of me to think we could be friends anymore—we were both grown up. We didn’t know each other anymore, and we didn’t need each other anymore. When I was friends with her, I needed somebody to like me for me. I needed somebody I could be myself around. I didn’t need that anymore. And she’d needed … what the hell had she needed? A friend. She didn’t have any others back then. But a decade in Europe had changed that, plus a lot of other things. She was a different person. A lot of water under the bridge, like she’d said.
I just wished she would tell me why was all. Why was she acting that way with me? Why did she hate me? I wouldn’t have cared if it had been anybody else—hell, it wasn’t like she would have been the first woman to scream “I hate you!” at me. I was used to unstable women.
I cared what she thought, damn it. I wanted her to think just a little better of me than others did. She knew the real me. Yeah, I was an asshole, and I’d pissed off a lot of people. A lot of women. But she was Abby. She was like my sister. I would always want her to like me, as weird as that felt.
And she didn’t.
Chad stood, wrapping himself in a clean towel. He reminded Abby about dinner, and she said she’d love to go as long as somebody told her where and when. He promised to give her the info. I could tell from the way he looked at her that he wanted to give her a lot more than that. He wasn’t fooling me.
Fuck it. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Not like she’d ever go for somebody like him, anyway. She had better taste. Chad was an all right guy, but he wasn’t in my league.
Why does that matter? I thought about it as she drained the tub Chad had been in. “The maintenance people will clean it out,” I said.
She glanced up at me. “Yeah, I know. I thought it would be nice to drain it for them.” She rolled her eyes and walked away.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, glaring at her. I stood, wrapping the towel around my waist before getting out of the tub. Abby kept her back turned to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I wanted to tell you something, but you keep turning away from me.” I went to her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I was going to thank you for what you did today.”
“What did I do? I sat here, since nobody wants me on the sidelines, and watched the game. I might as well have been a fan in the stands.” I could almost feel the cold coming from her. She was extremely pissed at me. And there I was, feeling like an idiot, not knowing why.
“Forget it,” I walked away—no sense in fighting with her in front of the rest of the team. I would never hear the end of it.
I’d only wanted her to know that it was her I was talking about when I told the reporter I had a good luck charm. It was her, not Layla. But if she was going to be too stubborn to listen and flirt with one of my teammates in front of me then I sure as hell didn’t have the time to explain it.
10
Abby
Garrett’s fiancée—I would have to learn her name at some point—had picked a chic restaurant called The Bronze Rose in a high-rent part of town for our family dinner. The street was lined on both sides with boutiques and jewelry stores. The sort of place the soon-to-be-wife of an NFL player would be familiar with, I guessed.
Going to all these fancy restaurants was something I definitely needed to get used to. The minute I walked into the restaurant with its marble floors and gold-tiled mosaics along the walls and ceiling, I felt out of my league in a big way. I was the only woman there in a polo shirt, for one. Why hadn’t I thought to get changed into something more appropriate? I could pretend to be a savvy woman, but I would never get things quite right. The other women wore dresses, heels, while I wore a khaki skirt and running shoes. I wanted to die from embarrassment. I darted from the room that had been reserved for us before anybody noticed me and headed straight for the ladies’ room.
“Okay,” I whispered, looking at myself in the mirror. I was blessedly alone. My heart felt like it was about to explode from my chest. “Okay. You’re fine. Chill out. Chill. It’s okay.” I leaned over the sink, my head hanging between my shoulders.
“Are you?” I looked up, stunned to find that a woman had walked in without my noticing. She looked concerned. She also looked stunning, in a gorgeous black tunic and gold sandals. She could have been a goddess, though I didn’t think the goddesses wore black. But what did I know?
“Pardon?” I asked, stumbling over my tongue.
“I said, are you okay? You look a little upset.” She put a light hand on my back, rubbing a little. She was friendly, at least, and warm.
“Oh, I’m okay. Just overwhelmed.” I briefly laughed.
“Over what, honey?” She leaned on the sink. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a stranger, and I'm probably rude being nosey. Just tell me to mind my own business if you want to—no offense taken.”
I grinned. “No offense felt.” I nodded to the door, and the room on the other side of it. “I should have dressed more appropriately for the occasion. I didn’t think. I’m not really used to these type of places you know.”
“Appropriately?” She looked me up and down. “I think you look cute.”
I smirked. “Please. You look cute—better than cute. You’re beautiful. I look like somebody’s soccer mom in this outfit, just dropping the kids off at school.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Who are you, anyway? My name is Skylar. I’m Garrett’s fiancée.” She held out her perfectly French-manicured hand to shake.
“You call him Garrett, too?” I chuckled, shaking her hand. “I’m Abby.”
“Yeah, the team calls him that, I just thought it would be easier. A lot of people don’t recognize his first name.” She turned to check herself out in the mirror. Not a thing out of place—perfect blonde hair, perfect tan, perfect makeup. Bright, sparkling hazel eyes. She glanced at me in the mirror. I wondered if she was comparing us.
“I feel totally out of place,” I admitted. “You all are so pretty.”
“Stop. So are you! But yeah, I can see why you would feel a little out of place. That’s not a bad thing! Just be comfortable, you know?” She shrugged with a smile. I could tell she was trying her best to be supportive, so I smiled back.
“I’m not comfortable. I’m extremely uncomfortable. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” I pulled out the clip that was holding my hair in a bun, shaking my head from side to side to loosen it.
“Whoa. Your hair is gorgeous!” Skylar reached out, touching it. She had no sense of personal space, but I didn’t mind. It had been a long time since I had a girlfriend. She put a hand to her own hair—I noticed the massive diamond on her left hand and tried not to feel jealous—and grimaced. “I’m so jealous.”
“Oh, please. You? Jealous of me?” I chuckled.
“Listen. I just got an idea.” Skylar checked the time on her diamond-encrusted watch. “We still have twenty minutes before we were even supposed to be here to make our reservation. Why don’t we pop out for a minute to the store across the street? They have a lot of really cute dresses and shoes. I bet we could find you something you’d feel more comfortable in.”
My head spun. “You think so? I mean, this is sort of your thing. You organized it.”
“Yeah, and we’ll be back in plenty of time. It won’t take more than a few minutes to find something for you—you have such a lovely figure; I would kill for that tiny waist.” Meanwhile, her waist was practically invisible. “Come on! It’ll be fun, and you’ll feel more confident.”
“Okay, if you say so!” I only hoped I could afford it—something told me that my new friend and I moved in vastly different tax brackets. I followed her out of the restaurant, and she giggled as she led me across the street. Stepping into the boutique—not just a store, but a boutique—made me feel wealthier. My credit card would be getting a workout, I thought as I looked around. There were even girls handing out sparkling champagne on silver trays. Skylar gave me a flute before taking one for herself.
Skylar looked me up and down. “Size four?” she asked.
“How did you know?” I sipped the sweet, bubbly liquid. It loosened me up a little.
“I have a good eye.” She winked, then dashed around the store putting together an outfit. A white, one-sleeved dress. Silver belt and sandals. She nearly shoved me into a dressing room to try it all on, and when I stepped out to show her how I looked, she cheered with a huge smile on her face.
“I look okay?” I checked myself out in the mirror. I had to give it to her—she had an eye, all right. She’d picked something that brought out my hair and eyes, accentuating my small waist and skimming over my breasts and hips. It fell to just above my knee, and the sandals were both stylish and comfortable.
“You look gorgeous! Come on, we don’t have much time.” She handed me a shopping bag in which to bundle my work clothes, gave me a silver clutch to replace my shoulder bag, and helped me transfer a few things from one bag to the other.
“She’s going to wear this out of the store,” Skylar informed the salesgirl. She was a force of nature—I understood why she was the one who organized get-togethers. She had the dominant personality that made it possible to wrangle an entire football team.