Bad Business

by Nicole Edwards

  He might be a newbie to the team, but he has garnered the respect of players and coaches alike. It helps that he’s a seasoned player and has probably logged more hours of practice than half the team put together.

  I happen to be quite fond of him, too.

  Not wanting to chance him seeing me, I quickly slip out of the doorway before he catches me watching him. I’m not ready to face him again. He still has no clue who I am, and I’d like to keep it that way until there’s no way for me to get around it.

  And unfortunately, I’m sure that day will come.

  As I walk out the door, I grab my cellphone from my pocket and shoot off a quick text to Allison.

  Running about five minutes late, but I’m on my way. I promise.

  Less than two seconds later, she responds with: Good. Because I’m running ten minutes late so you can grab us a table.

  I laugh. That’s Allison for you.

  Twenty minutes later, Allison strolls into Texas Roadhouse, waving to the hostess as she passes by.

  “Sorry, I got a call and had to take it.”

  “No worries,” I say, stabbing one of the fried pickles with my fork. “I didn’t wait for you.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Did you order, too?”

  “Yep. Figured you’d be in a hurry.”

  “Have I mentioned I love you?”

  “You have. Quite a bit, actually. I’m starting to get a little worried about it.” I lean in and lower my voice for effect. “I think you’re getting a little too attached.”

  Allison flips me off as she sips her iced tea. She jerks upright, her eyes wide. “Oh, I heard from Jim this morning.”

  “Jimbo the Bimbo?” I cast a skeptical glance her way. “Where was he last weekend?”

  Jim is the guy Allison has been dating on and off for the past year. The man sells solar panels, which he says is a highly lucrative business and takes him out of town quite frequently. He has a tendency to disappear for a couple of weeks at a time, then returns, kissing Allison’s ass and begging for forgiveness. About six months ago, she stopped sleeping with him when he refused to answer her calls for a solid week, but for some reason, the guy hasn’t stopped coming around and she hasn’t stopped letting him.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “And…?”

  Allison chews a pickle, then wipes ranch dressing from her lip with a napkin. “And what? He’s a douchebag.”

  “A clingy douchebag,” I correct. “When’re you gonna send him on his way? Tell him you want nothing from him?”

  “I thought about it,” she says, popping another pickle into her mouth. Her gaze drops to the table.

  “Oh, my God. You didn’t!”

  Allison’s brown eyes lift to mine. “I did. And holy cannoli, I hate that he’s so good in bed.”

  Her voice carries, but luckily, there aren’t any other customers around.

  “You suck,” I tell her.

  “I know.” Her smile widens. “But I’ll make it up to you. We can go out on Friday night and try to find me someone else.”

  I’m shaking my head before she finishes her sentence. “No can do. We’re having a big dinner on Friday night since the game’s on Thursday.”

  “Ooh, fancy.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Rumor has it my mother’s gonna be there.”

  Allison’s eyes widen, all traces of teasing gone. “Really? It’s been what…five years since she last graced you with her presence?”

  Something like that.

  Allison knows how much it bothers me that my mother drops in and out of our lives so easily, but no matter how much I wish I could avoid her, we all know that it would upset my father and that’s the absolute last thing I want.

  “Is she bringing someone this time?”

  I shrug. “No clue.”

  Allison watches me closely. “Remember the last guy she brought with her? What was his name…?” Her eyes lift to the ceiling as she tries to remember.

  “Harold.”

  “Right! Heavyweight Harold. His face looked like he’d been put through a meat grinder. Twice.”

  I smile. No, Harold wasn’t what any of us had expected. He’d introduced himself as a boxer and his face was his proof. I seriously doubt my mother is still with him though. She doesn’t tend to keep them around for long. Mainly because she is vain and fickle and always looking for the next best thing. I could’ve told her that the best thing she ever had or would have is my father, but she wouldn’t listen.

  “He was a rather…interesting man.” I pop another pickle in my mouth, then talk around it. “He didn’t even remember his own last name.”

  Allison laughs. “Oh, I forgot about that.” She takes a sip of her water, and I see the instant she’s going to change the subject.

  I fight the urge to cringe.

  “So, tell me how things went with Hottie McFootball Man. Is he as hot in bed as he is on the field?”

  I shake my head, my cheeks heating. “He’s fair.”

  “Fair?” Allison barks a laugh. “My dear, sweet friend, ladies don’t blush like that when a man’s merely fair in bed.”

  I stuff another pickle in my mouth, refusing to talk about it.

  “That’s too bad.” She sounds as though she’s mourning my sex life. “I’m pretty sure he rocked your world,” Allison notes with a devilish grin. “Only to find out you ditched him this morning.”

  I frown. “I didn’t ditch him.” Well, technically, I did. But we didn’t make each other any promises. I was merely making it easier on us both because we all know nothing would’ve ever come from it.

  Her eyebrows shoot skyward. “So, how many orgasms did he give you?”

  “I have no earthly idea. I don’t keep count of that stuff.” It’s a lie, but Allison is clearly onto me, so it doesn’t matter.

  “Five? Ten?” She stabs a pickle and points it at me. “A hundred?”

  The woman is always so dramatic.

  I groan.

  Allison knows that I’ve been on a dating hiatus for a while. I have dedicated the past few years to my father’s organization, learning the ins and outs, wanting to prove my worth. It’s not easy considering my brothers are both ridiculously good at what they do. Not that I’m all that shabby, but I’ll admit, I hadn’t seen myself working for my father when I set out on my path at eighteen.

  “So, will you be working with him?” Allison asks.

  I shake my head. “He’s the golden boy right now. He won’t need my help.” I deal with the public relations side of things, working with players who’re mired in some sort of scandal or a conspiracy theory some nutcase has come up with. It takes up a great deal of my time.

  “Well, then I say thank heavens you shagged him last night and left him with a smile on his face this morning.” She tosses another pickle in her mouth at the same time the bartender delivers our burgers.

  “Thanks,” I say when the woman has everything in place.

  “Can I get you anything else, ladies?”

  “Nope,” Allison says quickly. “We’re good for now. Thanks.”

  We come here so much, they all know us by name. They also know to keep one of the booths at the bar open because that’s where we like to sit.

  “Although, I’m sure he’d be game for a repeat,” Allison notes.

  “There will be no repeats,” I tell her.

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  I know better than to argue with this woman. She’s a defense attorney—a damn good one at that—and I don’t stand a chance debating with her. So I don’t.

  While Allison doctors her hamburger, the television in the far corner catches my attention. It’s on ESPN, and I don’t even need to read the captions scrolling
along the bottom to see they’re currently discussing Jason Stone. The man’s face is all over the place right now. I have to admit, it’s a rather good-looking face.

  People are talking about him, mostly trying to figure out why he’s talking about retiring when it’s clear he’s still at the top of his game. I know it’s something my father is dealing with as well, having signed Stone for only one year, with the full intention of getting him to change his mind.

  I’m not so sure he’s going to be able to pull it off. I mean, I know very little about Stone personally, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to waffle on his decisions.

  The only thing I’m hoping is that the man can win us a championship before he settles for a life of beach bunnies and martinis.

  Once he gives us that, I really don’t care what he does.

  Or so I keep telling myself.

  Chapter 6

  Stone

  “You sure are lookin’ slow,” Jeremy shouts, his grin wide. “Think maybe Dallas’s kickin’ themselves in the ass right about now?”

  I flip my brother off. “Good thing you’re not in contract,” I counter, rubbing my stomach and glancing down at his. “You’re lookin’ a little flabby there.”

  “The hell I am,” he argues, launching the football at me, not bothering to hold back.

  I might give my brother shit, but he’s still got one hell of an arm.

  “Probably shouldn’t’ve found a woman who can cook as well as Steph,” I tease, glancing over at my sister-in-law, who is sitting on the porch, my niece wrapped in a blanket and cradled in her arms.

  “That was a prerequisite,” Jeremy notes, catching the pass I toss his way. “She had to be good in the kitchen.” Jeremy winks at his wife. “Ain’t that right, honey?”

  “Be careful,” she says. “You’ll be eating SpaghettiOs for the rest of the week.”

  That makes my brother laugh.

  I never thought I’d see the day when my older brother settled down. Like me, he tended to err on the side of caution when it came to women during his time in the NFL. Steph was one of those women who wasn’t impressed by his money or his fame, but for some reason, she fell in love with the jackass anyway.

  “So, what’s to the rumor that Dallas is gonna be courting you to extend your contract?” Jeremy shoots the ball back at me.

  I turn around and send it spiraling his way. “No idea.”

  “That’s horse shit and you know it.”

  I shrug, catching the return pass. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “Really? You’re just ready to give it all up?”

  Not really, no. However, I know I have to hold out in order to get what I want. The problem is, I don’t really know what I want right now. Money’s always a good motivator, but the truth is, I’ve got more than I know what to do with as it is. These days, I find myself wanting something more. Hell if I know what that even is, but I figure one day I’ll figure it out. I have until the end of the season to make a decision.

  “Don’t know,” I tell him, cradling the ball after my brother’s return throw before heading toward my mother’s front porch.

  “Tell him, baby,” Jeremy says to his wife. “Tell him he should stay in as long as he can.”

  She smiles. “It’s nice to have him home,” she says sweetly. “But I’d be eternally grateful if you’d take him off my hands from time to time.”

  “Bored, are ya?”

  Jeremy gives me that what do you think? look.

  “I’m sure you can find somethin’ to do,” I tell him as I open the front door and stick my head in. “Hey, Momma! Come on out here.”

  “Just a minute!” she shouts back.

  I glance over at my sister-in-law. “What’s she in there doin’?”

  Steph grins. “I think she’s making brownies.”

  My brother and I both shoot quick glances at one another. “No brownies.”

  “Oh, they’re not that bad,” Steph says in a loud whisper.

  Yeah, the woman clearly hasn’t experienced my mother’s cooking the way my brother and I have. Luckily, I don’t have another game until next Thursday, which’ll give my stomach some time to settle. Although we ordered the food so my mother wouldn’t have to cook on Thanksgiving, I know she tried to doctor it up a little, adding spices—at least I hope they were spices—when they weren’t necessary.

  “That was a good game yesterday,” Jeremy says, perching on the front porch rail. “You almost looked good out there.”

  Again, I flip him off. We won against the Chiefs 21–7. I’d say I looked really damn good.

  “Y’all play the Giants again next week?” he asks.

  I nod. The Giants are the only team we’ve lost to this season and we’re playing them again on Thursday, this time on their field. I know that’s going to mean we’ll be putting in some extra practice this week as we gear up for it.

  “Don’t sweat it, man. Worst case, they’ll toss that rookie back on the field, and he’ll save the day.”

  I laugh. Like that’s going to happen.

  “Or, they can always call me up if they need some real talent out there,” Jeremy adds.

  I pretend to consider this. “I’m confused…” I grin. “How many Super Bowls did you win? Was it…only two?”

  He smirks.

  “I’ll have to check when I get home,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve got three rings. Not just…two.”

  He laughs.

  “But, when I get my fourth one this year—third in a row, might I add—maybe I’ll let you borrow it. Then you can pretend you’re as good as me.”

  I’m laughing when my brother launches off the railing and shoots toward me.

  And I’m still laughing when I take off down the street.

  Savannah

  I glance furtively at my brothers and my sisters-in-law when my mother follows my dad out of the room.

  “It’s not just me, right?” I ask them. “This is…weird?”

  “It’s weird,” Aaron Jr. replies. “But not unusual.”

  True. Unfortunately, it’s not unusual.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why does this keep happening?”

  No one answers me, but I know they’re all thinking the same thing I am.

  To say the evening has been tense is a gross understatement.

  For one, my mother is here and, two, she came by herself. That in itself is not something any of us expected. Her MO is typically to be hanging on some rich guy’s arm, pretending she’s perfectly happy, while the strain around her eyes says otherwise. And said rich guy is usually sending confused signals all around the room, probably trying to figure out how he even fits into the equation.

  It’s not like any of us have a real relationship with her.

  Needless to say, tonight has been a little different.

  Ten minutes into dinner, after my nephew, Storm, created a mashed potato moat and filled it full of gravy until it overflowed onto the tablecloth, making my father coo and praise him, it was obvious that something was awry. I don’t think anyone missed my mother’s not-so-subtle hints that she’s looking for a reconciliation with my father.

  Of course, she didn’t say two words to her own grandson, but that’s not unusual either.

  And okay, so she has done this before.

  In fact, I think the last time the Wranglers were in first place in the NFC East, she pulled this same stunt. It only heated up until they made it to the playoffs. However, when they didn’t win the Super Bowl that year, she went on her merry way, leaving my father heartbroken once again.

  Why my father still allows this to happen is beyond me. They’ve been divorced since I was seven years old, yet he has never found anyone to replace Magdalena. And God o
nly knows he’s had plenty of opportunities.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea, darling,” my mother croons to my father as they return to the dining room. She glances around at all the faces staring back at her. “Your father and I are going to retire to the veranda for some wine.”

  There was no request in that statement for us to join her.

  Not that I wanted to.

  In fact, I’ve been ready to bolt since the second she air-kissed me on both cheeks, then proceeded to eye my choice of dinner attire.

  In my defense, I’m wearing the same thing I always wear. Jeans, boots, and a nice sweater. It’s not like I look like I just stepped out of a Walmart dressing room, but my clothing is certainly a long way from the Paris runways where my mother tends to shop.

  Will gets to his feet and holds out a hand for his wife. “I think we’re gonna head home then. It’s past Storm’s bedtime.”

  You wouldn’t know it by the way the kid is blazing a trail back and forth from the foyer to the kitchen, then back to the dining room.

  Aaron Jr. follows suit, taking his wife’s hand and helping her to her feet. Traci’s hand comes to rest on her protruding belly as she shoots him a grateful smile. “I think we’ll do the same.”

  I fight the urge to look to my left, knowing I don’t have a date there who’s going to give me the perfect out. Thankfully, with everyone else leaving and my mother wanting to…do whatever with my father, I’m saved from coming up with an excuse.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t want to plant my happy ass right out there on the veranda between the two and keep my father from making the biggest mistake of his life. He’s a smart man. I know he’s aware of Magdalena’s game. She’s been playing it long enough.

  I shoot to my feet. “Well, I don’t have any kids to put to bed, but I think I’ll take off.”

  My father gives me a reassuring look.

  After hugging my brothers and my sisters-in-law, I tousle Storm’s hair, then move in my father’s direction. “Thanks for dinner. It was amazing as always.”