by Zuri Day
Twenty-five heads nodded and for the next two hours tried to give Jake McDonald and the other coaches everything they had and then some. Jake was impressed and let the players know how much he appreciated their hard work, which, of course, only made them want to work harder.
“How does it feel?” The assistant coach, Shawn Gallagher, moved the folders from a chair in front of Jake’s desk and plopped down.
“How does what feel?” Jake asked, handing Shawn a bottled water from the mini-fridge before sitting behind the desk.
“Being a god.”
Jake snorted.
“Coach, Coach!” Shawn mimicked, his green eyes sparkling. “The boys love you, man, especially that Clark kid.”
“Aw, well, what can I say?” Jake drawled, straightening invisible lapels. “I’m the man.”
Actually, it had been a difficult time of adjustment when Jake retired from the NFL eight years ago at the ripe old age of thirty-two. He’d experienced an unexpected bout of fame- and team-withdrawal—one moment he was part of a family whom thousands adored every Sunday, and the next moment he was sitting in his home gym minus the cheerleaders and the roar.
Shawn took a swig of water. “I noticed somebody else who wants to play on your team.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “I hope it’s that Burnett kid. I know his mind is set on basketball, and his father is pushing him to just concentrate on that and track, but I think that he’d make one heck of a running back.”
“It’s not just his dad; Alvin isn’t interested in football. But I’m not talking about him.”
Jake looked up from the player chart he’d been studying. “Then who?”
Shawn’s smile widened. “The new fourth-grade teacher.”
“The tall brunette with those long, sexy legs?”
Shawn nodded.
“She’s gorgeous, but I don’t think she’s interested in me. I saw y’all hanging out before the meeting started, and her looking at you goo-goo-eyed.”
Shawn was a red-haired, green-eyed heartthrob with an infectious smile and charming personality everyone loved. “I wish, man,” he said. “Our conversation before the meeting was friendly chitchat. But during the meeting she was looking at you. Which is just as well, since I think Taylor might throw a few penalty flags if she caught me flirting with a colleague.”
Jake laughed. “Your wife might have a problem with that? You think?” A reminder pinged on Jake’s computer. He clicked on his calendar. “Damn.”
Shawn stood. “Forget about a hot date?”
“Hardly. It’s this Hollywood educational benefit where I’ll rub shoulders with celebrities and influential movers and shakers . . . maybe rustle up a few deep-pocketed sponsors for our program.”
“That’s definitely your arena, man. I’m not the black-tie type.”
“Me either,” Jake said, putting away the folder and reaching for his duffel bag and keys. “But duty calls.”
3
Dominique ran her hand discreetly over her abdomen as she stepped into Hollywood’s W Hotel’s great room. Having grown confident in and comfortable with her plus-size figure years ago, she still thanked God for the body shaper that smoothed, toned, and highlighted the curves that flowed in all the right places. Her freshly done twists accented the high cheekbones in her otherwise round face and her auburn hair with gold tones sparkled under the light of the chandeliers. In this room of size twos, Dominique felt good about how she looked. She went to black-tie events all the time.
So why is my stomach fluttering?
Was it because of the stress of a deadline a week away, Reggie’s continued depression, or the fried catfish with jalapeño cornbread she’d had for lunch? No matter, Capricious rarely missed a PR opportunity and tonight’s event benefiting education was one that would get major press. When solicited last year, Dominique and the board had immediately agreed to be one of the night’s sponsors and she’d also agreed to provide complementary subscriptions to one hundred lucky student winners. In an age when girls under sixteen were having plastic surgery and a size 10 was considered big, the magazine’s brass felt it more important than ever to tout their message: beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and in every Capricious magazine! So even with a looming deadline and the knowledge that she shouldn’t stay long, Dominique had braved an hour of LA traffic to show her support.
Secure that she was a walking ad for “fat, fit, and fabulous,” she looked around, recognized the organizer whom she’d lunched with last month, and headed in her direction.
Someone tapped Jake’s shoulder. He turned and saw a TV host he’d known for years, a beautiful blonde who was the ex-wife of one of his NFL buddies. They’d just started to chat when he saw someone else—a statuesque African American woman gliding across the room, her chin slightly tilted as she scanned the crowd. Her formfitting copper dress showed pow out to here and bang out to there and as if that wasn’t enough to make a brothah’s mouth water, those thick, shapely calves would definitely do the job. Dayum! Who is that?
“Jake, did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, Madison, what did you say?”
“I was asking if you’d seen my ex lately. I heard he got divorced again, and quite frankly I’m worried about him.”
Jake answered Madison’s question but later that night if someone had offered him a million dollars to do so, he couldn’t have repeated what he said. Big and natural wasn’t normally his type, but there was something about the woman who commanded the room, as she’d walked through, it that touched his soul in a deep, almost primal way. Maybe Shawn was right. Not about the fourth-grade teacher but about what he’d suggested the previous week—that Jake get back into the dating game. Jake hadn’t dated seriously since relocating to LA a year ago. So maybe he did need to pull out the Big Mac skills and make a play. And maybe he needed to do so tonight.
Later, Dominique sat chatting with those on each side of her, enjoying the delicious second course of lobster bisque. The president of the foundation hosting the benefit had just done the welcome and an award-winning actor had delivered a succinct and humorous speech, and then underscored his belief in the importance of education with a check for $100,000. Several honor roll students from various districts—both privileged and at-risk—gave short speeches on what education meant to them, followed by a pop singer’s rousing performance of her latest hit single. Other well-known speakers graced the stage and awards were given. By the time a short, fifteen-minute film had ended, Dominique had finished her main course. She looked at her watch and decided to skip dessert. Having made an appearance and secured a few cards for future interviews and ad campaigns, she felt it was time to go.
She said good-bye to her tablemates, including the event’s organizer, and during a lull in the program Dominique stood to make her move. Walking alongside the wall and trying to be as inconspicuous as a woman who stood six foot two in heels could be, she kept her eyes downcast as she made her way to the double doors leading out of the room.
“Next on the program,” she heard as she was midway to her destination, “is one of the NFL’s shining stars, a man who knows firsthand how getting an education can change a life. Ladies and gentlemen . . . Jake McDonald.”
The audience applauded and, thankful for the noise and distraction, Dominique quickened her pace. She was almost to the doors when she heard his voice.
“Thank you, and good evening.”
The voice was deep like still waters and sweet like molasses. She’d reached the door, but turned to see the being from whom this captivating voice had emanated. The flutter that she’d felt earlier that evening returned full force and a little squiggle went from navel to nana in nothing flat. She was a sistah from the streets who could play it as cool as an ice cream float, but Oh. My. Goodness! The man’s very presence seemed to touch her even though he was on the other side of the room. He easily filled the tall, really tall, dark, really dark, and handsome, really handsome, bill . . .
But it wa
s more than that.
Dominant. That’s the word that came to mind when she looked at him. And then, in a heartbeat, a few other words filtered in as did remnants from the ain’t-had-none-since-dog-was-a-pup conversation she’d had with Reggie the other night, when both had had probably one too many glasses of wine. But if she was going to do what she and Reggie had discussed, it would be with someone like the chocolate candy now commanding the room. For an instant their eyes locked, and held. The squiggle became a throb that caused Dominique to clench muscles that hadn’t felt action in months. She exited the room on shaky legs, walked across the lobby, and handed her ticket to the valet.
She thought of him. On the forty-minute drive home, while wrapping up work with returned phone calls and e-mails, and while taking a shower. Oh, especially then. Afterwards she performed her nightly ritual of getting in just the right position to welcome slumber—head pillow positioned just right, body pillow snuggled against her stomach. Eventually, finally, Dominique went to sleep. And dreamed of still water and sweet, sticky molasses.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by Zuri Day
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-7929-3