Love's Ineligible Receiver (Connecticut Kings Book 5)

by Love Belvin

  The smile that spread on her face made me feel something I was too familiar with: emptiness. If I had a penny for each time a shawtie looked at me with hopes in her eyes I wouldn’t need as many hustles I had. Hopes I didn’t share and hopes I’d soon shatter. But it was all good. It was in these moments I, at least, felt human because I knew what was going down.

  But Chestnut Cherries was a strong one. She was fighting to not let her feelings get ahead of her, and that relieved me.

  “Okay. I left my number on the bed,” she informed. My eyes brushed over to the business card next to the pillow. “Hit me when you ready.”

  I winked and nodded. When the door closed behind them, I turned and slowly dropped my head and arms toward the floor until my fingers touched my toes. I felt and heard my back crack as I moaned. Slowly, I stood and headed for the bed then snatched the sheets off, tossing them to the floor. Then I went into the closet for the Lysol. After spraying the mattress and pillows down, I applied clean sheets and pillow cases. By the time I grabbed the old ones and opened the door, Sharkie was pouncing on me.

  All one hundred and forty-five pounds of him slamming against me had me swaying a bit at first.

  “Hey, baby!” I massaged his head with my free hand. “I know you be holding me down, letting me use ya room for fun and shit, but you think you could chill on the shedding? This the third time this week a chick done complained about hair in their mouth—and it ain’t Daddy’s, ya dig?”

  His response was a big, stinky swipe of kiss against my chin.

  ~Two

  “Yeah, but I’m good,” he spoke evenly into the cell phone—one of the two he always carried. His eyes squeezed close in irritation as he used his other hand to pinch the area between them. “I’ll be boarding in about thirty minutes.”

  I sat back and downed the rest of my drink as I waited on him. Shit. I had to be back at Hotep Black Financial Bank Stadium soon. One of my coaches recommended I do some stretching techniques with a trainer there. I didn’t want to miss her and lose an opportunity to get on her schedule this week. Then I had a dinner meeting with the charity department of the Kings. They were supposed to share with me a list of legitimate charities. I had a few of my own, but they were grassroots level. One of the things I wanted to do when I made the league was to establish a strong leg in my brand for aid organization.

  “Nah, ain’t no need for all that. You gotta believe me when I say I’m good.” Divine brought my attention back to the table. We were in a small bar in the private hub of the airport. “I’m coming straight to the crib. You gone be up?” That question mixed with the way he pushed his tongue into the back teeth, hiding a sensual ass smirk, clued me into who he was talking to. “If you know what’s good for you…” he threatened.

  Taking a deep breath, I sat up and toward the table as he was ending the call.

  “Tell Ray I said waddup.”

  “Rut says hello, Brimm.” His smile faded when his eyes landed on me. That gaze of intimidation had worked since I was a damn pup and hadn’t lost its potency. “She says hey and wants to know if you’re enjoying the Ferrari.”

  “Enough to drive it all the way out to Cali,” I joked about the model of the car the two of them gifted me draft night.

  He repeated my words to her and it was clear she found them funny. I nodded and averted my eyes to the screen playing over the bar across the room. There was a highlight on of a game the Sixers played last night.

  Alton Alston still ain’t loose that speed with that damn chest pass!

  “You should be meeting with Melanie Ruiz.”

  My eyes swung back to the table. “Huhn?”

  “President of Charitable Foundation and Social Responsibility. Your meeting this evening.” Oh. “Mrs. Ruiz is the president. I had my assistant call to be sure she was heading this meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she gets shit done, and charities can be your ally in sports. America likes do-gooders. In our minds, charitable givers are synonymous with wholesomeness and moral soundness. You need to give that impression.”

  I didn’t respond even though it reminded me of this fucked up situation I was in.

  “And don’t try to fuck her—or your new coach.”

  My eyes blew the hell up. His finger was pointed toward my face, an act no other man would live to get away with. But more than that, I saw something else. I saw exhaustion I’d never seen from him before.

  Then my eyes quickly tightened as I glanced away. “C’mon, man,” I breathed. “You know me better than that.”

  “Nah. I know you. I know you believe the rules set for everybody don’t apply to you. Well, this one does. Be professional at all times with your Kings family. I don’t give a damn if a woman throws her panties at you, you dodge them shits like you swing bats.”

  Dodgers.

  I snorted, swiping my nose. “I’m good, big homie. I’m actually excited about the meeting.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You know I got the lunch, sneaks, and backpacks giveaway going on every year. I want to expand on those and got a few more ideas to run pass them.”

  Divine nodded, calm returning to his demeanor. Something was off.

  “You hitting up Eli’s annual party next weekend, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “You taking Emily?”

  I shook my head, eyes going into the distance. “Nah.”

  I was hoping he wasn’t going to tell me I should.

  “Good. Don’t show up stupid late and don’t bring more than one person. And not a woman. As a matter of fact, take Fats.”

  That offended me. It was one thing to have me in an arranged hook up with a celebrity, but another to think I didn’t know how to handle my B.I.

  My forehead tightened. “What I look like bringing a bitch to work?”

  With his eyes closed, Divine shook his head. That was new. I’ve known dude just about all my life, he was direct and forceful when speaking to me. Divine had played the role of surrogate father to me for years. He went hard, but he had to with me.

  With his face toward the wooden booth table top, he spoke sharply. “What did I tell you about referring to women as bitches, Rut?” I swallowed, temper swelling in my gut. Balls flaring, too. Divine was the big homie, but, shit, I was a man, too! His eyes rolled up to mine. “Answer me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I explained, “I don’t say it to a female’s face, Divine.”

  “But you deem them as such in your mind, it comes out when you’re speaking. Don’t matter if you don’t say it to a woman—something I find hard to believe—it’s in your heart. You ever heard of Luke chapter six, verse forty-five—the Bible?”

  I hadn’t been keeping up on my 120 Lessons, but I knew he recently denounced the Nation of Islam and was now a Christian. We hadn’t spoke about why, but my pops put me on to it. It hurt him that Divine was now calling a blue-eyed, blond hair devil his savior and master. That didn’t sit well with me either, but I respected him way too much to question it. For the most part, he was the same ADJ to me, even though he’d spit shit like this out of nowhere.

  “It says, ‘A good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man, out of the evil treasure of his heart, bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of the heart, his mouth speaketh.’ You know what that means, son? It means someone like you, who talks so damn much, can’t hide what you really believe and what you really love because it’s stored in your heart…in your belly, and it’ll shoot up like vomit.” He inched over the table more. “Women are not bitches, Rutledge. They’re no more than men are. And even the ones who you believe are, don’t need to be reminded by you. Be a fuckin’ gentleman.”

  “For what?” I covered my face, groaning as I stretched my legs under the tiny ass table I shared with a man just as tall as me. “For these broads to take advantage of me? Nah, B.”

  “You know it’s because you pick sea l
evel…” His eyes locked on mine.

  A nervous laugh pushed from my nostrils. “Fuck you mean?”

  “What I mean is you continue to entertain women who are morally and culturally beneath you. They don’t challenge you in the least. I’ve been telling you for years to start picking eye level.”

  “You told me to pick friends from the top of the tree. How that sound? Me picking chicks on a lower level than my friends?”

  “Two different relationships.” He shook his head with a cocky ass smile on his face. “To keep it a buck, you couldn’t maintain a woman from the top of the tree. Probably wouldn’t attract her the moment you open your mouth. Real women have this amazing intuition and can sniff immaturity out of men a mile away. And, bruh, yours is fragrant.”

  I chuckled dryly. Divine was old, outdated, and cuffed. What the fuck did he know about women anymore? He only fucked one nowadays.

  His attention went to both his phones as they started blowing up on the table. Again, he closed his eyes and pinched between them.

  “You good, D?” It was a sincere question.

  He waved me off, tone gentler when he breathed, “Yeah. Just some shit I see is getting outta hand.”

  “That bootleg ass documentary?”

  He answered with a hard stare.

  Yeah, I’ve heard about it…

  The YouTube link was sent to me a few months ago. Now, bloggers were picking up on it, nibbling on its truths from fiction. It was crazy. And true. Divine may have kept me from joining a gang back home, but it was easy to seeing he damn near was one himself. And even though I never in my life met Divine, the hustler, I knew him. I was introduced to him the minute I learned why my father was sentenced for such a long time and who his General was.

  Azmir Divine Jacobs was black market famous. To the unknowing world, he was nameless, but not powerless. He made lots of power moves for the celebrities we loved and now he was a legit businessman with more companies and investments than I could count. Keeping it trill, Divine was the reason why I had a million-dollar company while in college. I had the passion and desire, but he gave my partner and me the tools. I couldn’t begin to describe my gratitude to this man.

  “Ain’t nothing I ain’t taking care of.” His usual voice of persuasion was missing but not the swagger I’d tried emulating since I was kid.

  “If you want me to look into it, just say the—”

  “And you’re going to your required therapy session, right?”

  That swerve kicked me in the damn gut. It was more than the “no” to my offering. It was him possibly agreeing I needed mental help.

  “You think I need therapy?”

  His face was blank but eyes hard when he firmly answered, “Therapy ain’t a diagnosis. It’s a tool. Healthy people benefit from it. Consider it free mental organization.”

  “I can organize my own mental.” I swung my wrists, flashing my palms. “I work hard every day to adjust to this shitty contract, D. I swallow my pride every time I start earlier than my teammates and end later. I’m even hitting up more than one of the off-season workout sessions on top of rookie minicamp this week. And that’s on top of training five days a week while everybody—rookies and vets—are out here vacationing it up in the off season! That don’t sound like no weak ass muthafucka needing a head doctor.”

  Taking another deep breath, Divine leaned over the table and pointed that finger again. “Indeed. You’ve worked damn hard to make it to league level but don’t fuckin’ forget my contribution to get you here. You ain’t no fuckin’ knucklehead, Rut. You’re of royal priesthood. You’re built different, but I don’t mean entitled.” His voice deepened and that Brooklyn accent coated his tongue. “You fuck this up, I’m whoopin’ ya ass. That’s how personal this thing is to me. For the first time in your life, you gone walk right. You’ll be silent in practice, meetings, at social functions, in the faces of your superiors, and paparazzi’s camera—hell, any camera. The only noise you will make is on that field where you’ll show you’re the greatest at the game. Am I clear on that, duke?”

  I felt like that kid getting scolded at night when his pops came home and found out he showed his ass in school. I ain’t know what the hell was going on with the big homie, but I could sense the stress he’d never cop to. I could also feel he was dead ass serious and I got it. Yeah, I busted my ass to make it to draft night, but he was the sole sponsor and biggest advocate in getting me here. I was now a Connecticut Kings, Divine’s favorite football team. He didn’t take this lightly. And to be real, I could respect why.

  If there was anybody who could speak to me this way and toss a threat I wouldn’t pursue, it was Azmir Divine Jacobs. For me and him, I had something to prove. And not just to myself and Divine, to all those not believing. I was meant to be here.

  I’ll show ‘em all…

  The whistle sounded and, again, I pushed from my toes and powered off to hit the Quick Out drill. But damn if again, Stroy, the defensive back, was playing tight bump and ran coverage, knocking me off my route and I missed the pass. The whistle blew again.

  “Again, Amare!” Coach Underwood shouted.

  I grunted, frustrated as fuck for not being able to get this down, but I couldn’t let them see me sweat. There were too many people out here and most of them likely counted me out. Never. I would never fail. It was rookie camp. I had to show these motherfuckers what they paid for.

  I had something to prove, so I quickly moved into position again. This time, I tried to focus hard on my internal foot counts and gradual speed. The whistle blew. I growled and took off.

  Shit!

  Stroy clipped me again, and right off the fucking line!

  “You’re not exploding off the line!” an unfamiliar, very curvy voice barked.

  My head jerked to where Underwood last stood. Next to him was a…female. Mocha skin with facial features I couldn’t see behind her shades but her body was a ten: tiny ass waist, curvy hips in khaki shorts, and her tits sat nice even in a loose-fitting T-shirt. As feminine as her figure was, she wasn’t your average sized female. This one was hella tall, but well proportioned. With one hand on her hip and the other arm gripping a football at her thigh, something seemed off about her presence.

  “Is there a problem?” her edgy tone snapped me out of my head.

  I looked around the field and saw everybody staring my way. A few snickers could be heard and I knew what they were about. They thought the broad was about to son me.

  I gave her another look over as I tried to even my breathing from the back to back plays.

  Then I hit her with the sleek grin, flashing just my top teeth. “Yeah. My dick feeling kinda dry, and I ‘on’t see nobody else out here who could help. Unless you ready to drop down on ya knees to handle that, you can get the fuck off the field and let me do what I’m getting paid to do.”

  A few coughs and sputters from muffled laughs cut the air. Coach Underwood changed stances, crossed his arms while holding a clipboard. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I didn’t give a shit. I was frustrated and trying to focus. This bitch needed to move the fuck on.

  But she didn’t. She had the nerve to step closer to me. Her perfumed proximity made me sick to my stomach. It wasn’t the type of thing you were used to smelling on the green unless it was a celebration hug from family after a W.

  “Considering that sucker ass contract you signed, I doubt your dick is much for me to work with, rookie. Besides, your young and dumb ass probably just learned how to hold it to pee.” She stepped closer and my face got tighter. “Instead of you talking about the needs of your undersized dick, how about you master this play, and while you’re at it, learn my name.”

  If she ‘on’t get the fuck outta here…

  I scoffed. “Ya name?”

  “Yeah. And especially my damn title.”

  “Which is?”

  “Coach. Sloane Brooks. As in Coach Brooks.” My neck whipped over to Coach Underwood and the other guys. Coach nodded, telling
me to take heed. A few of the others around snickered. Bullshit! My eyes rolled back to her. “Mmmhmmm,” she hummed, dripping too much arrogance. “Now you ready to get this knowledge or would you rather start with the twenty laps your misogynistic tongue just earned you?”

  My eyes rolled away and I backed up to give her the floor. After a long stare down, Coach Brooks stepped over to the line.

  “You need to explode to make the DB think you’re running a Go Route. Instead, what you’re doing is picking up gradual speed at the line.”

  “Yeah, easy for a fanatic to say. But the players need practice to get it,” I tried making clear. “That’s what we doing here. Practicing.”

  “Some need practice, some just have it.” What? Then she jerked her neck. “And where the hell you see a fanatic out here?” She looked around the field, trying to play me.

  “Oh. My bad,” my tone was dry. “Let me keep it politically correct: Someone who’s ‘passionate’ about the game.”

  Brooks backed up again. “I’ll do you one better.” She swiped her nose and got into position at the line.

  Brooks gave Underwood the cue and, a few seconds later, the whistle blew. I couldn’t believe the speed this broad detonated with. She plowed ahead and Stroy, in front of her, went for her. Brooks blocked Stroy’s grasp as he turned his hips to bump her. Instead, she broke to the right and caught the ball from the QB standing near the sideline. She was swift, agile with it.

  Of course! She’s a fucking light ass female!

  Brooks jogged over to me again, nothing girlie about her posture. “If you don’t explode off the line and you’re slow, the DB is going to move slow, too. That gives him time to think about your play. And if he’s fast…faster than you…” She shrugged.

  So damn heated, I just looked at her like she was an idiot, but there was something in this chick’s eyes telling me she was unbothered. She was a tough girl, so what? Maybe she coached some high school kids. That didn’t make her suitable for the NF-fucking-L!

  “You gonna try it again or start your laps?”

  I heaped mucous from the bottom of my throat and hog-spit on the green. After shooting her another look of disgust, I began my run. No way was I going to fucking tuck my tail for no female. Coach or not, she would not be bossing me the hell around.