Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  Naima breezed in with vanilla bean ice cream and ingredients for her famous peach tart. Margo came bearing wine, plus something a little harder if necessary.

  I brought the drama.

  “It’s not our fault this shit is funny,” Margo drawled, with her gentle southern twang, courtesy of Birmingham. “Nobody told you to go rekindling old flames.”

  I groaned. “I’m not. He kissed me, not the other way around.”

  “And you didn’t kiss back?” Naima asked, grinning as she started another layer of peaches. She and I both knew the answer to that.

  “Of course she kissed him back, and probably more than that.” Margo sauntered up to me, pinot sloshing around her third glass. “Tell the damn truth, Nicki,” she teased, sliding onto the barstool beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You imagined climbing that big tall piece of chocolate didn’t you?”

  “She sure did.” Naima shook her head. “Look at her face! Eyes all big, trying not to smile. She was all over that dick in her mind.”

  “When you got home, you pulled out that big wall-destroyer I gave you last Christmas, didn’t you? Reliving those college memories.”

  “Stoppp, J,” Naima teased, sprinkling the uncooked tart with brown sugar. “I’m not going to be able to walk to class.”

  “Will you quit?” I blushed, covering my face. I had no idea why I was embarrassed – and certainly no reason to be, in front of these girls… but still.

  Naima grinned wider before she turned to slide the peach tart into the oven. “I will not. Girl, I was your roommate, and from the time that boy took your virginity to when you broke his little heart, I had to hear you yelling and screaming while he screwed your brains out. You’re gonna take this teasing boo.”

  “Broke his heart, Naima?” I asked, crossing my arms as she closed the oven and turned around. “Are we really still living on the assumption that Jordan was really in love with me? He was Blakewood’s star athlete. A goddamned campus celebrity. I was probably one of many – not that he’ll ever admit that.”

  Margo sucked her teeth. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night girl, I guess.”

  “Excuse me?!” I snatched up my wine glass, taking a big gulp before I continued. “Margo, you’re a sports agent! You know firsthand how trifling athletes are! At least when it comes to women…”

  She shook her head. “Speak for yourself. I know how some of them are. And I know that others are… really good guys.”

  “And you think Jordan Johnson is one of them? He who stays at the strip club? He who has a different model or actress or reality star on his arm every week? He who—”

  “We get it,” Margo said, rolling her eyes. “You think Jordan is all about ass, not worth taking seriously, blah blah. But… I actually didn’t get the same impression.”

  “That’s because you have never pulled his drunk ass from the strip club the night before a game.”

  Margo arched an eyebrow. “Did they win the game?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What?”

  “Did the team win the game the night after you pulled him out of the club?”

  “Uh… yeah.”

  “And how was Jordan’s performance?”

  I took another sip from my wine. “Okay, okay. I see where this is going.”

  “Damn, he did that good, huh?”

  My turn to roll my eyes.

  “When did you become such a Jordan Johnson fan?”

  She shrugged. “Since I met him today about being his agent. He met with Chloe McKenna yesterday, and she gave me her thoughts. And you know Chloe isn’t with the bullshit. Everything she said about the kind of person he is was confirmed in the meeting with me. With a little bit of work, Jordan is gonna be a problem for these other athletes out here getting endorsements here, there, everywhere. I’ve already got some meetings I’m thinking about lining up for him.”

  “So you’re actually taking him on? Margo, I asked you to meet him as a favor… I didn’t think he’d actually meet your lofty standards. I just wanted to at least try to put him in front of the best.”

  “And that was all you could do,” Margo countered. “He did the rest himself. Jordan is smart, charming, and a beast on the field. We just need to clean up his image a little. And you need to stop playing yourself… don’t act like you don’t want that man.”

  “Uggggh,” I groaned. “I don’t! Yes, Jordan is all of those things you said, but he’s also arrogant, immature, and nowhere near ready to be serious with a woman.”

  Naima snorted. “Girl please. That sounds like the same lie you told yourself when you broke up with him – instead of owning up to the real deal.”

  “And what, may I ask, is the “real deal”?” I asked, frowning.

  “That you couldn’t handle the fact that you were really falling for him. Falling hard. Falling for real. So you flipped the shit around on him, compartmentalized your little feelings and tucked them away, but it was never really resolved. That’s why your ass is freaking out right now.”

  Margo nodded. “Mmmhmm, mmhmm. All these years have passed, but you’ve been around him with no problem, because you were able to keep him at arm’s length. The attraction was there, but you can ignore simple physical attraction. But then you two shared a moment… a real moment, and now you’re a mess. And that kiss… girl, where is a fork to stick in you, cause you’re done.”

  I let out a loud huff. “Ugh! Whose side are you two bitches on?” I asked, looking back and forth between my friends. Naima, with her smooth chocolate skin and big curly fro, and Margo – caramel skin and never a hair of her pixie cut out of place. The two shared a smile, then looked at me.

  “Whichever side gets you laid by someone other than lame ass Cedrick Michael Rochester, the third.” They said his name in unison, with a snooty, faux-British accent that I found it incredibly hard not to laugh at.

  I covered my mouth with my hand as tears of laughter sprang to my eyes. “Don’t do that y’all,” I said, causing them to frown at my muffled words.

  “What was that?” Margo scrunched her eyebrows together. “Was that… you want us to tease you about him… more?”

  “That can be arranged, darling,” Naima said, still with that horrible accent. “As soon as I’ve returned from the loo.”

  “Do turn on the telly on your way back, deary. I think Luther’s coming on.”

  “I’m going to tell Chloe,” I warned, still trying to fight back a laugh.

  Margo chuckled. “But we’re not making fun of her. She sounds posh and sophisticated. Ol’ Ceddy on the other hand…”

  “With his James Bond wannabe ass. He still keep all those gadgets and shit in his pockets?”

  “Now that’s just mean, Naima!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms. “I don’t tease you two about your men!”

  Naima tried to cover a loud snicker. “Girl I don’t even like men, so tease away.”

  “And my man is cool as hell,” Margo added, referring to her sports anchor husband. “Besides that, we’re not teasing you about your man. We’re teasing you about the guy you call when you need clean, convenient dick. Or… is it more now? I mean, again.”

  “Hell no,” I answered, without hesitation.

  “Probably because of Jordan. Your subconscious knows better – even when you don’t.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but quickly found that I… couldn’t. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t have been completely truthful.

  Over the years, I’d gotten very, very good at keeping anything I felt for Jordan neatly tucked away in my mind. But it never escaped me that – as Naima had so tidily defined – I had to compartmentalize, and keep it out of the forefront of my mind. It was kind of a problem, when you claimed not to have feelings for someone, but inside, you knew that was a lie.

  “I messed this up,” I whined, frowning at my wine glass. As if she’d read my mind, suddenly Margo had a bottle in her hand, topping me off.

  “No shit, Sherlock.�
�

  Naima nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah, you did. You’ve got ten more minutes until the tart is ready and I start dishing out ice cream, so talk.”

  I groaned. “It’s like… if I’d taken the time to just be heartbroken, and mourn the relationship, over the years, I feel like this would have passed. I kept it all tucked away though. All he did was kiss me, and now…” – I smacked my hands together – “Bam. The feelings are all…”

  “Bitch I’m back, by popular demand?” Margo supplied, sympathetically bobbing her head. “Yeah, it happens like that. So what are you going to do?”

  I knocked back half of my wine in one gulp. “Do? I’m not going to do anything except tuck these stupid ass undergrad feelings back where they belong. What else would I do?”

  Naima’s lip curled. “Uh… maybe give the man a chance?”

  “A chance at what?”

  Naima rolled her eyes, then turned to flip on the oven light and check on her tart. “Talk to her Margo.”

  “No,” I snapped. “I don’t need anybody to “talk to me”. Why the hell are y’all so gung-ho for Jordan?”

  “Because once upon a time, you loved that boy,” Margo said, waving a finger at me.

  “Oh please.” I brushed her finger away. “We were in college, we liked each other, and then I realized how completely idiotic I was for being involved with the guy that every girl on campus wanted, and probably had. I never should have let myself get so involved with him. If he wasn’t so damned charming…”

  “Is that how you remember it?” Naima turned around, propping her hands on her hips. “I feel like you’re bringing a whole lot of fiction into this memory. Because the way I recall, the circumstances around y’all getting together in the first place were—”

  “Stupid,” I finished for her, then finished my wine again. “I was young, and stupid. That’s enough to explain the whole thing. I’m not as young anymore, and I refuse to be that stupid again, so there is no chance I’m having a do-over with Jordan Johnson. He is a walking cliché, through and through. Bad boy, playboy, superstar football player. He’ll wine and dine me, blow my mind in bed, and leave me used up, and embarrassed that he made a fool of me. Oh, and probably ruin my career in the process, because how could anybody take me seriously if I’m fucking one of my players? It’s not happening. We can let it go.”

  Right on time, the oven began to chime, letting us know that the tart was ready. Naima busied herself with it, and Margo simply remained quiet, letting me bask in the awkwardness of my reaction. I’d become the “she” that doth protest too much.

  “Here,” Naima finally said, as she placed a bowl in front of me, with vanilla ice cream melting over the peaches. “Your ass needs some comfort food, so you can relax.”

  Instead of making a smart comment back, I simply inhaled the delicious aroma of the peaches before I dug in. Maybe the sweetness could keep my mind off of… everything else.

  Seven.

  I couldn’t wait to get on the field.

  I almost felt guilty about it, knowing how long it had been since I felt that. I’d gotten out there and played, done my duty. But I hadn’t been excited about it since Trent left, and now that he was back - and not just riding the bench, actually back… I was ready to fuck some shit up.

  “Trent,” I called out, catching up to him just outside the locker room after practice. “Bruh, when I tell you we’re about to be a problem for these boys Monday night…”

  He grinned, but in his typical fashion, brushed my comment off. Trent had never been about a bunch of flashiness, and that hadn’t changed. Even after a practice where we’d easily fallen back into our former groove, he still had his same humble spirit. He wasn’t one to talk shit – he just got shit done.

  “I’m glad to be getting back out there,” he said, shaking his head as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “It feels… I don’t even know to describe it.”

  That was fine. I could see it all over him anyway, so he didn’t have to. Through training camp, pre-season, and the few games we’d played so far, I’d seen the disappointment weighing his shoulders down. Never defeat, but anybody who really knew the laid-back guy he’d been before could see that being benched, and being kept in limbo about it, was starting to wear on him.

  It pissed me off.

  I nodded. “I get it dude, don’t even worry about it. Ay, you ain’t walking around here nervous are you?”

  He tipped his head, frowning a little like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know that I’d call it nerves, but I know I don’t have room to fuck this up. This is my chance, bruh. Show these people I haven’t lost it like they think I have. The coaches, the fans, Eli…you.”

  I scoffed. “You can kill that noise. You’ve been at this shit harder than anybody else that’s gonna be on that field Monday. And you’ve got more heart than most of these niggas too.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving me off again. “I know you’re on your motivational shit right now, but you ain’t gotta act like I didn’t mess up. I left you in a tough situation, J, and that’s my bad.”

  I shook my head, but didn’t deny his words, because again – I didn’t bullshit with Trent, and he didn’t bullshit with me.

  He did leave me in a tough spot. And for a while, yeah, I was pissed. Learning plays over again, trying to form a bond with a quarterback I wasn’t used to, adjusting to losing my homeboy on the field… I could admit that the shit wasn’t fun, or easy. Hell, I couldn’t even truthfully say I’d been successful. But I could say I wasn’t tripping over it anymore, and at this point, I was just glad to have some help on the field.

  “Whatever man. Where you headed? You want to grab something to eat?”

  Trent cringed. “Usually I would man, but I’ve got this drive back down to the house.”

  “Drive back down to house?” I chuckled. “You’re not fooling nobody man, you’re trying to get back to that girl.”

  Brushing his hand over his head, Trent grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about man.”

  “The hell you don’t. Just make sure you don’t pull nothing. We need you healthy, head in the game, not neck-deep in pussy.”

  I laughed as Trent gave me a shove. “I’ll pull my weight nigga, just make sure you’re pulling yours.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, trailing off as something over his shoulder got my attention. My full attention went to Nicki as she approached the little rookie running back, Sanchez, with a big smile. She was in olive-colored dress pants, tailored to make her ass look just right, and a cream button-up tucked in, showing off her slim waist. Sanchez’s eyes kept dipping down to the open buttons on her shirt, and she either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t mind.

  I couldn’t tell from where I was, but I could imagine the enticing hint of cleavage he was being treated to, and it made me narrow my eyes. I bet she smelled good too – she always did – and this motherfu—

  “Damn, JJ. And you’re concerned about me having my head in the game?” Trent was cracking up, and his laughter took some of my attention away from Nicki. “The way you’re scowling down there at Cole talking to ol’ boy, I might need to be worried about you.”

  My head snapped back in his direction. “Wait, what?”

  He laughed harder. “Man, you’ve got a vein throbbing upside your head, all frowned up. Chill before she looks down here and sees that shit.”

  “I’m not tripping on that.”

  Trent smacked his teeth. “You not tripping on her, just like I’m “not” headed to go see my girl. Who you think you’re fooling, like you didn’t get sloppy ass drunk and pour your damn heart out over “Nicki” your rookie year.”

  “Oh I’m definitely tripping on her,” I chuckled, stealing one last glance at Nicki before I turned back to Trent. “I’m saying I’m not worried about Sanchez. Me and Nicki is a foregone conclusion.”

  “You’re confident about that huh?”

  I nodded. “Yessir. Just like I’m confiden
t we’re gonna whoop Tampa’s ass in this game.”

  “Well I ain’t mad at that,” Trent said, holding up his hand.

  I slapped palms with him, and we said our goodbyes.

  Instead of following him out of the practice facility, I turned around, looking for Nicki. I bit back a little surge of jealousy for the bright, easy smile she gave Sanchez as they parted ways, and even tilted my chin at him in greeting as he passed.

  Nicki didn’t look my way, just kept her ass swaying side to side as she kept on down the hall, looking at her phone. I followed, wondering what was going on in her mind. It was Saturday now – damn near a week since that kiss, and I hadn’t seen or talked to her since then.

  “Yo, Nicki!” I called, but her footsteps didn’t even falter – her heels just kept up their rhythm as she headed down the hall. Hell… she may have even started moving a little faster. “Nicki!”

  She stopped, looking away from her phone to glance over her shoulder. “Are you trying to get someone’s attention Jordan?” she asked, in a clipped, formal tone.

  I suppressed the urge to grin. “Uh, yeah,” I said, hiking my shoulders. “Yours.”

  She shook her head, sending the soft layers of her hair fluttering around her face. “You know, when I’m approaching someone, I usually get the best results from calling them by their chosen name.”

  I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my sweats as my eyes swept over her face. She was still so damn fine. Not the innocent, baby-faced pretty she’d been back in college when we met, but grown ass woman fine. “Aiight then. Cole.”

  She tossed her hair again, then propped her hands on her hips. “Yes?”

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask you what was up with the name change. You didn’t mind being called Nicki when I met you.”