by Lexi Wilson
Kira knew me so well. She knew I’d come home right from the airport and not get anything to eat along the way. I happily buzzed her up, grateful both that she’d saved me the trouble and that she would take my mind off Barrett for a while – or so I thought.
We had gotten a meal started, broiling salmon and microwaving veggies in my kitchen, and I’d been telling her about the trip and everything I did in Colorado. We were standing in front of the oven with the salmon sizzling in the broiler when Kira got a word in edgewise and asked, “So...did you tell him?”
I paused mid-story and responded to her very natural question with, “You mean did I tell him about…”
“Yes, that. Did you tell Barrett he’s going to be a father?”
My shoulders slumped. “I didn’t,” I admitted. “I wanted to. I know I have to tell him. I know he has to know. But, every time I was ready to tell him... I didn’t.”
Kira was very concerned. “Why not?”
I went into the more personal parts of the story. How I’d been ready to tell him, only to find myself with a front-row seat to his sendoff of Kim. How he surprised me on my way to the spa after he’d been dealing with his father’s friend, which had got him to thinking about his parents and things in his life that I knew nothing about. There had just never been a right time to lay the news of his impending fatherhood on Barrett.
Kira was almost as concerned as I was that if I held off long enough, it was going to be evident to everyone that I was having someone’s baby, and then I’d have a different kind of face-to-face with Barrett, where he would demand to know what had taken me so long to tell him.
In the midst of explaining to Kira, I left out one other very pertinent detail. I didn’t tell her that I’d let Barrett take me to bed.
I didn’t tell her that this time wasn’t just a slam-bam-thank-you Bama in a bathroom, but an actual night in bed with him that we had both really, really enjoyed. I didn’t even begin to go into that. I couldn’t find the words to tell her, and even though I knew Kira wouldn’t judge, something in me just didn’t want to deal with however she did react.
Much as I knew I needed a friend’s concern and help, I had this strange and undeserved shame about the whole thing. When I was drunk, I had a sort of excuse for what I’d allowed to happen. This time, I couldn’t write off my lack of impulse control to the effects of alcohol. When I went to bed with Barrett in Boulder, we were both stone cold sober and shockingly horny for each other. I had let it happen and I didn’t have anything out of a bottle to blame for it. This time it was all on me, and I wasn’t ready to admit that right now. Not even to my caring, concerned friend.
As we sat in my kitchen and ate, we came around to a subject that finally, successfully distracted me from thinking of Barrett. There was something else I’d have to deal with, now my very lucrative little publicity jaunt to Colorado was over.
“Anyway,” Kira pointed out, “tomorrow’s back to regular life, eh? Squad practice.”
My brows drooped while my eyes rolled at the thought of it. “Really. I won’t even have a day to rest up after my trip. I’ll have to get right to it.” I picked at my salmon, dreading what I’d soon have to face--cheerleading practice with a bun in the oven. This was a hell of a spot for the head of the squad to be in, and it would only get worse as time went on.
“Oh, Kira,” I worried, “how am I supposed to deal with this in the condition that I’m in now? Especially with...you know, what you were telling me about before?”
“The whole leader thing,” said Kira knowingly. “It’s a hell of a time for a bunch of envious women to be jockeying for the top spot.”
“I don’t need this in my life now,” I said, pained by the thought. “Maybe I should just give up my place on the squad. How am I going to be a cheerleader when I get a big baby bump? I ought to just step down and let the rest of them fight it out, since they want it so damn much. I can get by for a while on the income I’m getting from PowerShot. There’s another bump I’ll be getting that’ll mean I’ll have to give the whole thing up anyway.”
“Is that really what you want?” Kira asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I fretted. “You know, I was proud to be a Rangers cheerleader and really proud to have gotten to be the head of the squad so fast, even though it was never going to pay a full-time living. It was something. It was special. It made me feel special.
“But now... I don’t know. Because of what I let happen with Barrett, I’m going to have to rethink my whole life and nothing is for sure.”
“Wrong,” said she pointedly. “There is one thing definitely for sure.”
“What?” I asked, needing very badly to hear something positive. Anything positive.
“You’ve got somebody who’s always on your side, no matter what. You’re a damn good cheerleader and this squad was lucky to have you leading us. No matter what the rest of those jealous princesses think, you made us look good. Whatever happens, whatever you want to do, even if you want to chuck the whole thing, you’ve got my support.”
We touched hands across my kitchen table. No matter how any man may make you feel, there’s no good feeling to compare to the support of your best girlfriend.
After dinner, I decided I wanted to be alone for a while and lie down. Kira understood and excused herself, but gave me a long hug – the kind of hug you only get from your best girlfriend – before she let herself out.
With a heavy sigh, I turned from my door and headed for the bedroom where my luggage was waiting to be unpacked. That, I knew, was the least of the unpacking I would be needing to do.
Chapter 18
Barrett
There was a big, empty room at Rangers headquarters, where sometimes the entire team would get together for a pep talk from the coach, especially at the beginning of the season or when some other really big, important game was coming up, like the Super Bowl we’d just won.
It was also the room where the cheerleaders sometimes practiced. Sometimes they’d go through their moves at the stadium, but when there were new girls who had routines to learn, or when it was the off-season, this room was where they’d get together.
Headquarters also had its own gym. I didn’t have to use the gym there. I had my pick of the biggest, fanciest gyms in Dallas. But today, I came to headquarters to work out. Because I knew cheerleading practice was starting, and the memory of the way Bama had just shrugged off the night we had together in bed was eating away at me. I couldn’t brush aside the way she seemed to brush the whole thing off.
What really bothered me was that sexist as it may seem, she had brushed it off the way a guy would do. She had acted like a man, who could just fuck for fun because it felt good and then go on his way.
But...the thing was I was totally unprepared for the way Bama acted coming home from Boulder. The more I thought about it – and I couldn’t stop thinking about it – the more it totally upset everything that I ever thought about myself and my relationship with women.
To me, women just didn’t act the way Bama acted. The way she was...my mother used to have a word for it. Cavalier. She’d been so cavalier about the whole thing. And for my own part, I was used to “the morning after” with women being a totally different thing.
Yes, a lot of the women I screwed would aggravate the hell out of me afterwards, wanting it to turn into something more than just one night, and wanting it to “mean something” besides how much fun it was. But that was what I was used to, damn it. Bama made me feel like something was seriously out of place, like something was just wrong not only with my life, but with the world.
That was why I took my workout to headquarters: because the cheerleaders were practicing. Because Bama was there.
After working out and hitting the showers, I went with my gym bag to the big empty room and looked in through the window in the door, and there they were, all in their uniforms with the boots and the short skirts, with Bama out in front.
To tell you the truth, I�
�d never spent a lot of time watching the cheerleaders. Part of it was that there was supposed to be that boundary between us players and them, which as you know I mostly didn’t cross. Mostly.
And part of it, I guess, was because of what you’d call hierarchy. There was a hierarchy or a pecking order on sports teams. Players stood at the top, and quarterbacks like me stood at the very top. Everyone else – the players who mostly sat on the bench, the referees, the cheerleaders – fell into place below us. It was the world we lived in, and it was how things worked. And, everyone accepted it. We didn’t mix with the cheerleaders except at particular times.
What I was looking at through that little window in the door, then, was something that I hardly ever bothered to watch: the cheerleaders going through their moves. If they were any other beautiful women in Dallas, any other beautiful women in the world, I’d pay them way better attention. But, they had my attention today because there was Bama, doing her steps and shakes and kicks and jumps, with the others following along. They were as much of a well-oiled machine going through their paces as we players were.
Of course, the machine I was looking at now had much nicer parts.
At the end of the routine they were doing, Bama turned around to face the other girls and tooted on her whistle, the sign that it was time to take a break. At her signal, the squad broke up, heading for the rows of benches that were set up on one side of the room – all but Bama.
She just stood there for a second, then hunched over with her legs apart and her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths. She straightened up then, but put back her head, wiping her brow, still breathing deeply. Even from where I was standing, I thought she looked like this was taking more out of her than it usually did. She looked more winded than I’d ever seen her look, not that I’d ever really paid that much attention. For all I knew, this was the way she always looked during practice.
But still, something struck me as being a bit off. I couldn’t quite explain it. She didn’t just look tired. She looked pale – more pale, maybe, than I thought she should look.
While they were on break, I thought, might be the time to step in there and talk to her for a minute. The other cheerleaders wouldn’t mind. I knew they thought I was hot and were always glad to see me. I’d just go in for a bit and maybe take Bama aside and have another word with her, try again to figure out just what was going on with her.
But when I put my hand on the handle of the door, I hesitated. I’m not a hesitant person, usually; you don’t get to be an NFL quarterback by being indecisive. But something stopped me just going right in there to talk to her. It suddenly occurred to me that I was acting the same way with Bama that so many women had acted with me. As a matter of fact, right now I reminded myself of…
The woman that I saw coming up to Bama while I hesitated.
It was Glenda, and she looked like she had a bone to pick. She looked aggravated, even pissed off. She looked kind of like she was calling Bama out. What the hell?
The sounds of their voices were muffled with the door shut. So carefully, I opened the door just a crack to see if I could hear a little better what this was all about.
Glenda was a little taller than Bama and a lot louder. (She’d been loud enough that one time in bed, that was for sure.) It struck me a little strange that the head of the cheerleading squad would be quieter than one of the other members. But, the two of them really seemed to be having it out. Or Glenda seemed to be really having it out with her. It was almost like she was trying to intimidate Bama.
But, Bama stood her ground and talked back, and gave as good as she got. I actually thought some kind of catfight was about to break out on the cheerleading squad and I might have to go running in there and break it up. Were the girls always like this? I wondered. You’d think I’d have heard something about it if they were; a thing like this between women never stays under wraps.
Glenda bitched at Bama, “You’re slowing down the squad! You’re calling the moves like you’re not even paying attention! And, you’re sleepwalking through the drills!”
“I’m calling it the way I always have!” Bama shot back. “If you’re bored with the moves, we’ll come up with some new ones! You want to come up with something? You think you can make up something better? Be my guest!”
“Anybody here could come up with something better!” Glenda bitched on. “And, you’re still slowing down! Maybe you’ve gotten tired, honey. Or, maybe you’re getting to be a little above it all, now you’re the big spokesmodel for PowerShot! If cheerleading is beneath you now, why don’t you just step aside and let somebody who cares take over?”
I was sure Bama was going to try to scratch Glenda’s face off as she got in her face. “Don’t you dare tell me what I do and don’t care about. You have no idea what it is I care about!”
“Then why don’t you go on to that? You’ve been squad leader for a while now; if you’ve got better things to do, you can just do on and do them!”
I really expected this to turn into something ugly, but one of the other cheerleaders that I knew was Bama’s friend – Kira, I think, was her name – came over to them and took Bama by the shoulders and led her off to take a break on the opposite side of the room from the fuming Glenda. Kira said something to Glenda over her shoulder as she led Bama off, and Glenda just glared at them like she wanted to skin them alive.
Frankly, I was a little relieved at Kira’s intervention. Bama had stood up to Glenda well enough, but I really didn’t like the look of her. Where she seemed a little winded before, she appeared to be a little shaky now. I didn’t think our little publicity outing to Boulder had been all that stressful, but could it have taken more out of Bama than she thought? I wondered.
I had a hard time believing she’d have trouble going from that to this. She was younger than I was and in good health. And, I’d never seen her stressed-out before. The whole scene continued to make me think something was off. What could it be?
A voice from behind me cut me off from thinking about any of this anymore. “Barrett? You don’t usually come to this part of the building. I’ve been looking for you.”
Spinning around to look, I recognized both the voice and who was talking. Trying to look nonchalant, and seeing that she didn’t care one way or the other, I said, “Hey, Vera. You needed me for something?”
“It’s not me. It’s Quinn. He wants you in his office, right away.”
“Oh. Sure,” I said. “Quinn’s office, on the double. You bet.”
I walked away with Vera, leaving Bama and whatever weird, mysterious thing it was that was making me so suspicious in the big room behind us.
_______________
From across his desk in his office, Quinn got right to the point.
“I’ve been talking back and forth with the PowerShot guys about all the video feeds, the social media posts, and so forth from the Denver and Boulder events,” said Quinn. “There’ve been a lot of notes to go over from the corporate and marketing folks and the media managers.”
“And?” I replied, honestly curious.
“Frankly...there have been some concerns about you and Bama,” said Quinn, very up-front and candid. “They’re not sure we’re really getting the results they’re looking for.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. And, something made me want to speak up for Bama. Maybe it was just because of what I’d had to watch her dealing with in her practice, but something made me say, “Listen, it’s probably just because Bama’s not used to all this. You know, going from being head cheerleader to being, like, the face of this national brand and all that. It’s a whole different kind of attention. It was just her first time out, you know. She’ll get better.”
Quinn surprised me. I was not ready for what I heard next. He leaned back in his seat and said, “Truthfully, Barrett, it’s not Bama. It’s you.”
My jaw dropped. “Me?”
“Yes, you. The notes that I saw all say the same thing. You and the camera usually love e
ach other. You’re usually one of the best players in the NFL when it comes to publicity things like this. But, this time...everybody found you a little bit forced. A little bit unnatural. One note even called you wooden.”
Inside, I actually wanted to laugh at that. Wooden? I’d never gotten a complaint about being “wooden” in my life. In fact, the times I was at my very best were always when I was “wooden.” So to hear a criticism like that now…
Stopping myself from breaking out laughing, I stayed serious. “I don’t understand,” I said. It was an honest answer; I really didn’t.
“Well, the general opinion seems to be that you weren’t relating to the camera as well as you usually do at the Denver event because of who was with you. And, I think I know the reason why. Don’t take this the wrong way, Barrett. You know what I think of you as a player and as a person. But, I don’t think you really seem to work very well with women.”
This really startled me. “What do you mean, I don’t work well with women? I’ve done modeling shoots with women before. I’ve never had a problem with it.”
“Maybe not before. But there was something a little off about you this time.” Again there was this sense of something being off. Quinn continued, “I think I know what it is. The other times you’ve done commercials and so forth with women, the women were kind of like... I don’t like to put it this way, butset dressing. This time, for the thing in Denver, you were working with a woman and it was as much about her as it was about you. I think maybe you froze up because of that.”
I didn’t like where this was going, at all. I didn’t think the camera was picking up any unease from me about working with a woman that I had screwed. But, sometimes we put out signals we don’t know we’re putting out. If the camera really had picked up something, that was why Quinn had called me in. Damn!