I lean closer to the glass, carefully watching him. He seems okay.
He was lined up to receive the ball but ended up blocking for Levi, who snatched it up after an awkward bounce on the kickoff. The Thunder’s special teams players adjusted immediately and swarmed them like a pack of wild dogs.
It’s not a good start.
Things get worse in the first series, as Darren gets sacked twice and then overthrows Flynn, who has his man beat down the sideline for what could have been an easy touchdown.
Sadie lets out a groan.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Unfortunately, the defense doesn’t do any better and can’t stop the Thunder from marching straight down the length of the field and scoring.
The rest of the first half plays out in the same manner. There are a few bright spots where I feel hope. Levi has a couple of solid runs, but we just don’t capitalize and score.
Flynn makes two nearly impossible, one-handed, diving catches that are awe-inspiring. And again we don’t score.
“Wow, that was tough to watch. Fingers crossed that Coach can make some adjustments during halftime.”
“I knew this would be a tough one, but we’re getting trounced,” Sadie says, handing me a glass of wine. “This will make it less painful.”
“Is there any cake? Chocolate cake would really help.”
But unfortunately it doesn’t. It seems that nothing can make this game shift in our favor.
I watch in ever increasing anxiety as the Thunder seem to get faster and stronger as the game goes on in the second half.
To their credit, the Pirates never give up. Darren spends more time getting up from the ground than he does on his feet. But he still drags himself up every time.
Levi runs into a brick wall posing as the Thunder’s defensive line over and over again. He doesn’t run for a single first down the entire game. But his determination is inspiring to watch. He just keeps running into that wall hoping for a different outcome.
Flynn has pretty much been in a thirty-minute-long street fight. The whole secondary squad has been taking cheap shots at him throughout the entire game. They grab, push, pull, yank, and punch at him from the start of each play to the start of the next one. He strikes back at every blow and burns each of them downfield. But no touchdowns are made, and the scoreboard says the same thing as the looks on their faces while walking into the tunnel and back to the locker room. They got their asses kicked.
It was a blowout.
* * *
I wait for Flynn in the same place I did after last week’s game. When I catch sight of him walking toward me, he looks deflated. The Pirates suffered through a miserable game. It was a brutal battle to the end with dismal results. They just couldn’t put points on the board.
You win some, you lose some.
I’ll keep that saying to myself. I have a feeling Flynn wouldn’t appreciate hearing those dismissive words after the severe beating he just endured. He’s such a fierce competitor; he always plays to win.
When he reaches me, he drops his bag and draws me into his arms. I freeze for a moment, thrown off kilter by his unexpected embrace. He leans down, tucking his face in my neck, and a ragged sigh escapes him. I feel his warm breath fan over my skin and my arms close around him.
Wanting to console him, I stroke my hands up and down his back in a soothing motion. I wish I could take away his disappointment.
He finally draws back and straightens up to his full height. “Hi.” He smiles ruefully.
“Hi.” My lips curve.
“Thank you for that,” he says. And by that, I’m assuming he means the hug.
“No worries. I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you were hoping for.”
“Yeah, me too.” He shoves his still damp hair back with a thrust of his fingers.
“You guys gave it your all if that helps.”
“Nothing makes a loss feel better.”
I tip my head toward the exit. “Why don’t you walk me out. I need to head home.”
“Sure.” He picks his bag up and we walk outside. The air is cooler than I anticipated and I shiver. He puts his arm around me, drawing me closer. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I was in the box with Sadie, so I didn’t bother bringing one.”
“Where’s your car?” he asks.
“I took the train. It’s easier than having to park in the main lot.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I say, and he guides me toward his vehicle.
“Nadia, just get in my truck.” He sounds exhausted, so I comply. As soon as we’re on the way to my house, it occurs to me that I’m supposed to be following my plan to spend less time with him. I didn’t do a good job of it last night, so I need to do better starting now.
13
Flynn
I pull into Nadia’s driveway and park the truck.
“Thanks for the ride home.” Her hand is already on the door handle.
Shutting down the engine, I jump out and pocket my keys. In a few strides, I catch up with her.
“You don’t need to walk me to the door.”
“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I appreciate how polite you are, but it’s unnecessary,” she continues.
“We’re almost to the door now,” I say.
“For future reference then.” She tugs her key ring from her purse and unlocks the door. But she doesn’t push it open. Instead, she leans back against it, blocking me. She’s made it pretty obvious she doesn’t want me going inside, but why?
“I know you said you have paperwork to go over, but I’d like to come in for a bit.”
She nods emphatically. “Yes, I do. Lots and lots of paperwork. Tonight’s not a good time.”
“I had a shit night and I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. Why don’t you call Kendra and see if she’ll head to your place?”
“I texted her earlier. She’s out with friends.” She grinds her top teeth over her bottom lip, avoiding my gaze. “Nadia,” I husk her name. “I’m going to be brutally honest here and probably hate myself for it tomorrow.” Her dark eyes fly to my face. “If I leave here, I’ll be tempted to go out and get banged up. That’s what I usually do when we lose a game. I drink too much and find someone to fuck.” Her face twists into a pained expression, and I know my past lifestyle is distasteful for her. I throw my hands up. “You may not want to hear it, but it’s the truth.”
“I promise I’m not judging you for your past. I’m sorry you felt like that was the only outlet for you.”
“It still is.” She already said she has work to do, and Kendra is busy. If I meet up with the guys, I’ll only be asking for trouble. I can’t risk my job in the name of blowing off steam.
She touches my arm, drawing my attention. “No, it’s not. Come on inside and I can make something for us to eat. I think I even have some wine and beer.”
“I don't want to get in the way of your work,” I tell her.
“You won’t be.” Turning the knob, she opens the door. Stepping backward into the foyer, her gaze remains on me still standing on the front stoop. “Flynn, get your ass in here,” she mockingly orders.
I grin, glad that she brought humor to the situation. “I thought you’d never ask.” Following her, I close the door behind me and pause to soak up the welcoming feeling her home offers. It’s just as strong as the first time I was here.
Slipping her shoes off, she sets her purse and keys on the small table. I slide my shoes off too. “Let’s head to the kitchen and see what I can scrounge up.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m starving.”
“I bet,” she says, hurrying along. I lag behind a bit so I can enjoy the sight of her ass and long legs wrapped in tight black jeans. Tugging the large fridge door open, she disappears behind it. “You must work up quite an appetite when you play.”
“For sure,” I agr
ee.
I hear the sound of her rummaging around before she reappears with an armful of ingredients. She sets them down on the counter and spins around. “How do sandwiches sound? I’ve got turkey, cheese, and roast beef.”
“Honestly, anything is fine. I’ll be happy with toast at this point.”
“I think we can do better than that. I have pickles and tomatoes too.” Opening and closing cabinets and drawers, she grabs everything we need.
“What can I do to help?”
She points to the island. “Get yourself a drink and go sit down. It’s easier for me if I can make them without you in the way.”
Laughing at her blunt reply, I grab a beer from the fridge and settle onto a metal stool, facing her. I silently observe as she cuts a loaf of French bread into pieces. “Do you like mayo and mustard?” she calls out.
“Yes, please.” I sip the cold beer and let my thoughts drift to what it would be like to come home to such a welcoming atmosphere all the time.
What would it be like to have someone who cared about my happiness and went out of their way to make sure I was taken care of at the end of a hard day of practice or after losing a game?
And how would it feel to love someone more than football? To love them above all else?
I can’t say. I have no personal experience when it comes to monogamous relationships. This past week with Nadia is the closest I’ve ever come to being in one. The strange thing is, I’m not hating spending so much time with her. In fact, I’m enjoying every moment—maybe even too much.
Hanging out with Nadia is comfortable and fun. She’s brainy but still relatable, and physically, everything about her is alluring.
“Take as many as you want.” There are sliced tomatoes and pickles in a small bowl in the center of six sandwiches on a platter. She sets plates out for each of us and places a large bowl of potato chips on the marble slab.
“Nadia, you’re an angel. Thank you so much. I didn’t want you to go to so much trouble.”
“This is nothing. It’s kind of nice to have someone to feed. Usually it’s just me.”
Adding tomato, pickles, and chips to my sandwich, I take a bite. It’s so good, I take another and can barely chew all the food in my mouth. Nadia titters as her dark chocolate orbs view my obvious enjoyment. She scoops up a sandwich and takes a bite before nodding.
“Delicious, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Good call on the sandwiches. Win or lose, from now on, I’m coming here after every game.”
“I guess I better stock my fridge in preparation,” she replies pragmatically. It doesn’t seem like she dislikes the idea.
All conversation ceases as we focus on eating. I do my best impression of a vacuum cleaner, sucking down five of the six sandwiches while she barely puts away one. When I’m finished, I pat my stomach and expel a satisfied sigh. “Thank you so much. That really hit the spot.”
She waves her hand, dismissing my praise. “That was nothing. Wait until I make you a real meal.”
“When is this happening? How long do I have to wait?”
“How about we see what your schedule looks like in the next couple of weeks,” she suggests, sliding from her stool. She collects both our plates and heads toward the sink.
“That works. Although, I’m going to look forward to that meal more than you realize.” Picking up the platter and my empty beer bottle, I bring them over. She opens the cabinet beneath the sink, pointing to a recycling bin for me to drop the bottle into. “We could plan it for when I have an away game. We’re usually back between eight and nine.”
“Would you be up for a late dinner?”
“Cooked by you?” I question.
“Mmhmm.” She moves to the fridge, extracting a beer for me. She removes the cap before handing it over.
“Fuck yeah. I mean, yes, please.” I wink. “What are you making?”
“It’ll be a surprise. Do you like Indian food?”
“I like all food. Especially when it’s prepared by a beautiful woman.”
She rolls her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”
“I’m beginning to realize that. What does work on you?”
“What do I find irresistible in a man?” she asks.
“Yeah. What is the most important trait you look for?” I’m not sure why I’m asking her this; call it curiosity.
“Let’s go sit on the couch. We might as well be comfortable if we’re going to play twenty questions.” She leads the way through the open floor plan and we sit at opposite ends of the couch. Turning to face me, she sits sideways on the cushion. “There are a few things that a man must have that are important to me. One: He has to have a purpose in life.”
“Wait, what do you mean by purpose? Do you mean he has to be employed or do you mean he should be passionate about something?”
“The former is nice, but I’m actually referring to the latter. I think everyone should be passionate about something. It makes life more fun. For me, it’s my work. I love what I do, and how much my business has grown reflects that. I get a thrill when I negotiate a really great contract for an athlete.” She smiles.
“Your eyes sparkle when you talk about your work,” I say.
“They do?” She’s surprised.
I nod. “Your love for what you do is obvious.”
She clears her throat and shifts her weight like she’s feeling uncomfortable. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“Okay, back to the second thing you look for in a man.” I gesture for her to continue.
“Two: He has to be loyal to me. I want a partner who always has my back, no matter what. Unfortunately, that kind of loyalty is hard to find.”
“You’re not just speaking about being loyal as in being faithful, right?” I ask.
“That’s a given. If he can’t keep his dick in his pants, then forget about being with me. But I’m also speaking of loyalty on a deeper level. I want someone willing to go to war for me—figuratively anyway.”
“I could be wrong, but it sounds like you’re looking for someone who’ll stand by your side in good times and in the tougher times too. Someone you can rely on for anything you may need. Someone who is a true partner. Isn’t that what the core of every marriage should be?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want.” Her luminous eyes look awed, as if she didn’t expect me to understand what she meant.
“What about the third?” I prod her to go on.
“Three: He has to want children.”
“That’s it? Does it matter how many?”
“Not as long as I can have at least one,” she replies.
“You really want kids that badly?” I question.
“Yes, I’ve always wanted to be a mother.”
“You better get going then,” I tease, and she presses her lips together.
“Shut up, Flynn.”
“I’m just kidding.”
“You’re not wrong, though. If I got pregnant right now, I’d be thirty-six when I gave birth. I’m running out of time if I want a few children.”
“I guess you can’t really plan to have a baby. You have to see what happens in your future. Maybe once we’re done with our arrangement you’ll meet the perfect guy.”
She shakes her head with conviction. “Who says I need a guy?”
“Well, you kind of do if you plan to get pregnant,” I tell her. “The ole penis in the vagina theory. Some refer to it as the birds and the bees.”
“Not if I’m artificially inseminated.”
It takes a lot to shock me, but she got me. Good too. My mouth falls open. “How does that even work?”
“There are clinics that specialize in that service. Men donate sperm and their personal information is on file. You can choose them for their height, hair color, eye color, or whatever criteria is important to you. You don’t know who they are, though. It’s anonymous.”
“So, you’re seriously considering this as a viable option?”
“Of course
I am. It’s probably my only option. I actually made an appointment for sometime in December, but I’ll need to reschedule now.”
“How much does that cost?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose up. “A lot.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you could find a man to give you his sperm for free.” I grin. “I’m just sayin’.”
She laughs. “The sperm isn’t the problem. What guy would want to knowingly get me pregnant and then have nothing to do with his kid? At least if I use artificial insemination there’s no man to worry about.”
“Yeah, but fucking is much more fun.”
14
Nadia
“More fun, yes, but then I’d be stuck sharing my child with someone I barely know. And what if I didn’t like him as a person? Then I’d need to worry about him being a negative influence on him or her. It’s much too complicated.”
“I see what you mean. But it’s not like you’re doing it tomorrow,” he says and then frowns. “You’re not doing it tomorrow or anytime soon, are you?”
“No.” My lips curl into a small smile. “I can’t very well be dating you and get pregnant at the same time.”
“Not unless you want people to assume I’m your baby’s daddy.”
“Uh, no, thanks.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know, I’d be a great dad,” he defends.
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I was thinking about how awkward it would be if people thought we had a child together.”
“That might be less awkward than if you had a child alone,” he says, tripping my anger.
“Flynn, that’s an outdated way of thinking. Women can do whatever they want and they don’t need a man by their side.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Before you bite my head off, let me explain what I meant.” He angles himself toward me on the couch. “I know women are strong—no, I know you’re strong--and can raise a baby alone. When I said it might be less awkward if you had a man by your side, I was referring to the amount of speculation that will arise when you do get pregnant. Naturally, people will wonder who the baby’s father is, and any man you’ve spent time with will be fodder for the gossip sites.”
CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 Page 9