by Hazel Parker
I didn’t even try to make up an excuse.
“I’ll be there in five,” I said.
“Good man,” Marcus said. “But just to be safe, man, I’m gonna leave you with some company. Reanna?”
One of the girls slid off of Marcus and walked up to me, shamelessly entering my room and taking a seat. She had on a red cocktail dress that revealed all but her naked body. I was pretty sure that I recognized her from years prior, but I wasn’t sure if I’d ever slept with her. It wasn’t to sound arrogant, just a reality that being an athlete gave you; like I said, low-hanging fruit that was more like ground-level fruit.
“See ya up there, boss,” he said. “Soon, but hopefully not too soon.”
He cackled to himself as he left, letting the door’s weight bring it shut and giving me some privacy.
Unfortunately, with another woman in there.
And damnit, as bad as it was to admit this, Izzy’s lack of communication and the doubts in my mind about whether this was legitimate or not were causing me some problems.
“Not too soon, he said,” Reanna said, crossing her legs and revealing some smooth, well-defined thighs. “You know that means there’s no rush, right?”
Goddamnit, every part of my body wanted this woman. I had held myself back from having sex out of a feeling of wanting not to sleep around while I was trying to pursue Izzy, but if that was a one-way chase…I hadn’t had sex in nearly a month and a half, which was the longest I’d gone since I graduated high school. College was college, and the pros were the pros; it took more of an effort not to get laid than it did to do so.
And now, I was fighting the very thing that I’d done so often.
“I know,” I said. “But that’s my brother up there, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Really?” Reanna said, tugging at her hair and her dress. The longer you stay in here, the more likely you are to make a dumb decision. “I think if he’s your brother, he’d understand if you were just a little late. Say, twenty or thirty minutes late.”
She uncrossed her legs, and the flash was long enough to show that she had no underwear on. Reanna had never come to make small talk, but the audacity was a little ridiculous. Thankfully, in a weird way, it was making me less attracted—something this easy wasn’t going to be as fun as someone who at least pretended to make it a little challenging.
But biology and sex drive didn’t care about ease. They just cared about release. I had to turn away from looking at her, ostentatiously so I could get myself a bottle of water.
And then, I heard her get up. I heard her walk over to me. And then I felt her curves press up against my body and reach around my stomach. She didn’t touch my crotch, but she made it very clear with how close her fingers came that she wasn’t touching me to let me go.
“You make this so hard, Nick Ferrari,” she said. “But that’s OK. I want it as hard as possible. I want it so hard.”
Jesus Christ. I whirled around and came face to face with a girl whose lips were inches from mine. Her hips pressed against my stiffening cock. I was at the ultimate make or break point.
I could have fucked her right there. Izzy seemed to be passively stating she wanted nothing with me, and even if she did want something with me but was just having a rough time, there was nothing wrong with me fucking Reanna, right? It wasn’t like Izzy and I had become committed partners. We were single, and single male athletes had opportunities others did not.
But…
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Let’s just go upstairs to the party.”
“Oh, baby, the party’s right here.”
I just pushed—gently—Reanna aside, grabbed my wallet and phone, and left her in the dust. If I hadn’t been so bold—perhaps so rude, better said—I wasn’t sure that I could have lasted much longer.
But for as long as Izzy remained a possibility, for as long as there was hope there…well, crudely thought, Reanna would always fuck me, even if Izzy and I dated for three years and then fell apart. But I couldn’t legitimately go to Izzy after sleeping with a roadie who had met me in person for all of two minutes.
When I got upstairs, Marcus cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Brother, you weren’t actually supposed to come up here,” he said with a guilty laugh. “I was trying to bring the party to you, you know what I’m saying?”
“I do, and I appreciate the thought. But…”
I couldn’t say it out loud. Not with all my teammates around. Marcus, to his credit, didn’t call me out even though he thought I was insane.
“Really hope you got your mind right on this one, brother,” he said. “Cuz ain’t no one in this room who would think you’re sane for what you did.”
As if to further emphasize the point, Reanna brushed right by me, not so much as even looking at me, as she found her next target and put her hand on him. I didn’t need to watch another three seconds to know my teammate would not have any of the same hang-ups I did.
“I hope so too.”
* * *
The Next Day
Whenever we landed after a long trip, whether a quick hop down to play the Los Angeles Dodgers or a longer trip like this, everyone headed for their cars immediately to get some peace and quiet. We all loved our brothers, but we also valued space and not seeing each other sweaty and naked all the time. There was something to be said at some point for just getting away from it all.
But I might as well have been alone because I only lasted about fifteen more minutes at the party before bed. Izzy and I had texted some in the morning, but the lack of spark still wasn’t there. The only good news was she had agreed to meet me on Saturday; whatever came of that was going to be a much easier outcome for me to accept than playing this stupid game of text and unspoken and unheard words.
I got off the plane, grabbed my bags, and made a beeline toward my Tesla, ignoring even Marcus. I got to my car, slammed the door shut, and checked my phone. Twenty new texts? The fuck? I’d checked it right when we landed and had caught up. Did I just get traded and I’m learning about it here?
“Damn boy, your new girl is smokin’.”
“Who’s the lady????”
“Lookin’ suave with the fire.”
The hell…
Oh no.
I knew what they were talking about, and even as I pulled up my web browser to check, even as I prayed that my suspicions weren’t true, I already knew they were. There was no way that everyone from former college teammates to my siblings were texting me about something other than Izzy.
And sure enough, there on TMZ: “Nick Ferrari’s New Ride? New Season, New Fling for All-Star Outfielder!” And beneath the outrageously awful headline was the photo of Izzy Saunders and I leaving Downtown Cocktail Lounge from a month ago in Sacramento. The only—only—good thing was that Izzy’s name was not included, but anyone who knew her would now know…
And it wasn’t helped by the fact that she was holding my hand, looking very excited to be by my side, and leaning into me. There was no plausible deniability here; there was no bullshit excuse I could have someone from the Giants PR team write up for me. If this was admitted into a courtroom, it would be considered foolproof evidence.
“Fucking hell…”
I wondered what had changed that had caused them to release this photo now. I did remember getting emails asking for bribes to keep the photos hush-hush, but given that they weren’t exactly pornographic or offensive, just private, I’d ignored them on advice of the Giants’ staff. So maybe they’d waited and hoped that I would bite before timing it just around opening day.
But now that I saw it on the front page of TMZ’s website, now that I knew that Izzy would have to suffer…
And to say nothing of that psychotic ex she mentioned on the date. Now he’s going to know who she’s with. My own publicity agent is going to murder me here.
I couldn’t go home right now. If I did, I was going to send off some nasty emails to TMZ that were going to get me in
trouble. I didn’t want to spend time with the team—as much as I loved them, they were going to razz me when I needed comfort. But I knew quickly where to go.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to Ferrari Wines. Even though it did not open until late afternoon, I knew at least Brett would be there, maybe Layla if she wasn’t traveling. My father would be too, but there was no chance that I wanted to speak to him. I needed a peer, not a father.
I had held off—perhaps stupidly—on texting Izzy, thinking maybe she wouldn’t notice, but I knew as soon as I stopped that it was a weak excuse; I didn’t need to go any further than the fact that she worked in marketing to know I had no shot of keeping this from her.
“Hey,” I wrote her. “You probably saw TMZ posted the photo. I’ll work to get it removed. I’m sorry—I’ll do everything I can to keep your privacy.”
But I knew there was nothing I could do, and Izzy probably knew that, too.
I headed inside, my walk a stomping gait, and found Brett waiting.
“Well, someone looks like he struck out every at-bat.”
“Save the smart-ass quips, Brett,” I said. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Dad is visiting the uncles in Vegas. Apparently, some business is going on.”
Strange. We don’t really have any wineries or big clients out there. Whatever.
“And Layla?”
“She’s somewhere, reaching out to stuffy European men. What’s up with you? Seriously, you look—”
“TMZ posted something about me and the lady,” I said.
Brett’s face went pale. He had nowhere near the exposure and publicity that I did, but anyone in the Ferrari family had dealt with the media at times, and we all knew the rule our grandfather had handed down. Be polite but be opaque; violating the latter would get you in more trouble than the former.
“Shit. Come on. Let’s go figure it out.”
But the problem was, I didn’t think there was any “figuring it out.” The world now knew about Izzy and me.
And unfortunately, the world was not an especially merciful place when it uncovered a dramatic “secret” like this.
Chapter 10: Izzy
The issue wasn’t that I didn’t like Nick.
I liked him a lot. I actually had come to appreciate his constant messaging and kindness; once I realized that I didn’t have to repeat my ugly relationship with Malcolm, that I would eventually settle in to liking the opposite, then I looked forward to hearing from him.
It was that I had no idea how the hell our lives were supposed to work together.
First, the fact that we’d met in a work setting was awkward as hell, although to some extent, that could be circumnavigated. I’d just have to avoid taking assignments with the Giants or with him.
The biggest issue was the level of publicity we each had. I desperately avoided anyone knowing where I was; I’d deleted social media accounts for a reason, and it wasn’t because I wanted some generic privacy or disliked big tech companies. Nick, meanwhile, couldn’t drive down the highway without someone honking at him and asking him to hit a home run that night. And somehow, those two levels of public and private were supposed to work together over a lifetime?
It was like asking one person who believed in saving themselves for marriage to date someone who believed in polygamy right from the get-go. Sure, it could work…but was it likely? Only a fool would bet on it.
And yet, Nick was so sweet, so nice, so handsome, so hot…
I almost wished I had slept with him. But, then again, if I had, I’d probably be acting even more of a fool than I was now. Sex had made me ignore a lot of red flags with Malcolm.
I sat at my desk, reading through emails, trying to arrange a speaker series for the downtown Sacramento hackathon. Jordan and Rachel had not yet visited for the day, though they had been visiting a lot less frequently recently. I think they understood my stress—
“Hey.”
So much for that.
I turned in my chair with a business smile and saw Jordan with a concerned look on her face.
“I am just going to say this straight to you,” she said. “Did you know TMZ posted a photo of you and Nick Ferrari?”
Oh…oh no…
“Just to be clear, I don’t have a problem with it, but I know…”
Jordan cut herself off. I turned to my computer, went to TMZ’s website, and looked in horror at the computer screen. It was me, all right. It was Nick, yep. It was the two of us the night we had gone to Downtown Cocktail Lounge. It was the night I’d almost slept with him.
And seeing that photo as it was, the whole fucking world probably thought that I had slept with him. Including…
“If you need to go home, Izzy, I’ll understand—”
“I…I…”
I couldn’t find the words. This was the worst thing ever. Malcolm would find out. Malcolm didn’t even need to scour Facebook or any social media site; he just had it handed to him. Even if he didn’t check TMZ, one of his asshole friends would find out and tell him. He’d come for me…he’d come for Ryan…he’d come for us and hurt us…
My chest felt like it was tightening. It became difficult to breathe. My vision felt like it was narrowing to a tunnel. Panic struck me. Malcolm was coming to the Bay Area. He was going to find me. He was going to hurt me. He might even kill me.
“This can’t be, this can’t be happening…”
“Izzy,” Jordan said. She stepped inside and shut the door of my office. “Whatever you need to do, whatever steps you have to take, I will help you. I’m not saying this as your boss. I’m saying this as someone who knows what you went through.”
The thought was appreciated, but my panic had such momentum, it didn’t matter what Jordan said. Malcolm was going to take Ryan, take him away from me. I’d never see him again. Would he hurt the boy; would he kill him? He was capable of it…Oh fuck. Oh shit.
Jordan sat across from me and gently held my hand. It was, somehow, just what I needed to arrest the rising panic. It wasn’t a panacea, but it did enough to slow down and eventually stall out the fear. Slowly, very, very slowly, I came down. I tried not to cry, but I knew that was going to happen at some point.
“Izzy,” Jordan said. “We’re here for you. I will make calls to TMZ. I will do what I can to get this down.”
I nodded and gasped for air. My rational mind was starting to come back. I could breathe, albeit still with some difficulty. I could make sense of what was happening and what might happen.
Unfortunately, sobering up only made me realize that the worst-case scenario actually had a disturbing chance of happening.
“He’s going to come here,” I said, my voice far too steady to indicate it came from a state of paranoia. “He’s going to hunt Ryan and me down. And when he does…”
I didn’t finish. I didn’t need to. In my desk drawer, my phone was vibrating so much one could have easily confused it for being an actual call. Jordan squeezed my hand.
“We take it one step at a time,” she said. “You go home and do whatever you can to relax. Pick up Ryan if you have to. I will reach out to TMZ and get this situation resolved as best as I can. Work can wait. You take care of yourself.”
“You’re sure?”
“I can order you to go home if you prefer,” Jordan said with a compassionate smile. “This is about your life, not your livelihood. OK?”
I smiled. And then I did something that may not have been “professional,” but still felt appropriate. I hugged Jordan.
“Thank you,” I said.
And just moments later, Jordan had walked me to my car, wished me well, and sent me on my way.
Unfortunately, if going home had meant to relax me, it seemed to have the opposite effect.
Suddenly, I became so paranoid that I could have passed for a conspiracy theorist. I felt sure that people were following me in their cars—oh, was that a Tesla following me? I think I’d seen that black Honda Civic trailing me a few times. What abou
t…
None of them ended up actually following me, of course. But every time a car followed me for more than one stoplight, I found myself trying to get a closer look at the driver, trying to see if he fit the profile of Malcolm. I stared at every car that drove by, wondering if Malcolm was suddenly going to attack me.
This was all logically stupid, of course. If he’d gotten out of jail in Southern California and had learned about me being in the Bay Area the instant that the TMZ article had come out, he still wouldn’t have made it here yet, even if he had flown on a private jet somehow. I had at least until later this afternoon before I had to start worrying.
But panic didn’t listen to logic. Fear didn’t believe in logic. The true fear for your life, the truly devastating worry that someone was coming to, at best, manipulate you and emotionally abuse you, and at worst, kill you, didn’t care about rationality, likelihoods, or probability. It treated everything as an unmitigated risk until proven otherwise.
I pulled over halfway home, needing to calm myself. I still had not checked my phone since the article came out. I loathed the idea of reading all of the messages that had come through, but I knew I’d have to do it sooner or later.
I had so many messages I had to scroll down on my phone just to get through all of them. Former high school classmates I hadn’t spoken to in years, colleagues, Rachel, Nick, my parents…wait, Nick had…
I opened his message and read it closely.
“Hey, you probably saw TMZ posted the photo. I’ll work to get it removed. I’m sorry—I’ll do everything I can to keep your privacy.”
Well, I certainly appreciated that I had multiple people working to get the photo down. Nick and Jordan, of all people, had to know that it was a futile attempt; only money would work, and even then, even if TMZ took it down, there wasn’t going to be anything that actually removed it from the internet. Malcolm could find it no matter what.
I wanted to call Nick, find comfort in him, feel the security and safety of his arms. It was, somewhat tellingly, perhaps the safest place I could think of. Malcolm was by no means a scrawny guy, but in a fight between him and Nick, the winner was clear, even when you accounted for how biased I was in that assessment. Perhaps there was some bias in there, but in the time with Nick, I had grown to believe there would be no chance it would be a real fight.
