Love in Play

by Zuri Day

  It was a little after seven PM when the plane landed on its private strip in Van Nuys, California. Jake watched as Dominique shook a sleeping Justin awake and after once again thanking their hosts, the three of them piled into Jake’s SUV. He left the parking lot and turned onto Van Nuys Boulevard heading for Sepulveda. He’d had a wonderful time with Dominique and Justin, and wasn’t quite ready for the weekend to end. He reached for Dominique’s hand, entwined his long, thick fingers with hers. “Thank you for coming, baby. I had a great time.”

  Dominique leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Me, too.”

  “I saw that!” Justin groggily mumbled from the back seat.

  Dang, I thought he was asleep! “Saw what?” Dominique asked innocently, as she turned and looked at him.

  “You kissing Coach. Ha! I saw it!”

  “It was just a little thank-you kiss on the cheek,” Jake replied. “Like the kind that Ashley gave you after last week’s game.”

  Justin’s eyes widened as he looked from Jake to Dominique. “Coach!”

  Jake laughed. “Uh-huh, I saw you.”

  Dominique looked between the men, giving a surreptitious wink to Jake for successfully switching the focus away from their kissing. “Who’s Ashley?”

  Silence.

  “Justin ...” Dominique used the authoritative mommy voice that said he’d better answer, drawing out his name in an implied threat.

  Justin made a face and looked out of the window. “One of my girlfriends.”

  “One of ... !” Dominique looked from Justin to Jake and back to Justin again. “How many girlfriends do you have?”

  “I don’t know.” Justin shrugged and then added matter-of-factly, “They all like me.”

  Dominique and Jake exchanged looks before Jake changed the subject. He and Justin started talking football but Dominique didn’t really hear them. She was too focused on the past moment’s revelations that, one, Justin had a girlfriend whom Jake knew about and she didn’t and, two, her eleven-year-old son was obviously still very interested in the opposite sex. She knew that men and women were different but considering how boys were the last thing on her mind when she was eleven, she was finding it hard to wrap her mind around Justin’s casual comment that they all like me.

  “Dominique, did you hear me?”

  Jake’s question pulled Dominique from her reverie. “No, Jake. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you wanted to stop off and grab a bite to eat before I dropped y’all off.”

  “I want a burger!” Justin yelled from the back, casting his vote for Jake’s idea.

  Dominique looked at her watch. If she got to the office within the next thirty minutes or so, she could put in a solid four hours of work. “I can’t, Jake. It’s getting late and I have to—”

  “Never mind,” Jake interrupted. “It’s cool,” he added.

  Dominique took one look at his countenance and felt that it was anything but.

  They reached Dominique and Justin’s home. Jake pulled into the driveway but did not turn off the engine.

  “Get your things, Justin,” Dominique said. “And don’t forget to thank Jake for what a wonderful time we had.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Justin said, after he’d followed Jake to the trunk and pulled a small carryon and duffle bag out of it.

  “You’re welcome, Justin. And remember, we’re going to keep this little trip between us, right? Don’t want the other players feeling bad that they didn’t get to go.”

  “Right.”

  The two men exchanged a pound.

  “Go on in, Justin. I’ll be there in a minute.” Dominique watched her son until he’d disappeared behind the front door. Then she turned to Jake. “Thanks again, Jake. I meant what I said earlier. I had a wonderful time with you this weekend, the best time I’ve had in years.”

  Jake’s eyes raked over her, pausing on her lips before returning to meet her eyes. “When am I going to see you again?”

  “When do you want to see me?” she asked playfully, even though Dominique knew what he was really asking. He was wondering if work was always going to continue to come between them, if he’d always feel that he was taking a backseat to her next deadline, photo shoot, or hoop that she had to jump through. The trouble was that Dominique didn’t know the answer to that question. By the look in his eyes she also knew that she’d have to find one soon.

  “Tonight.” Jake’s answer was serious, not playful at all.

  “You’re insatiable,” Dominique said, hoping to stroke his ego since tonight she wouldn’t be stroking anything else. “You’ve already kept me up the past three nights. Don’t you need some sleep?”

  “Like Diddy says, we can sleep when we’re dead.”

  “Which won’t be long if I don’t get rest. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Jake nodded and gave Dominique a hug before pulling out of her driveway. As he entered the boulevard, he tried to ignore the emptiness he felt, tried to justify why Dominique couldn’t spend more time with him. He knew one thing: he wouldn’t be happy just seeing her once or twice a week. His sexual appetite had been voracious since he got turned out at thirteen and with Dominique’s hot body, it was even more so. But could she make room for a demanding man like him in her life?

  Jake knew that part of the reason his brother’s marriages were successful was that they all worked on them, just like Shawn and Taylor. She just doesn’t get it, he thought with a tinge of sadness. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want a part-time lover. Jake sat up straighter with the realization of what he did want—a full-time wife.

  42

  Dominique worked at the office until almost midnight, editing until her eyes and brains simply refused their continued cooperation. She went home and fell asleep before her head hit the pillow. It seemed mere minutes went by before she was hearing the jazz instrumental from her alarm. With eyes closed, she swatted at the clock, hitting the snooze button twice before finally forcing herself from the bed at seven A.M. It was now eight o’clock, and Dominique was the first one in the building, latte with double espresso shot in hand. She’d need this one and the one Reggie would bring in at nine to make it through the day.

  She put down her purse and briefcase and immediately opened up Outlook on her computer. After scanning the task and to-do bar, she clicked on her inbox. One e-mail was marked URGENT. It was from Solveig in Stockholm. Dominique clicked on the link and quickly read the three succinct sentences: Call Mirabelle as soon as you get this. She’s on your side. Wants to talk to you ASAP.

  Looking at her watch, Dominique calculated that in Paris it was five o’clock in the afternoon. Dominique reached for the phone and within minutes heard Mirabelle’s lilting accent in her ear.

  “Chérie, you are calling from work!”

  “Yes, Mirabelle. Solveig said to call you as soon as possible.”

  “But it is early there, no?”

  “Eight o’clock,” Dominique said with a yawn.

  “I hate to see you working so hard, but you are doing the right thing.” Mirabelle’s voice lowered, and took on a conspiratorial tone. “François is crazy; he is obsessing with replacing you.”

  Dominique rubbed her forehead, suddenly feeling even more tired than she was a few seconds ago. She’d worked too hard the last five years to be dealing with this crap. She’d already paid her dues and felt that now all she should be seeing were the rewards of her labor. Instead, she saw a fight brewing. “What has he done now?”

  “Flown over a candidate for an interview with some of the investors, an editor from an Italian fashion magazine.”

  Dominique sat up straight. “Who?”

  “A puppet whose strings he can pull.” Mirabelle told Dominique the editor’s name. “You intimidate him, Dominique. In your presence he feels like a fool. This bimbo arrived last night and I believe that her and François shared more than dinner, if you know what I mean.”

  “But I thought he was gay?”

  “He�
�s whatever to whomever ... and I hear he likes whips and chains.”

  “Please!” Dominique interrupted. “Spare me the details, Mirabelle.”

  Mirabelle’s tinkling laughter poured through the receiver. “Anyway, she is here, and he doesn’t know that I know it. Her visit is very hush-hush but Mirabelle makes it her business to know everything.”

  “That man has had it out for me from the beginning. I’m sick of feeling his daggers in my back.”

  “That’s why I’m calling—to warn you. But also to tell you don’t worry. That I have—how do you Americans say—a trick up my sleeve?”

  “I appreciate that, Mirabelle. But François has some of the other investors in his back pocket. They really listen to him.”

  “Don’t worry, chérie. When the time comes, they’ll listen to me. Take down this name. He’s a dear friend of mine who lives in Los Angeles and he’s ready to come on board with enough money to shut up François and his gang.” Mirabelle chuckled again, clearly enjoying the messiness. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, his name is ...”

  The rest of the day went by in a whirlwind as Dominique worked to keep her attention on the matters at hand. But Mirabelle’s phone call had affected her more than she’d let on and now, for the first time since being hired into the best job of her life, she felt the real possibility that she could lose it. She’d called and left a message with Mirabelle’s friend but so far he hadn’t called back. By five o’clock she’d had all of Capricious that she could handle and began clearing off her desk.

  “You’re going home, Miss Dom?” Reggie asked, as he walked into her office and placed several pieces of correspondence on her desk.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God!”

  Dominique fixed Reggie with a questioning look.

  “Girl, you can’t let these people kill you. Don’t those French fools know that the Emancipation Proclamation has been proclamated?”

  “I believe the word is ‘proclaimed,’ Reggie, and yes, they know.” Not wanting to upset him or have him fearful of losing his job, she chose not to share the earlier transatlantic conversation. “These extra hours are all about me. I’m working on a little project.”

  “If I were you, I’d be working on a big project—about six foot five and about three-hundred pounds to be exact.”

  Dominique smiled. “Good advice, Reggie. That’s where I’m off to now. You’ve been putting in the hours, too. Why don’t you knock off early, take Quinn out to dinner?”

  “Girl, Quinn is getting on my nerves. I’m getting ready to drop him like he’s hot.”

  “What happened? Oh, never mind.” Dominique turned off her computer, placed the papers Reggie had brought her into her briefcase and stood. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she said, letting Reggie go in front of her so that she could lock her door.

  “You need to blow something else,” Reggie murmured.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, Miss Dom. You go on and have a good night now, you hear?”

  Thirty minutes later Dominique was sitting in one of Jake’s large leather recliners. He was standing behind her, massaging her neck and shoulders.

  “What’s got you so uptight?” he asked, kneading a particularly troublesome spot.

  “Work.” Dominique dropped her head as Jake worked his way down her spine.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t worry about it, baby. I can handle it.”

  Jake stopped massaging Dominique’s neck. He came from behind her, pulled up the ottoman and sat directly in front of her. “I know you can handle it,” he said, taking her hands in his. “But I do worry about it. I worry about you and the weight of the world that is putting those kinks in your shoulders. You’re a strong woman. I get that. But what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m here for you, to support you and protect you. You don’t have to handle everything alone.” He paused, his stare unflinching. “I love you, Nick, and want to help make life easier.”

  Jake’s unexpected declaration almost moved Dominique to tears, and his offer to help was her further undoing. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to depend on that she’d forgotten how it felt. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally uttered, a single tear running down her cheek.

  “What happened, baby?”

  Dominique told Jake about François Deux, the earlier phone call with Mirabelle, and how she actually feared for her job. “I’m Justin’s sole provider,” she finished. “And I’ve worked damned hard for this company. That’s why I have to do whatever it takes to protect my investment and keep my job.”

  “No, baby,” Jake countered. “You are not Justin’s sole provider and you don’t have to kiss anybody’s ass to save your job. I’ve got more than enough for the three of us. If anything happens ... I’ve got you.”

  43

  It was Championship Saturday and the Hurricanes and Panthers were about to square off for winner take all. Their records were equal: 8 and 1. Because the Hurricanes’ sole loss had been at the Panthers’ paws, the Panthers had home-field advantage. The game was taking place at their Van Nuys stadium but at least half of it was bleeding purple and gold as the Hurricanes’ supporters gathered en masse to cheer on their team. Dominique was sitting with Kathy, Ian, and other parents who’d become friendly over the past eight weeks. Reggie sat beside her and next to him was Alejandro, Reggie’s drop-dead gorgeous new flavor of the month. The Hurricanes took the field and half of the crowd stood up and cheered, stomping their feet and chanting, “Tear it up! Tear it up!” The Panthers followed suit and the other half roared, “Panther pride! Panther pride!” The boys ran on the field and began warming up. The excitement in the air rivaled that of the Super Bowl.

  “Okay, team,” Jake said, once the boys had finished their exercises and huddled around him. “This is it. This is where we leave it all on the field. We’re good. But so are they. So what’s going to make the difference in who wins this game?”

  “Hurricane heart!” was the boisterous reply, spoken in unison by team and coaches alike.

  “I want you to keep it one hundred on every play. We’ve got sixty ticks to get it done, gentlemen. And I want you to play every one of them like it’s the fourth quarter with two minutes left and we’re trailing by seven. Travis, I want you in Brad’s face on every play. I want you on him so tough that he thinks you’re his shadow. Understood?”

  Travis nodded. He’d been watching tape on the Panthers’ star quarterback all week.

  “Justin, we want you to block for Duane like your life depended on it the whole first quarter. Lull them into complacency so that when we toss in the trick play, they won’t know what hit ’em. You feel me?”

  “Yeah, Coach,” Justin said, nodding along with the rest of the players.

  “Keep your eyes on the ball. Defense: beware of every opportunity to strip. Guard your man, tear up that line, and go after those interceptions. Offense: hold the line, run your routes with conviction. Hit your marks, and don’t be intimidated by anyone or anything. You boys go out there and give it all you’ve got because believe me ... we’re going to give you all we’ve got.”

  Jake reached his hand into the circle. The players followed suit.

  “Who are we?”

  “Hurricanes!”

  “What do we do?”

  “Tear it up!”

  “On three: one, two, three.”

  “Hurricanes!”

  Jake clapped his hands together. “Let’s go to work!”

  Both teams took to the field with fervor. The stands buzzed with excitement. Dominique fiddled with her purple and gold cashmere scarf, more nervous than she’d ever thought she’d be for grade-school football. Ian was a one-man cheering section, yelling out encouragement every five seconds: “Atta boy,” “good job,” and, of course, “Tear it up!” At the end of the first quarter the score was tied—7 all. By the end of the second, the Panthers were up by 7. S
he wondered why Justin had spent so much time blocking. They’d only thrown him the ball twice. Watching them run into the locker room at halftime, she wanted to run in there after them and tell Jake to throw the ball to her son! She also wanted to give her baby boy a hug and tell him that everything would be all right. Imagining the look of mortification on his face if she did so made her laugh out loud.

  The third quarter started with a bang. The Hurricanes’ punt returner fielded a short kick and ran it back sixty-five yards for a touchdown. The score was tied. Seven plays later, the Panthers had the answer. The Hurricanes fumbled the ball at the Panthers’ twenty-yard line. Their cornerback recovered and ran it in for seven. As the final seconds of the third quarter ticked down, everyone’s eyes went to the scoreboard—Panthers: 21, Hurricanes: 14.

  “Shake it off, gentlemen,” Jake barked as the team gathered around him. “We’re in this hunt—new quarter, new mindset. Hurricane heart, right?”

  Various responses proved the team agreed.

  “We’re in a fight, a good one. But we’ve got this!” He turned to the offensive coordinator who’d help bring this team to the championship. “Shawn, call the play.”

  “All right,” Shawn said, his green eyes glistening with excitement. “We’re going to kick it into high gear. First down, we’re going to run the Big Mac. Patrick, make sure Kareem has time to throw the ball. Justin, on second down we’re running the Hurricane Switch.”

  Justin nodded, his heart pumping adrenaline like crazy, his hands clammy with nerves.

  The boys took the field and ran the Big Mac. Patrick guarded his man but Kareem overthrew his receiver. Jake prowled the sidelines, a stoic, calming presence, while Shawn yelled orders and the line coaches waved their boys into position.

  Second down. The boys took their places at the twenty-yard line. A subtle look passed from Kareem to Justin, who nodded slightly before crouching into position.

  “One, seventy-seven, seventy-seven, hut, hut!”