Football Dick: A Sports Romance (Big Girls, Bad Boys, and Babies)

by Violet Blaze

  “You're assuming we actually get together,” I say and she gives me her oh please look which is kind of sad-funny since she has mascara bleeding down her cheeks and can't stop sniffling. “Listen, don't worry about Rhoden right now. This is about you and Scottie, and I'm going to make this right. If this was at all Walter—which, since he's a creeper is highly likely—then I'm going to fix it, okay?”

  Ariana nods at me as I wrap the blanket around my bare butt and go searching for clothes.

  She doesn't need to know that I have literally no idea how I'm going to do what I've just promised.

  My morning is spent making phone calls, searching for people who can get my story out. Honestly, it's not that hard to sell them an article about how Loud and Proud Big Girl Della Garland Dumps Multibillionaire for NFL's Hottest Star—especially if I promise them an exclusive photo.

  I'm starting to feel really good about myself when I get an actual phone call from the man in question.

  “This is over,” I tell him when I pick up, feeling high and mighty, like David facing Goliath, a cell in one hand and a laptop in the other. “We're finished, Walter.”

  “Della, I hate to burst your bubble, but I have entire teams of people whose job it is to ferret out things like this before they hit the public's awareness. I also have lawyers who can make sure those articles never see the light of day. I admire your effort, but it's not enough.”

  “You cost Scottie and Ariana their jobs!” I snap, squeezing my phone in my hand. “You can't do that. They're just normal people trying to live normal lives, Walter.”

  “As soon as you come to your senses, there are two highly lucrative positions waiting for your friends in the company. Think about this, Della. It's not just you you're hurting with this decision, it's everyone: your friends, your father, your sisters, even your boyfriend.”

  I feel my stomach clench tight.

  “Rhoden Richards' career depends on his ability to actually play football. I'm giving you a final warning: if I see him at your apartment again, it's over. Do you understand me?”

  I stare numbly at the wall as I remember Rhoden's story about the gang of guys with baseball bats. Somehow, I imagine that whatever fate Walter has planned for Rhoden is much, much worse. What can a guy with roughly sixty billion dollars in his back pocket get? The answer is: anything he wants.

  Walter hangs up on me before I get the chance to answer.

  Hal's at a magazine shoot on Friday, but I manage to snag her on Saturday, pulling her aside to borrow her phone. She's wearing this disgusting head to toe brown muumuu that I know my stepmother put her in on purpose. I try not to judge my twenty year old sister for letting her mother boss her around since I've essentially been letting my father do that my entire life. I think sometimes when you've got a wealthy family, it's easier to pander to their wants and needs than it is to head out and start your own thing.

  I'm really kicking myself for that right now.

  Listen guys, I know it's been a long while since I last posted, but I feel the desperate need to share this with you today. Hal is walking around in a floor length puke brown muumuu with cap sleeves and orange Hawaiian flowers on it. Yesterday, she posed in a thong with one arm barely covering her breasts. I have a hard time understanding my stepmother's dual issues of puritanical urges/exploitation of women's bodies.

  Also, even though she knows I'm pregnant, the second I walked in the door today, she said I looked a little chunky and might want to start a new exercise program. When I confronted her about Scottie's and Ariana's jobs, she said something so awful about them that I can't repeat it.

  She is a racist bitch, and I hate her.

  P.S. I WANT CRAZY WALTER TO DIE!

  I take a deep breath and shake my head to clear my imaginary blog post. If I was actually writing one right now, I'd put a recipe up there for a heartburn remedy because I have it in spades today. I can't tell if it's nerves, if it's the baby, or if it's my righteous rage toward Walter.

  “God, I need a sparkling water or something,” I moan as I sit down on Hal's bed and watch as she double and triple locks her door. Look what we've been reduced to: cowering in my sister's pink and white room like naughty teenagers.

  “Walter's, like, totally gone Big Brother on you, huh?”

  “Basically, yeah,” I say as I scroll through her contacts and clutch the piece of paper in my pocket that has Rhoden's number on it at the same time. Which do I do first? Call him? Because I really want to call him. Or do I call Walter's sister, Anise, and risk it getting back to the asshole in question?

  I decide to take the riskier route and call Anise Virgil.

  “Hey Hal, I've got a dope ass party planned for Monday night. Will the Wicked Witch of the East let you out of the house if I stop by?” I try not to laugh, but I kind of appreciate the fact that Hal calls her own mother by my chosen nickname.

  “Hey, Anise,” I start and I can tell she goes stiff, even over the phone. I can feel her stiffness from all the way over here. Aaaand that sounds really disgusting so forget I even said that. “It's Della. I need to talk to you about your brother.”

  There's a long pause as Anise thinks. I'm not trying to be rude, but I honestly believe after all the drugs and alcohol she's done, that she needs long pauses to think.

  “Are you going to be at the party on Monday?”

  “Considering I'm several months pregnant, probably not,” I say, and Anise sighs dramatically. I make sure I'm not gritting my teeth when I respond. “But I guess if there's something you can do to help me with Walter, then sure. Why not? Text Hal the details for me.”

  “Della,” she starts and then pauses. “Never mind. Just … I'll see you at the party.”

  And then she hangs up on me.

  I breathe out nice and slow and then look up at Hal's giant blue eyes.

  “Apparently, we're going to a dope ass party on Monday.” The confusion on my sister's face melts away into sheer bliss as she comes over to sit next to me. Stalker Billionaire Boyfriends she can't quite handle, but Halcy is always down for parties of any kind. “But for now, I need you to get out of here so I can use your phone to call Rhoden.”

  “Sure thing. Just don't masturbate on my bed because that's kind of gross, 'kay?” Hal stands up and swishes out of the room in her muumuu while I roll my eyes. What a brat. I wait until the door is closed and then nervously dial up Rhoden.

  I'm carrying his baby, but this is our first phone call. How messed up is that?

  “Hello?” I'm honestly surprised that he answers at all, considering the brutality that is an NFL player's schedule. Maybe he was waiting for me?! I suck back a breath and try to sound nonchalant.

  “Rhoden, it's Della,” I say and I like to think that he sounds pleased when he answers.

  “Hey, Della. Is everything okay?”

  “It … I don't know. I had some more trouble with Walter today.” Rhoden makes a noise on the other end of the line and he sounds pissed. Good. I kind of like that protective streak. It's cute without being creepy. “Listen, I might be able to talk some sense into his sister, Anise. I'm going to meet her at a party. I have no idea what—if anything—she can do, but it's at least worth a try.” I pause and curl my fingers into my sister's baby pink sheets. “Walter said if he sees us together, you won't play football anymore.” I pause again. “And I don't think he was talking about firing you. Anyway, maybe we shouldn't see each other until after I talk to Anise?”

  “Screw that,” Rhoden says as I blink stupidly at the closed door in front of me.

  “What?”

  “No. I already made the mistake of taking his threats seriously before. I won't do it again. Look, after I get back from Texas, let's meet somewhere neutral, someplace other than the apartment.” A warm flush works its way up my cheeks.

  “How about Anise's party?” I ask, trying really hard not to think about the masquerade ball. But I end up thinking about it anyway and then chuckle when I get really stupid ideas filteri
ng through my head about how we're having a lion cub, haha, and all that.

  “Is it one of those leather and latex things?” he asks and I laugh.

  “I have no idea, but I could find out for you and send you the details? Or rather Hal will be sending you the details since Walter seems to be watching me like a hawk.”

  “Done. My only regret then is that I can't see you until then. Della?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to know, I'll be thinking about you though. I have to go, okay? Call me if anything happens. I don't want that Virgin asshole anywhere near you. He might be rich, but if he's not hiding behind bodyguards, I can still beat the shit out of him.”

  There's a pause here where neither of us know what to say. It's not an I love you sort of relationship yet, so …

  “Au revoir,” I say and then hang up before he can answer back. And then I feel stupid because I don't even speak French. And maybe he thinks I'm a weirdo for not responding to the whole beat the shit out of him thing.

  Gah.

  This whole dating thing is going to be harder than I thought, isn't it?

  The next few days are awful, like molasses, just these sticky low flow oozes of time that drag on forever. I think I might have a problem because I can't stop thinking about Rhoden and his warm body pressed into mine, and his gigantic …

  I head over to Hal's before the party, some clothes shoved in a duffel bag so that she doesn't try to dress me tonight. I want to feel good about myself, so that means I should decide what I most feel comfortable in.

  Mostly, I stuff the bag full of colorful Kierstin Bowlin dresses and several different options for shoes. Shoes are easy when you've got a size eight foot; there's tons of choices. Now if that variety could just be expanded into size fourteen (or since I'm pregnant, I guess maternity clothes would be great) then I'd be a happy camper.

  When I get up to Hal's room and find her zipping a green and white muumuu up over a leather bodysuit, I start to get worried.

  “Is this one of those …”

  “Leather and latex things? It kind of is. Here.” Hal picks up a leather dress that looks like I could probably grease it up and get it over my big toe if I tried really hard.

  I point at the thing.

  “That's a size negative four, and I can't wear that.” I point to my tummy. “Lots of morning sickness. I'm not squeezing into a tube of toothpaste.”

  “Don't be silly, Della. This is your dress, your size, and the party has a dress code.” Hal flicks the fabric at me. “Now, put this on and don't let mom see you wearing it. Do you have a cover up in there? If not, I have some more tents if you want to go dressed as twins.”

  I take the leather dress and stare at it closely. It looks like real leather; Scottie would have a fit.

  With a sigh, I turn my back and slip off my clothes, putting the strapless bra I painstakingly purchased over the girls, and then sliding the dress on. Hal's right: surprisingly, it fits.

  But it also looks … ridiculous.

  “I look like a dominatrix who doesn't have any clients and who can't get any clients because she looks awkward as hell.”

  My sister rolls her eyes and throws my duffel at me.

  “Put the black knee-high boots on and grab a muumuu. It's time to go. You're not the only one meeting an NFL player at tonight's party.” Hal winks and stands up, leaving the room as I struggle into the boots and the aforementioned tent and follow after her.

  The only positive side to this whole thing is if I'm being forced to wear leather, then so is Rhoden.

  Now that is something I cannot wait to see.

  Hal drives us to the party in her red Jaguar, the one my dad bought her for her sixteenth birthday. My stepmom hates it—calls it a death trap—and my dad thinks it looks decrepit and outdated since it's disgustingly four years old. Who could possibly survive driving a car that's older than six months?

  I roll my eyes at the thought as Hal takes us slightly off the beaten path and into a neighborhood called Sunny Brae. It used to be farmland, but now it's home to sprawling mansions and celebrities trying to escape the grind of places like LA or San Diego. Arcata is growing, but it's still small-ish. That's what people like about it.

  “Whose house is this?” I ask, but Hal just shrugs because she hardly ever knows. Maybe it's 'Rochelle's' place again. Or someone like Rochelle, named but never met. I think these sorts of people might prefer it that way.

  I stare up at the stone fronted mansion as Hal finds a parking space in the massive circular driveway, complete with naked cherub fountain. Before we climb out, we both strip our muumuus and leave our purses in the car. Trust me: at these celebrity parties, nobody's looking to steal anybody else's purse. Plus, there are security guards on either side of the gate.

  I look around for Rhoden's truck, fully aware that he drives a brand-new Ford F-150 instead of a sports car, something that Ariana thought was adorable when she saw his Facebook post about it; Scottie couldn't stop complaining about the gas mileage. I spot it in the corner, near the hedges, and feel my lips breaking into an easy smile.

  When we get to the front door, the attendant waves us in without checking the list and my sister winks at him. Apparently, she's been here before.

  I clutch my arms over my chest and pretend like I don't feel half-naked, moving into the room of scantily clad partygoers and enjoying the slightly-less-obnoxious-than-usual-dubstep.

  “Are you okay by yourself?” Hal asks, starting to slobber when she sees her tight end(ed) boyfriend waving at her from across the room. “Because if not, I can totally scope out your baby daddy for you first.”

  “I'm fine, Hal. Go hang out with Deshaun.” I wait until she's about halfway across the massive entry before I shout at her. “And don't forget to use protection!”

  Although that doesn't always work, I think as I chuckle and watch my sister pretend to ignore me. I wait until she's hooked arms with Deshaun, and then turn my attention back to the other rooms on the first floor. There's definitely a lot of kinky things going on here, but it doesn't look as pervy as the sex swing party that Hal dragged me to that one time.

  I start moving through the partygoers, searching for either Anise or Rhoden. I'd much rather focus all of my attention on finding him, but I begrudgingly admit that Anise is equally important.

  I search the bottom floor first and don't see Rhoden anywhere, circling back around to the entryway and then realizing that the second floor's also open to guests. I manage to get up the steps in my boots without dying which is hugely impressive.

  Rhoden's upstairs in the hallway, leaning against one of the closed doors in a pair of leather pants and not a whole lot else. And when I say not a whole lot, what I actually mean is nothing else. Just boots and leather pants. His chest is bare and rippling with muscles as he turns to me and smiles, reaching out and opening the door to his right.

  “Della,” he says and my heart does this funny, little jittery thing that I haven't felt since high school. I move down the hallway in my boots, trying to pretend that I don't notice his sweeping gaze, the approval in his eyes, the upward tilt of his mouth.

  He moves inside and lets me into the room before closing the door softly and flicking the lock.

  “What kind of party do you think this is supposed to be? It's one of the weirder ones for sure. Did you see how many of those girls were carrying around feather dusters?”

  “I wasn't looking at the other girls,” he tells me honestly, eyes taking in the micro portions of the dress I squeezed myself into, looking pregnant and ridiculous. Only … Rhoden never looks at me like I'm ridiculous. “Did you find Virgin's sister yet?” he asks as he comes over to sit next to me and does that infuriatingly awesome thing with his knuckles down my arm.

  Goose bumps spring up in his wake.

  “No, not really. I was honestly just looking for you.”

  Rhoden lets his face relax into that sexy half-smile that I like so much, watching my hand as it slide
s up the leather leg of his pants. Oh. So that's why people like leather so much. That feels heavenly.

  “Oddly enough, I already had these in my closet.”

  “You had leather pants in your closet? You must come to a lot of these parties then, huh?” Rhoden shrugs his shoulders, the movement making his muscles ripple and bunch in a very enticing way. I reach over and trace the branches that come off his back and curl around his right bicep. “I'm just glad there are no sex swings at this one.”

  Rhoden raises his eyebrows at me and then points in the direction of the hallway.

  “You haven't seen the upstairs lounge area then, have you?”

  “Goddamn it, Hal lied to me again.” I sweep some fingers through my hair as I look at Rhoden leaning back on the bed, arms stretched out behind him. “How stupid is this? A pregnant chick in a leather minidress at a weird sex party? Doesn't get much more ridiculous than that.”

  “It doesn't have to be,” Rhoden says as he sits up and holds a hand out for me. “You're pregnant, not dead. It's not a crime to have some fun.”

  “I am so not getting in that sex swing,” I say as Rhoden pulls me to my feet with a laugh.

  “Maybe not that sex swing,” he says as he gives me a sexy eyebrow lift. “But if I installed one at my place …?”

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he takes me into his arms and presses my body against the hard lines of his chest.

  “Nobody here will tell on us if we have a little fun. Come on.” Rhoden pulls me out into the hallway and back down the stairs towards the dance floor. It's packed with people in barely there outfits, grinding and jiving to the crazy goth techno music that's playing right now. Whoever's hosting this party has giant bird cages hanging from the rafters of the soaring ceilings, and people are dancing in those, too. It's not quite as extravagant as the masquerade party, but no expense was spared. I recognize the DJ in the front from the best clubs on the plaza, some guy whose name is so ridiculous I can't even remember it anymore (kind of like most DJ names).