Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

  “Goodnight,” I said to him, proud that my voice was firm.

  “No,” he disagreed. “But it will be, soon.”

  5

  Caz

  I spent the entire ride back to my apartment thinking about Jamie. Fine. I spent the ride back thinking about sex with Jamie. Jamie was wild in bed. Small and muscular, she marathons sex like nobody’s business, and we’d gotten into pretty intense acrobatics…

  In the shower, I imagined Jamie’s mouth on my dick, and I came in thirty seconds. That night, I dreamed of Jamie. In my dream, she was on my college dorm room bed, wearing nothing but my letterman jacket. She spread her legs wide and crooked her finger at me. But when I stepped forward, I couldn’t quite reach her. The bed kept moving farther and farther away from me… and a submarine was firing off a missile…

  It was my phone. The blaring Red Alert ring tone meant that my agent was calling me. I blinked, checking my clock. It was only seven AM. What the fuck?

  “Hey,” I said, pressing the send button. “What is it?”

  “PR problem.” My agent didn’t sound happy, and I shook my head, trying to wake myself up.

  “What happened?”

  “You were photographed last night, Caz. With someone who wasn’t Karissa.”

  It took a minute for his words to penetrate. Then I cursed. “Where is it posted?”

  “It’s hit a bunch of outlets. Pick your favorite.” I got up and went over to the computer, typed in the URL for Barstool Sports, and, sure enough, there was a grainy, dark picture of me in the corner of Louie’s holding some petite, dark-haired chick’s hand. Thank god, Jamie’s hair was in her face. She was impossible to identify. I let out a string of creative curses.

  “Care to tell me who that is?” my agent asked when I was finished. I wanted to tell him to mind his business, but my PR was his business. “A girl I used to date in college. I ran into her yesterday and took her out to dinner. We were just catching up.”

  “What do you want me to tell the press? Because I’ve gotten at least seven calls for comments since last night…”

  Last night? Oh jeez. If this went up last night, that meant that Karissa probably had a hold of it.

  As if thoughts had summoned her, someone began banging ferociously on my front door. “Hang on,” I said to my agent. “Someone’s at the door.”

  I got up, aware I was dressed in only a pair of boxers. As I opened the door, a flood of Spanish invectives poured into the hallway, loud enough to wake the neighbors. I hung up on my agent and tugged Karissa into my apartment, slamming the door shut behind her and taking a step back as she flew at me.

  “Bastard!” she said. She looked half-crazy. She had no makeup on and wore jeans, a designer sweatshirt, and a ball cap pulled low over her face. “How dare you make a fool of me?”

  “We are not together anymore!” I said, bewildered. Holy crap. Had she flown in this morning from New York? What on earth…

  “Not together!”

  “We broke up,” I reminded her, and then I amended, “I broke up with you.”

  “Yah! Well no one told the press that! And now I look like a total fool!” She paced the foyer of my apartment. “You can’t just throw away two years of a relationship because you feel like it!” She was crying now, and not her usual dry sobs, but real, fat tears. They were streaming down her cheeks, and she looked furious and helpless.

  I felt like a total cad.

  “We had something, Caz. We had something great, and now all of a sudden, you’ve decided you’re sick of me…”

  “Karissa,” I said. I wasn’t going to be guilted into remaining in a shitty relationship. “You and I are not good together. We haven’t been happy for a while …”

  “The press is having a field day. I look pathetic! You’ve made me look pathetic.”

  “Fine!” I said, throwing my arms up. What did she want me to do? “I’ll call them right now and set it all straight. I’ll tell them you broke up with me...”

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket, but I wasn’t expecting what Karissa did next. She snapped her hand out, chopping at my wrist so hard that my phone flew out of my hands and crashed onto the ground. The screen cracked. “What the fuck!?” Now, I was yelling.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said, her voice breaking. “Then I’ll look like a bitch! Your star is on the rise! You’ve got this fancy new contract, and I’m only walking in four fashion week shows! Now, I’m humiliated all over the news.” She started to cry loudly and sat down atop one of the cardboard boxes.

  I felt terrible and helpless. She was really upset.

  “’Riss,” I said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “What do you want me to do?”

  She looked up at me then, her eyes rimmed red from tears. “You owe me this season,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. “After all I’ve been through, you owe me time in the player’s box with Becca Barnes and all the other Angels she invites to watch the games. I’ve waited two years for you to make it big. You owe me the press.”

  I backed away from her. Unbelievable! She wanted to use me!

  Karissa got up and stalked after me. “This is good for you, too!” she insisted. “To be dating a model? To be constantly in the papers? Men want to be you, and women want to date you. You’ll put fans in the stands, Caz. If I’m in the box, it’ll look good for both of us.”

  I was shaking my head, but she continued. “I don’t care who you sleep with,” she said. “Sleep with whomever you want. I don’t care. But you owe me this season. At the end of the season, we can announce our breakup. It’ll be mutual – nobody gets hurt.”

  She sounded like my agent. His words rang in my ear. “You don’t want the negative attention before the season even begins. You have to think of your career. Get the outlets to focus on your football, not your love life!”

  I swore, and Karissa stopped speaking, staring at me, her eyes pleading. I swore again. They were both right. I had to focus on my career, which meant that now wasn’t the time to publically break up with Karissa.

  “Fine. But I’m not lying. The media hears nothing from me about us. And you don’t say anything either. I’m not confirming we’re together when we’re not. But I won’t publically announce the split.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Karissa, looking relieved and a little smug. I stared at her. She was planning something. Part of me wanted to take back the promise I’d just made. But I knew I was overreacting. What would it hurt for people to think we were still together? I knew we weren’t. That was what mattered.

  6

  Jamie

  When the phone buzzed next to me on my desk, I hoped it was Caz. I wanted him to call me and explain what the hell was going on. I’d seen the latest news outlets. I knew about the photo of us, and I’d read about the insinuations that he’d stepped out on his model girlfriend. But that wasn’t the worst part. And the worst part wasn’t googling photos of him and Karissa Kruise together. The worst part was…

  I grabbed at the phone. It was Fernanda. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She sounded nervous. Fernanda had picked up the pieces after I’d dumped Caz the first time. I’d called her on my way home from the dinner, and she’d advised caution. “I know you still have feelings for him,” she said. “But what if he’s the same old, one-track minded Cassidy Woods who forgets about you because football is more important?”

  “Maybe he is the same. But what if I’m different?” I’d asked her. “What if I don’t need him hanging around and mooning over me anymore because I have my own life to live?”

  “Maybe you’ve both changed,” Fernanda had allowed. “Or maybe neither of you has.”

  “Jamie,” Fernanda said, calling my attention back to the current conversation. “You okay?”

  I took a deep breath. “You saw the photo this morning?”

  “Which one? The one of you at the restaurant or the one of Karissa Kruise leaving his apartment this morning wearing a Patriots hat?”

/>   That had been the worst part. I was stuck between rage and a deep, deep sorrow.

  “I never pegged Caz for a cheater,” Fernanda said.

  “Me either,” I said. “I guess he has changed since college. Fernanda, he kissed me. Really kissed me.”

  “Some guys don’t consider that cheating,” she said.

  “Well I do.” Angry. I was definitely more angry than sad. “They asked him who I was. Did you read that? His agent said I was a friend from college.”

  “I guess it would have upset people if he were going out with the ex-girlfriend from college instead.” Fernanda. Always the pragmatist.

  “I was an idiot to go out to dinner with him.” And I was exhausted from all the emotional highs and lows of the last few hours.

  “You’re not an idiot,” Fernanda assured me. “You’re not done until you’re done. And you don’t sound done. You don’t sound like you’re over him. Sometimes it takes that second try to really get over someone.”

  “You’re right,” I said softly. “I don’t feel over it, and it feels bad.”

  Fernanda sighed on the other end of the phone. “You need to distract yourself. We’ve got practice tonight and tomorrow morning, and if you suck, Coach will start someone else.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I’ll see you at practice.”

  “Hang in there, chica.” We hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Caz didn’t call me. He didn’t even text. And it’s really hard to get over something when it hasn’t been resolved. Part of me wanted to grab my phone and call him, demand an explanation. But my pride wouldn’t let me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I was upset.

  But that also meant I was checking my phone every few minutes. It also meant I was a distracted mess at practice. Part of me hoped that Caz wasn’t texting me because he wanted to come clean in person, so I kept watching the sidelines and the box seats. I missed passes and lagged in the runs; even the coach checked in on me after my third failed corner kick. “What’s going on Anderson?” he’d demanded, frustrated. “You’re playing like a second-string high schooler!”

  After a terrible night’s sleep and a terrible Sunday practice, Fernanda dragged me out into Boston so that I wouldn’t be home checking the Sunday afternoon football scores. While we were out, I kept checking my phone until she took it from me. “If we didn’t have practice tomorrow morning, I’d take you and go dancing,” she said. “You need a distraction.”

  Instead, she took me out to dinner and didn’t drop me back off at my place until eight o’clock that evening. “Turn your phone off and get some sleep,” she told me.

  “Yes Mom,” I teased. But I was grateful for her intervention. It’s good to be distracted from your misery. And sometimes, you just have to make a decision. Tonight, I’d decided to put Cassidy Woods out of my head. I felt better as I watched an Episode of Game of Thrones and settled into bed with a book.

  That was when my phone rang. Caz. His number blazed across the screen. I didn’t pick it up. He didn’t leave a message. But the appearance of his name had broken the spell. I picked up my phone and used it to check the Patriots and Dolphins score. 24 to 17. And Caz had caught a touchdown and run for 90 yards. A great game by all accounts. Every single New England sports news outlet was gushing about the Pats’ latest pickup.

  I got a terrible night’s sleep.

  * * *

  I awoke in the morning to a missed text message. Hey, LG. You see the game? Hope you’re good. Call me back.

  Fat chance. I was really angry now. And yet, it was his response that allowed me to finally put my phone away. Monday’s practice wasn’t as terrible as the other two hand been, and when I got home that night, I had two missed text messages, a missed call, and a voicemail.

  What time is practice tonight?

  Take you out after?

  Well, clearly not anymore. I didn’t need to listen to his voicemail.

  7

  Caz

  “Checking to see if Soccer Chick got back with you?” Vic Ferguson slapped me on the back, nearly making me drop my phone. I was frustrated enough to glare at him.

  “Take it easy, Woods!” said Vic, backing up with his hands raised. He still had his pads on, and one of his hands had a helmet in it. “I ain’t gonna rib you, man. You just seem distracted.”

  I sighed and ran a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. I wasn’t used to having to chase after someone. But Jamie wasn’t texting me back. I hadn’t told Vic about Jamie, which meant Burke must have. Dick.

  “What is it?” asked Burke, rounding the corner wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. The man was absolutely huge. I wondered, absently, how much I’d have to bench to get that big. “She’s not texting you back?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I don’t blame her,” said Burke, whistling as he headed off to the shower. “Did you tell her you were still dating that model? If not, dick move, man. Dick move.”

  Damn. That was it. Of course. Of course, Jamie would have seen those stupid articles about Karissa leaving my house.

  “Gotta fall on your sword, man,” Vic said. “What are you gonna do?”

  I knew what to do. Whenever we’d had exams, we used to stay in and study, and Jamie would order Asian takeout. She had her favorites: dumplings, sushi, and drunken noodles. I had to call a Thai place, a Japanese place, and a Chinese place to get all the food delivered. But when Breakers’ practice let out, I waited outside the locker room.

  Jamie was always quick to get ready, so I wasn’t surprised when she was the first one out. She’d showered, but she looked like she was heading home. She had on a pink crew-neck sweatshirt and a pair of leggings that revealed every single inch of muscle in her toned legs. Her hair was wet and slicked back off of her face. No makeup either. I don’t know why, but that got me going. She looked ready to curl up on a couch, and I wanted to climb on top of her.

  “Hey, Little Girl!” I called. “Jay.” She looked over and stopped walking.

  Oh man. If looks could kill. Jamie didn’t even look pissed, she just looked annoyed. Like I was a fly in her ear.

  “I don’t know if you got my messages…” I started, but she cut me off.

  “Caz. I don’t feel like talking to you right now. I’m tired and hungry.” She blew past me.

  “Hey!” I called, running to intercept her. “Jamie, come on. I know you’re pissed. Can we talk about it?”

  She glared at me, “No, Caz. There’s not much to talk about.”

  “Jay, wait,” I said as she turned. I tried to grab her shoulder, but I was holding the takeout and ended up whacking her on the back with the Chinese food. She turned around again, livid. “Jay, I’m not seeing Karissa anymore. You know me. I’d never cheat on anyone. The whole thing is a big misunderstanding. Look,” I held up the three bags of takeout. “I got your favorites. I think I remembered right. Yellowtail sushi, drunken noodles, and pork dumplings.”

  Her eyes went wide a second, and for a moment, I thought she was going to turn and keep on walking, but she sighed and said, “You’re lucky I’m starving. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Come upstairs. There’s a players’ lounge and the team is gone. We’ll have it to ourselves. We can sit and eat a bit. I’ll explain myself.”

  She shrugged. It was dismissive, and I tried not to be offended. Remember, Caz, she thinks you were cheating. Why would she trust you?

  We walked upstairs in silence, and when we got to the lounge, Jamie chucked her bag onto one of the chairs and sat in one of the others. Fuck, she was cute. She had neat, classic features and big eyes. With her short hair, she looked like someone right out of an old movie.

  I set out the food, and once Jamie was eating, I started talking. “I broke up with Karissa a week ago. It was at least a few days before I saw your game. I know that’s a pretty quick turn-around, but things had been bad for a while.”

  “Yah, well, the press thinks you’re both still toget
her.” Jamie put down her plate and crossed her arms. Shit. That gesture was familiar. Whenever Jamie got stubborn, I used to turn on the charm, get her out of her clothes, and fuck her until she forgave me. But I didn’t think that tactic was going to work now.

  “We haven’t told the papers. My agent seems to think that a big break up will focus media attention away from my playing. Coaches don’t hire players based on how often they’re in the tabloids. I only have a one year option with the Pats this season. If I want them to pick me up after this season, I have to play good football, not bring unwanted attention.”

  “Sounds like you have your hands full with your ex and your contract. Why even bother with me right now?”

  Oh wow. She was really angry. Best to just be honest, then.

  “I had an amazing time with you the other night. It felt just as good as it used to feel. I could forget about you, I guess. Go back to playing my game.” I reached out and grabbed her hand. “But honestly, that doesn’t sound too good to me. If I’m being real honest, you and me sitting on a couch and eating takeout is pretty close to perfect.”

  Okay. I was lying with that one. There were a ton of things I’d rather be doing with Jamie than sitting on a couch and eating takeout. Bending Jamie over the couch. Getting Jamie to straddle me atop the couch….

  I must have said the right thing, though, because Jamie physically relaxed, her shoulders down, and picked her food back up. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. You’re not seeing Karissa anymore. You’re single. I’m single. We’re eating takeout.”

  “Damn right.”

  “How was your game on Sunday?”

  I don’t know why, but finding out she hadn’t watched it ticked me off. But I pushed that aside and told her about my game. I asked her about her weekend, and she talked for a while. She got up off of the chair she was sitting on and joined me on the couch. Though we weren’t touching, it felt better having her closer.