I looked down at my stomach, wondering for a moment if it was possible for anyone to tell, then told myself that I was being ridiculous. I wouldn't be showing for months yet. I heard a sound and looked up. Bryant was heading to the hall that led up to the field.
"Bryant!" I called. He turned and looked at me, smiling politely, as if I were a friendly acquaintance instead of a former lover.
"Hey, Emma," he said. It looked like he was going to turn around again and continue to the field, so I started talking fast.
"I need to talk to you."
He sighed, shaking his head. "I was afraid of this," he said.
I blinked. "You were?" How the hell could he have suspected I was pregnant when I hadn't even suspected it myself until last night?
"Sure. You're not the first woman who's come back looking for an encore."
I laughed when I realized what he was saying. "No, Bryant, that's not what I want to talk to you about." He seemed not to hear me.
"I told you that night, I don't fuck the same girl twice. It's sort of a rule I have. That way no one woman gets too attached, you see?"
"I do see," I said. And I did. I saw what a fucking douche bag he was. "Listen, Bryant, I don't want to have sex with you again, okay? There's something else. Something I..." But I hesitated. I didn't know Bryant well, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn't going to be happy about this.
"Emma, look, don't embarrass yourself, okay? You're hot, but it's not gonna happen. There's just too much pussy out there to waste in the same one day in and day out."
"What the hell are you talking about, Bryant? I'm not interested in fucking you, okay? Would you just listen to me for a goddamn second?"
"Emma?" my father's voice cut through the air. I turned and saw him standing behind me; I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Dad, hi. I was just coming to see you."
His eyes looked past me, and I turned my head to see Bryant's back as he ran down the tunnel to the field.
"I got the feeling you've been trying to avoid me," my father said.
"What? No, not at all." I was lying through my teeth.
"Where the hell is Jackson Vega's contract?" His dark eyes forced themselves on me, eating away at me like that flesh-eating virus.
"It's... in the works."
"In the works?" my father snapped. "Emma, you've had a week to pull this together. What the hell are you waiting for?"
"Nothing. I just... these things take time. That's all."
"Well, make the time or else I'm taking over. This is too important. If you weren't my daughter... I gave you this chance because your mother would have wanted me to. For her sake, don't fuck it up."
"I won't," I promised, fighting back the tears attempting to well in my eyes. If my father saw me cry now, I was done for. Tears were a sign of weakness. Even at my mother's funeral three years ago, I hadn't seen him shed one tear. Some people thought that made him cold, but I knew that deep down, he'd been hurting.
When he was gone, I gave myself five minutes to feel sorry for myself. That was all the time I could afford. Then I went to find Jackson.
8
Jackson
The ball spiraled to Zach, who caught it and threw it back to me. I kept one eye on Bryant, who was practicing a Hail Mary while Coach Granger watched him. I wasn't off Coach's shit list yet. He didn't give a shit if you smoke and drank and cursed, but miss one practice, and you had to work your way back into his good graces. And believe me, it was work.
Bryant threw the ball in the air, and Zach whistled.
"Did you see that?" Zach asked me. "That must've been sixty-five yards. That almost matches Kordell Stewart's record."
"Yeah, it was alright, I guess," I said, trying not to look like I cared that Bryant had just made one of the most amazing passes I'd ever seen. It sucked having two quarterbacks on the team. I knew it was necessary, but would it have killed the Tomcats to get someone who couldn't throw? It killed me to admit it, but Bryant was good. Damned good. Not as good as me, but good.
"Hey, Emma," Zach called, and I spun around. I hadn't talked to her since our argument in the locker room when she'd slapped me.
"Hi, Zach," Emma said.
Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that bobbed up and down as she walked. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a simple black blouse that clung to her in all the right places. I had to force myself to pry my eyes off her cleavage and meet her eyes. Once there, though, her eyes sucked me in. They were the kind of blue you only saw in far-off oceans. The kind of oceans people dreamed about but most never got to see in their lifetime.
"Hey, Emma," I said.
"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jackson?"
There was something in her eyes today that I hadn't seen before. Sadness? Desperation? Whatever it was, it didn't suit her. Emma was more confident than this new look gave her credit for.
"What's up?" I asked, deciding to take it easy on her just now. No fights. No passes.
"I really need to talk to you about your contract. Can we meet sometime today?"
"Sure," I said, smiling.
"A time that you can actually make and keep?" she asked. I heard the irritation in her voice and liked the way it colored her cheeks. Was there something wrong with me that it turned me on whenever she got mad? I'd just told myself that I wouldn't make any passes at her right now, but that didn't mean I couldn’t try later.
"How about dinner?" I asked. "Tonight at Dorian's."
"Dorian's?" she asked, eyeing me skeptically. "That's a little fancy for a business dinner, don't you think?"
I shrugged. "What can I say? I have expensive tastes."
"No," she said. "I don't think that's a good idea. How about Donaldson's?"
"Donaldson's is shit," I said, spinning the football around in my hands.
Emma rolled her eyes.
"Look," I told her. "You want me to meet you. Well, this is where I'm having dinner tonight. I'm going there with or without you, so you might as well meet me. I promise to be on my best behavior."
She looked at me doubtfully, then her eyes lifted to the stands behind us. I turned around and saw Keith watching us from the owner's box.
"Fine," Emma said. "Dorian's. Tonight at eight."
"Great. I'll pick you up at—"
"Oh, no, you won't. I'll meet you there."
"Whatever you say. And quit looking at me like I'm a fucking wolf waiting to ravish you. I promise you, I only have business on my mind." The business of getting into Emma's pants, that is. She turned and walked away. My eyes followed her ass as she went. She had a great ass.
"Well, looks like Jackson's going in for sloppy seconds." I turned and saw Bryant standing behind me, a grin on his face. "Not that I blame him. Emma looks hot when she's dressed. You'd never know her pussy is so dried out until her clothes are off."
Without thinking, I threw the football I held directly at Bryant's face. Seconds later, Bryant was doubled over, blood gushing from his broken nose. "Now who's sloppy seconds?" I asked.
9
Emma
I listened as Sara's phone rang three times. I'd been getting ready for my dinner with Jackson when I'd decided I had to talk to her. I sat on the edge of my bed in my underwear. I was about to give up on Sara when she answered.
"Hi," she said, breathless.
"Hi. Bad time?"
"No, I was just doing some spinning. I swear, I gained five pounds last week when I was sick. I thought people lost weight when they had the flu, but lucky me, I actually blow up like one of those poisonous fish."
"A blow fish."
"Whatever it is, it sucks. I don't know what I was thinking putting a spin bike in my house. I should've left it at the gym where it belongs. Anyway, it's kicking my ass right now. I could use a break. What's up?"
"Nothing, just thought I'd say hi. I haven't seen you in a little while." I felt bad for lying, but I didn't want to rush into things. I wasn't ready to tell anyone I was pre
gnant yet, especially not until I'd made up my mind what I wanted to do.
"How's the scouting job? Sign any big leaguers yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm actually supposed to be renegotiating a contract with one of the Tomcats."
"Oh yeah? Which one?"
"Jackson Vega."
Sara squealed. "Jackson Vega? The hottie whose picture you sent me?"
"Yeah." I paused. "Do you really think he's that hot?"
"Are you kidding? Haven't you seen the man?"
I sighed. Sara had a one-track mind when it came to guys, but that wasn't why I was calling.
"Hey, I was wondering something." I'd carefully worked out just how I would bring this up. It was the best idea I could come up with. I hoped it didn't backfire on me. "I have a friend who just found out she's pregnant."
"Who?"
"No one you know," I said, sidestepping her question. "I know her from work. The thing is, she's not sure she wants to keep it. It just got me thinking about that time you had the... you know."
"Abortion?" Sara asked.
"Yeah," I gulped. "Do you mind if I ask you about it?"
"No. What do you want to know?"
"Well, did it hurt?"
Sara paused. "No. Not exactly. It was more like... a pinch. And then it was over."
"So it was fast?"
"Pretty much."
"Do you regret it?"
I could hear Sara breathing heavily on the other line and wondered if I was pushing her too far. These were very personal questions. If I was gonna ask them of her, the least I could do was tell her why.
"No," she finally said. "I was only seventeen. I wasn't ready. Why? Do you think your... friend might regret it if she got one?"
Sara was no dope. If I didn't change the subject fast, she was gonna figure this out in about two more seconds.
"I'm meeting Jackson tonight at Dorian's to go over his contract."
"You are?" she squealed. "Emma! No one goes to Dorian's to discuss contract negotiations."
"But we are," I protested.
"Whose idea was Dorian's? Yours or his?"
"His," I admitted.
"Emma, he wants to nail you."
I sighed. "I know. He kissed me."
"Oh my God! When? Where?! I want details!"
There was no going back now. "In the locker room at the stadium."
"What'd you do?"
"I slapped him."
Sara laughed. "I guess he wasn't a very good kisser."
"Actually, it was a great kiss. One of those long, hot, passionate ones you read about in romance novels."
"Oh really...?"
"Yeah. He had these soft lips. But they weren't too soft, you know what I mean? They were like... butter. Like they could just melt right into me. And his hands... He has these really solid hands. A workman's hands. With little callouses at the tips of his fingers that sort of add to his ruggedness, you know?"
"Does he have a nice body?"
"Oh God, yes. You should see his chest. It's like Da Vinci sculpted him from clay or something. It's hard to believe he's not Photoshopped. His skin is this deep golden color. The kind that surfers get from being in the sun all day. And he's got this scent, like ocean water and eucalyptus. It drives me crazy whenever I'm around him."
"You got all this from a kiss?" Sara asked.
Suddenly, I realized I'd been gushing.
"Emma, you need to fuck this man. Tonight."
"What? No, I can't."
"Why not? You're obviously into him."
"No. It's not like that."
"Who are you trying to kid here? Me or yourself?"
"I'm telling you it's not like that."
"Fine. What are you wearing?"
"A dress. A business dress."
"Okay. What are you wearing under your business dress?"
"Underwear."
"What sort of underwear?"
"Jesus, Sara. I don't know. Underwear. A bra and panties. What difference does it make?"
"The true test of whether or not a woman wants to sleep with a man is in her underwear. If it matches, then she's good to go. If it doesn't, then the poor schmuck doesn't stand a chance."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not my rule."
"Whose rule is it, then?"
"Cosmo’s. And they never lie."
I laughed. "Okay, I'm going now."
"Call me later and let me know what happens."
"Nothing is going to happen." I hung up with her and took a deep breath. I rose from my bed and looked in the mirror. The hot pink bra I wore, trimmed with black lace, matched my hot pink thong, trimmed with the same black lace. "Be careful," I told myself. "Don't fuck this up. You'll never be able to make it right again if you do."
10
Jackson
"I hope Dom Pérignon is alright with you," I said to Emma as she was sitting down. I wished she would have let me pick her up—my Porsche always got a girl's panties wet—but she was just as stubborn as her father.
I handed her a champagne glass. Emma took it and immediately set it aside. "I prefer water," she said. "Thank you. Shall we get to business?"
"What's the rush?" I asked. She was wearing a light gray dress with a black sweater. Not exactly the sexy little thing I'd been hoping for, but not bad either. She was trying to play it safe. But even that couldn't stop her tits from shaming every other pair in this room. Whether revealed or covered up, Emma was stacked.
"No rush," Emma said, "except that you've been putting this off for the last week. What is it about these negotiations that makes you so nervous?"
I scoffed. "Nervous? I'm not nervous. I'm the best goddamn quarterback in the NFL right now."
"So why have you been avoiding me?"
I wasn't sure what was happening here. Emma wasn't playing into my hands precisely as I'd planned. I scanned the room, trying to think, and for a second, I thought I saw Carter watching us through the flower bed lining the room's partition. I blinked and he was gone. I was probably imagining things.
"You wanna talk?" I asked. "Let's talk. What is it you think you can say that's gonna change my mind about Florida?"
Emma took a deep breath. "Just this..." Her lips puckered into a Cupid's bow when she smiled, and my prick hardened under the table. She really was breathtaking.
"There's nothing to stop you from going to Florida. But remember, there's nothing for you in Florida either."
"What do you mean?"
"Your family is all here in California, isn't that right? Your parents? Your friends? I heard that you don't even like Florida."
I felt myself get annoyed. I didn't like haggling, especially when all I wanted to do was kiss her. "My family will understand. They know the money is important to me."
"More important than they are?"
"More important than football."
Emma blanched. "What? You can't mean that!"
"Oh yeah? Try growing up eating cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because you can't afford anything else. You get tired of Wheat Crispies real fast."
"I don't believe you," she said, her eyes turning steely. "I call bullshit. Nothing's more important to you than football. Everyone knows that."
"You don't get it," I told her.
"I get it, alright. You're trying to make me look like a fool. You think if you say money is the most important thing to you then it will drive up your price."
"You're wrong."
"You were drafted right out of college. I've been watching you play ball for years. You throw a pass with more heart and soul than anyone I've ever seen. You're either lying to me or to yourself right now."
I hesitated, suddenly uncertain. "Maybe you have a point," I told her. She smiled. "But it's not enough. If I'm lying to myself, then it's a lie I've been telling for a long time. I'm not about to give it up now."
Emma looked down at the table and started playing with her spoon. I felt bad for giving her such a hard time, but there was n
o way I was going to take less than what Florida was offering.
"Shit," she mumbled to herself. She grabbed the champagne and swallowed it in one gulp. "I'm blowing this, aren't I? That was the best idea I had to keep you here, and it sucked."
Her eyes were moist, and she suddenly looked like a sad-faced angel. "Look," I said, "if I promise to think it over, will you promise to lighten up a little?"
She nodded, pouring another glass of Dom. This one took her two swallows before it was all gone. "Another?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes, thanks."
"You look nice tonight."
"Nice?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What am I, your great aunt?"
I laughed and she smiled at me. Her teeth gleamed in the restaurant's light and her perfect mouth transformed once more into that Cupid's bow I was coming to know so well.
"I was just trying to keep things professional," I said, swallowing the rest of my own champagne now.
"Sure," she said. "That's why you picked Dorian's. The fanciest restaurant in all of San Francisco. Look at these tablecloths. They're velvet, for God's sake."
I laughed in spite of myself. "Too much?" I asked.
She nodded. The waiter came by, and I ordered another bottle of champagne, pleased to see Emma relaxing a little. A steady buzz began to sound in my ears, and my head grew heavier as we made our way through the second bottle. It was almost gone when the waiter came back and asked if were planning to order any food.
"We haven't ordered yet?" Emma asked, laughing.
"Give us a minute," I told the waiter. When he was gone, Emma and I looked over the menu together.
"Do you see this stuff?" she asked. "Bird’s nest soup made with real bird's nest? Snails? I'm not eating snails."
"What if I said they were good for virility?"
"I doubt you need any help in that department, Jackson," she said, giggling. "If that kiss you gave me was anything to judge by, you must be the most virile player in the NFL."
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 65
