by Kara Hart
“You know what?” I say. “Me and you, we were tight man. Now look at you. Look at how you’re acting. Over some bullshit misunderstanding. It’s cool, brother. You got your revenge tonight. I’ll see you on the field, boy.”
I push past the crowd and head outside. A few second string losers start cheering at my departure. They’ll do anything to please Landon. Anything for a shot at fame. Of course, they won’t get any closer using this tactic.
The door slams behind me and when I’m outside of the muffled bar room walls, the sounds of the street rush by me. It starts to rain and I have to laugh at myself when my clothes are sticking to my skin, clinging to my chest. I start to walk, but the sound of the bar door opening and closing again makes me turn my head.
“Wait up,” Loke says, jogging behind me.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Hey, thanks for the tip back there. That was you, wasn’t it?”
He nods. “Yeah, man. I don’t really get this feud between Landon and you, but I’d rather it just stopped,” he says, pacing on the sidewalk in front of me now. He starts to shiver when his clothes become as soaked as mine.
“Don’t look at me.” I laugh. “I’m cool with making up. It’s him who keeps provoking me.”
“I know you, man. You’re a loose cannon, sure. But you’d never turn on one of your brothers. That’s just not like you,” he says. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to be careful. Don’t let him fuck with your anger.”
“I’ll try my best,” I sigh. “It won’t be easy, though. Back there in the bar, I swear I almost ripped his fucking face off.”
Loke laughs and looks down. “All over a girl, huh?” He eyes me, smiling.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “But it’s complicated. We go way back.”
“Is she good, or what?” he asks. “Do you love her or some shit?”
“I don’t know.” I turn my head. “I just know I don’t want to be away from her. I don’t get it, Loke. I never thought I’d grow so soft.”
“You ain’t soft, man,” he shakes his head. “You kidding me? I’ve seen you shatter a 240-pound player’s shin, right in half.”
“Yeah, so what? Everybody has a story like that in this business,” I say.
“Man, Landon’s never played a hard play in his life. He’s been handed everything on a silver fucking spoon. You’re the real deal, man. So, stay safe. If you like this girl and shit, you better do it right. Go after it, but don’t let it affect your game. No more fighting. We stick together.”
I give him a hug and pound his back. “Thanks, man. We’ve always had a good understanding of each other.”
He just nods and I walk away. Loke and I have a bond, much stronger than me and Landon’s. It’s good to know I still have some allies in this business. I head home, walking in the pouring rain. When I get to my place, I’m shivering and shaking with cold.
Somehow, I fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m as sick as a fucking dog. I can barely speak, let alone run a play. And I just know that Landon will be on the field, celebrating my failures.
Fiona
I get the text and within an instant, I fall back into panic mode. Got into a little fight, he says. Don’t worry. No one saw and I didn’t swing back. Proud of me?
Yeah, real proud. I roll out of bed and text him back. No one saw? You sure about that? If any of this leaks out, we’ll have a mess on our hands. I can just see the headlines right now. “Football hero is losing his cool all over again.” “Anger Management,” or my favorite headline I made up, “Jackson Leeman fights teammate, runs home to PR girlfriend.”
No matter how you spin this, it doesn’t look good for anyone. It’s starting to seem like Jackson is an impossible player to work for. He’s not crazy. I won’t let the press fight him on that one. No, he’s as sound as a whistle. The only thing is, his luck only reaches the field. Off the field, he’s going to fuck up and he’s going to get caught for whatever he did.
That’s why I can’t be with him. I have too much riding on this to let it go down the drain. Plus, I’ve got a life in LA. I can’t just stay in Portland forever. I’ll transfer right after this Super Bowl and leave this time behind me. I’ll remember it as “The Time I Fucked Jackson Leeman.” Not exactly the nicest headline, but it’s accurate.
Of course, I start to get flashes of his impeccable body in my mind. My cheeks turn a rosy hue and my breathing becomes more difficult than before. I put my face in my palms and squeeze to wake myself up more. I walk into the shower, turn it on, and feel the cold turn a steamy hot. I step inside and clean myself off.
The water falls along the curves of my body and, again, I remember the other night. His strong abs pressing against my back as he pounded his flesh into me, the way his arms wrapped around my body, him losing himself for me… I shake my head and open my eyes again. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep playing this game.
However, it is the only thing in my life right now that feels, well, real. My career is perfect. I do my job well and I go home to a nice place. At the end of the year, my salary looks pretty damn good, and I get a few months off after the Super Bowl. So, what do I really have to complain about?
A knock on my door sends me cowering to my room. I look outside the blinds and see Jennifer scowling at me. She motions for me to unlock the door and I do, embarrassed. I open it and stand in front of her with a damp towel covering my body.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I thought you were… him.”
She pushes past me and groans. “Again? We’re still on this guy?” she asks, falling onto my couch.
Sure, come right in. I walk into the bathroom and keep the door open as I get ready. I dry off, and reach for my comb. “Yeah, well. It happened again,” I admit.
“Of course it did,” she says, grabbing an apple from my fridge. She cleans it off and helps herself, taking a big bite. “I knew it would. It never just happens one time.”
“It can happen one time,” I correct her.
“Impossible,” she says, shaking her head. Her mouth is full of green apple bits.
I lean out of the bathroom and glance at her, annoyed. “You’re going to tell me you’ve never had sex with someone just once?” I ask her. “I’m sorry, it just doesn’t seem believable.”
“Honey,” she laughs, jumping back down on the couch. “If I’m fucking someone, you better believe that I’m going back for seconds.”
I shrug. “Well, I guess I’m just not that good at finding Mr. Right. I’ve been with plenty of men who haven’t satisfied me,” I say.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that they all satisfy me. I just mean that I always go back for seconds,” she laughs again. “I’m usually disappointed.
“Yeah, well. Same here. That’s what’s so weird. I thought it would be one small thing, you know? I thought I’d be bored by the next day,” I admit. “Oddly enough, I’m not. It’s weird, but I’m actually captivated by the whole damn thing.”
“How was the second time with him?” she asks, back straight and perky.
“You don’t even want to know,” I laugh, starting the blow dryer. The hot wind wraps against my scalp, the roar nearly drowning out my thoughts.
“Um, actually, I do. I need to know. Don’t you get that by now? I’m loving this little romantic fling you’ve got yourself into,” she yells over the dryer.
Within a few minutes, I’m done and I step outside again for a second. “The second time was the best I’ve ever had,” I concede.
“Tell me,” she demands. “Now. I need to know.”
“Ugh,” I groan loudly. “It’s too graphic. You don’t really want to know.”
“I didn’t say want,” she says, annoyed with me. “I said I need to know. You’re over here, getting the best sex of your life, while I go on dates with losers and get nothing satisfying in return. It’s not fair. The least you can do is share your glories with me.”
“Oh!” I run back into the bathroom and grab my makeup. I bring everything outside of the bathr
oom and sit down next to her. When I glance at myself in the mirror, for a second there, I see the 18-year-old version of myself, staring back at me. There’s an innocence in her eyes and it makes me feel awkward for a second. I grab the mascara and everything changes back within an instant.
“I almost forgot to ask you.” I turn to her. “How did that date with the producer go?”
“Stop trying to change the subject,” she says, glaring at me. “It’s like I just said. It went awful. The guy was extremely boring and when we got back to my place, he kissed me on my cheek.”
“On the cheek? Jeez,” I laugh.
“Yeah, so I invite him in and he accepts,” she goes on, “but he falls asleep right before… oh, never mind!”
She runs over to the fridge and grabs a bottle of white wine. She pours it in a glass without asking and takes a big drink. “He fell asleep while eating you out? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No,” she says. “I am not.”
She takes another drink and fills the glass back up. “What are you telling me then?” I ask, trying to contain my laughter.
She looks down at my tile floor and struggles to even get the words out. “Um, well. He kind of fell asleep while I was doing something to him,” she says, squinting her eyelids together. She’s got a painful look on her face, like she never wanted that to get out in a million years.
“Oh my god,” I fall against the back couch cushions and squeal loudly. “Are you kidding me? He fell asleep while you were giving him head?”
“You don’t have to say it like that,” she says, groaning. She comes back to the couch and crosses her legs. “Anyway, yeah. He left and I never called that bastard back again. He’s been texting me all week. So, yeah. You have to spill the details of your little rendezvous before I tell you anything more about my shitty romance life.”
“Well, it was kind of similar,” I tell her. Her eyes light up and suddenly a smile breaks out onto her face. “It’s similar, except for the fact that it was the best sex of my life and isn’t similar to your situation at all.”
I smile and she gives me a pained frown back. “Fuck you,” she says. “There’s a special place in hell for people like you. You know that, right?”
“I do,” I smile and bat my eyes at her. “I told him I was getting in the shower and that if he wanted to come over, he should. I didn’t say it exactly like that, but he knew the deal. I got in the bathtub and actually waited for him to come over.”
“And he did? Holy shit, Fiona. You’re kinky,” she says, covering her mouth like she said something bad. “Keep talking. Now.”
“Yeah, he came over. He walked right into the bathroom and the rest is history,” I laugh. I close my eyes for one second and see flashes of his strong hands cupping my tits, and falling down to my waist. I can see him controlling my hips, pushing himself in and out, while firmly holding me.
“Not fair,” she sighs. “He’s in love with you. Not fair at all.”
“He is not in love with me,” I say. “Besides, I made it clear to him that night that we should break it off. It’s just fun and games, Jennifer. That’s all.”
“Okay, I don’t really care that you told him you wanted to break it off. You can’t do it, hon,” she says, turning serious.
“Uh, yes I can,” I tell her, finishing up my makeup. “I can and I did. It would be career suicide if I kept this going. My PR firm works for him. We were hired by his people. If any of this leaked to the press, I’d lose my job in an instant.”
“Then the question is: what’s more important? A perfect romance or the perfect job?” she asks me.
I can’t actually answer this question, which leaves me feeling a bit weird. What is more important? What will give me more happiness? On the one hand, it’s nice having enough money not to worry about too much. I’ve got a good house, the company pays for most of my dining out, and I get to work with some of the best players in the world. That would make a lot of people happy?
Still, I look at how it makes me really feel and it’s not the best. In fact, I’m fueled by my stress on a daily basis. My whole office is, actually. It’s just the way the industry works. Then there’s Jackson. How does he make me feel? Well, he worries me all the time. He’s always getting into trouble. Not to mention, he’s kind of a dick sometimes.
On the other hand, he’s made it pretty clear that he wants to try for something more. If anything, it’s me who is holding back on this front. And it’s for good reason too. “I can’t afford to lose this career,” I tell her. It’s weird to say out loud.
“You can literally afford to do anything you want,” she says. “As long as you’re with Jackson, you’ll have all the money you’d ever need. With all the games, sponsorships, and commercials he does, you’ll get a nice check every month.”
“Yeah, if we got married or something. But you’re jumping a little far ahead of things. Don’t you think?” I ask her.
“No, I do not,” she smiles. “You two have a lot of history together. Fuck, girl. You’re meant to be together. Don’t you see? It’s a perfect love story!”
“Just because it sounds good on paper, doesn’t mean it is. You like to live vicariously through me and I get it. But don’t think that this is some perfect love romance type of thing that you might read in a book. It’s not. It’s lust, plain and simple,” I say, feeling a bit winded.
“Whatever you say or want will come true,” she says. “The guy wants you and I don’t think that’ll change anytime soon.”
“We’ll see, I guess,” I tell her. “Maybe it’ll change for me, though.”
And that’s when the truth comes out. Maybe I’ll be the one to get bored of things this time. He’s already reached the peak of his career. It’s not like he’s going for bigger things after this. If anything, he’ll just go through the motions that all other great players do. He’ll lead an amazing career and retire, doing the occasional commercial gig here and there, or hosting a Sports Network television show. Maybe in the end, I’ll be the one who has to leave. And that, more than anything, scares me.
Jackson
“Hike!” I run wide and with haste, feeling my lungs about to give way. The ball is thrown high into the air and I should be able to get this one easy. Only, I don’t. It goes right into the hands of a second string linebacker, who runs it on home. I throw off my helmet and scream to the sky. Anger doesn’t help me one bit.
I’m playing the worst I’ve ever played and my coach knows it. Hell, my teammates all know it. Loke pats me on the back and whispers encouragement. “It’s all good, man. It’s one game.”
“It’s not though,” I tell him. “The Super Bowl is coming up. What if I’m still playing this bad?”
We walk off the field and Landon yells out, “Nice job, man! Can’t wait for the big game!”
The coach glares at him, but he keeps one steady eye on me. He’s just waiting for me to explode. Everyone is. They expect it from me now. They want me to lose my cool. The whole damn team is against me now. I can feel it.
“Don’t listen to him,” Loke says. “Remember what I said?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping my cool from here on out. There’s not much time left, anyway.”
We sit down on the bench and grab a bit of water. I can barely fucking breathe today. My congestion is through the roof. I can’t get around the truth, that I’m sicker than I’ve been in years. Of course, no one gives a shit. This is the pros. You get sick and you play through it. That’s just what you do.
“I guess, man. What’s up with you today? You feeling okay?” he asks me.
“Nah,” I sigh, trying my damn best not to cough. “I’m sick as hell. Something happened to me at that bar.”
“Probably the rain,” he says. “You think you’ll be good by the next game? It’s a big one.” He winks, but I can tell he’s worried. He’s worked hard for this too. After all, he’s the quarterback. There’s a lot of pressure on the
guy.
“I’ll be good by tomorrow,” I tell him, really believing it.
When the practice ends, however, I know this is a bad one. I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes. There’s three days left until the game and we’re playing Dallas, one of the best teams in the league right now. If we win this one, we’ll be set for the Super Bowl. If we don’t, we’re fucked. We’ll just be another team who almost made it.
I’m just about to fall asleep, when I decide to turn on the Sports Network. It’s good for me to know what’s going on before these games, and right now, they’re mainly talking about the Championships.
When the show comes back from the commercials, I see my team logo flash on the screen. “More drama for the Black Wings,” the female host says with a slight smile on her face. Ratings, ratings, ratings. What will boost this woman’s career tonight?
“Reports are circulating that Jackson Leeman, famed wide receiver for the Portland team, has gotten into another fight. This time, it’s with a teammate,” she says. The screen switches to a few different images of me catching the football during a few pretty famous plays. Then, it cuts to me flipping off the camera, fighting at bars, and yelling at interviewers. You know, just the regular stuff I do on a daily basis. Or did.
I groan and sit up, trying to pay attention to what she says next. “Three of the staff at the Black Wings Arena report that they all witnessed Jackson fighting with Landon “Brickwall” Karagon. There are no videos yet of the incident, but there have been separate reports of a small brawl at a local pub. We reached out to the coach, Scott Stern, who gave no comment.”
“Great,” I sigh, falling back into bed. My phone starts to ring and I actually answer it without looking at the screen. It’s her, Fiona.
“Miss me?” I ask, mouth full of phlegm. I sound like a complete wreck.
“Fuck you, Jackson,” she says. “Are you sick or something? You sound horrible.”
“I feel like a million bucks,” I laugh. “No, I’m actually really sick. Lucky for you, you don’t have to worry about me coming over late at night right now.”
