by KB Winters
Knowing Langston, they were all at some ice cream shop.
“They went to the gym a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks.”
I hurried to the gym and pushed through one of the double doors to find Langston on the court with all the girls, clearly squared off against the boys in some kind of battle of the sexes. He was wearing a pink cowboy hat that had a long, brunette wig attached to it. It was a leftover prop from a play the kids had put on a few months ago.
He glanced up as the metal door clanged shut behind me. “The girls were done journaling,” he shouted. “Thought we’d show these guys up.”
Matt, the boy’s leader, smirked as he led his posse to a slam dunk while Langston was distracted. The girls all shouted at Langston to get his head back in the game, and I couldn’t help but smile as they jeered at him.
I took a seat on the bleachers and wrapped my arms around myself.
The game was a rough and tough battle, but in the end, the girls—and Langston—walked away with the winning numbers. As the girls peppered the boys with trash talk, Langston jogged off the court and came over to me. He lifted the hat off his head and dropped to the bench beside me. He lifted up the hat, letting the fake hair dangle in the air. “Ashley said I had to wear it if I was gonna be on the girl’s team.”
I smirked. “I think she was probably just testing you.”
He dropped it back onto his head. “Probably. What do you think? Hot or not?”
I shook my head, still smiling up at him. “Definitely not.”
He picked it up and set it on my head before leaning in and adding, “If I remember correctly, this should be yours, cowgirl.”
My cheeks warmed. Before I could come up with a clever retort, he popped off the bench and went to egg the boys into giving them another game.
I watched him high five the girls and the way they all had stars in their eyes as they jumped around him.
Who was Langston Rose?
And, more importantly, could I trust him?
Chapter Sixteen
Langston
Cassie left somewhere in the middle of the second game of basketball. When it was over—another smashing victory for me and the girls—I went to find her. She was in her office, the door shut, and when I cracked it open, she pointed out that she was on the phone. I mouthed sorry and then shut the door again.
My phone rang as I waited and I grinned from ear to ear when my quarterback’s name showed up on the Caller ID.
“What’s up, man?” I answered.
“Careful, Rose. Coach’s got me running drills these days. I can make your life hell,” Clay Vex, the star quarterback of the Cannons, replied, the smile evident in his tone.
“Don’t you always?” I teased lightly.
Giving each other shit was kinda our thing. Our own twisted way of showing each other love. We’d come onto the team the same year and had been the driving force behind the last two years of kicking ass and making a run for the playoffs two years in a row. The upcoming year was ours. We were going all the way to the big game. Non-negotiable.
“Hey, I got a little shindig going down tonight. You need to show up and meet the fresh meat.”
I glanced at Cassie’s still-closed door. I wanted to hang around, maybe help the girls with the cards for Kenzie, and then go with her to drop them off.
And if one thing led to another, it would lead back to her apartment, and more mind-blowing sex. Who was I to say no?
“I don’t know, man. I’ve got this community service thing…”
Clay groaned. “Come on, man. You ain’t gonna be there all night. I’m not starting the party till nine. We’re throwing down at Jefe’s, you know, that new Mexican joint that just opened over on 56th.”
“I’ll see what I can do—”
“No, you’ll be there. This isn’t optional, man. You know how much we need this team to be tight this season. This is our year. We’ve worked our fuckin’ asses off for this.”
I laughed. “And me missing a night of nachos and beer is gonna mess that up? C’mon, Clay. Get real.”
“I told them you’d be there. They all wanna meet you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. Nine. Ish.”
“Nine, mothafucker.”
I laughed again. “Later, bro.”
I clicked off the call and stuffed the phone into my back pocket. I could always meet up with Cassie later…swing by her place with a bottle of wine and a cheesecake. Romantic girly stuff.
Yeah, that would work. Romance.
I checked in her window once more. This time she had her chair spun around but I could see the cord from her desk’s phone stretched over the edge. She was still on the phone.
With a sigh, I abandoned my efforts and said goodbye to the girls remaining at the center on my way out the door.
****
A few hours—and more than a few drinks—later, I stumbled my way out of the Mexican eatery with Clay on one side and some hot blonde Clay’d claimed as his for the night, on the other. We were laughing about some dumb joke that I couldn’t even remember by the time we made it to the sidewalk out front. All of a sudden a sea of flashes went off and people started yelling at us.
“What do you think of the Cannons’ chances this season?”
“Get into any fights tonight, Rose?”
“Yeah, any bodies in there?”
“Fuck off,” Clay growled.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to respond. I’d been hounded by these vultures enough over the years to know it was better not to say anything. Even when remaining silent took every ounce of strength I had inside.
“Come on, we’re just playing. We know Rose is a changed man. Ponying up for a little girl’s medical bills and all.”
At the mention of Kenzie, I snapped. I hurtled in the direction of the paparazzi who’d said it and sneered at him. “Leave her out of this.”
The man snapped a picture, momentarily blinding me. In that split second, I tripped over an uneven patch on the sidewalk and lurched forward, accidentally clinging onto the blonde beside me for balance.
In a perfect storm of events, the strap on her dress caught on my finger and a scream cut through the chaos. I turned back, a moment too late, and realized I’d inadvertently torn her dress, exposing her bare boob to the entire crowd on the sidewalk.
“Fuck!” I barked.
Clay jumped into action to save the girl and I righted myself, stepping in to shield her from the cameras.
The buzz and chatter on the street went crazy, camera’s snapping, people jeering and laughing.
“Rose, that’s no way to get a lady back to your hotel room!” one of the camera wielding scum bags shouted, laughing as though it were all a shared joke.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry—” I said to the blonde.
She was holding her dress against her chest to keep from exposing herself again. Clay waved me off. “I got this. Just…go…before this gets even more fucked up.”
“Sorry,” I said again, though the word was drowned out in the noise.
I shoved past the herd of paparazzi, pushing against anyone who got in my way. A photog stepped in front of me and I barked at him to get the fuck out of my way. He snapped a picture in response. Blinded by the flash, I reached out and tossed him out of my way.
“What the fuck, Rose? You just broke my camera!”
More jeers and shouts followed, but I got free and took off at a slow run, careful not to zig zag too much since my head felt like a hammer pounding against my brain like a Chinese gong.
Amid the chaos, there was only one thing on my mind—Cassie.
****
I wound up on her doorstep an hour later, my head still pounding, and a sick feeling in my gut. She opened the door after my second knock. Her eyes wide and alarmed. “Langston? What are you doing here? It’s almost one in the morning.”
“Shit.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—things got crazy.”<
br />
She considered me with a narrowed glance. “Where were you?”
“Out at a club.”
She gave a knowing nod as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Why are you here?”
The frostiness in her voice surprised me. “I wanted to see you.”
“You’ll see me tomorrow, Langston. I’m going back to bed.”
I stopped the door before she could slam it in my face. Her eyes went wide. Fear? Shit. What the hell did she think I was going to do?
“Cass, please—”
“Please what? I don’t even know why you’re here right now.” She stopped long enough to glance past me, down the way to her neighbor’s door. “Oh, hell. Come on.”
With a tug on the front of my shirt, she pulled me inside and shut the door behind me. “You show up on my doorstep at one in the morning, stinking like booze and cigarettes and God only knows what else, and say it’s just because you want to see me? I’m not some late night, booty call piece of ass, Langston Rose!”
Her statement hit me like a slap in the face. I reared back, shaking my head. “No, no, no. That’s not what I—”
Her hand flew up, stopping me short. “Save it. You can crash on the couch if you need a place to sleep. That’s it. Goodness knows I don’t want you driving. A DUI wouldn’t exactly bolster your new Mother Teresa campaign.”
“What are you talking about? What campaign?”
“Your PR rep called me today. Laura something-or-other. She wants to set up a photo shoot with Kenzie and the rest of the girls and use it to run alongside the piece where you’re paying all of Kenzie’s medical bills.”
I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Fuck…”
“I just feel like a complete idiot. I thought you were actually enjoying your time at Harvest House. I had no idea it was just some PR stunt to make you look like Prince Charming right before pre-season kickoff.”
I snorted. “Well, even if it was, that all got blown to hell tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” she snapped.
I hesitated, the ugly truth rolling around in my mind. I didn’t want to tell her but knew she’d see the clips online whether I told her or not. Might as well fess up. With a sigh I recounted the night, “I went out with the team, got sloppy drunk, and ended up tearing the top off a girl in front of a horde of paparazzi. Shit, by this time tomorrow, that girl’s tits are gonna be more famous than me.”
To her credit—and my shock--Cassie didn’t even flinch. She stared at me for a long moment and then spoke, her words smooth and calculated, “I appreciate that you want to help Kenzie, but I don’t want her dragged into this mess. Or any of the other kids at Harvest House. I think it would be best if you separated yourself from the situation.”
“What does that even mean? I’m court mandated to be there,” I spat.
Cassie narrowed her glare again. “I realize that. I’ll see if Mary Lou can give you paperwork to do. Maybe you can sign some t-shirts and we’ll sell them online. Whatever it takes to keep you occupied until your hours have been logged. I don’t want Harvest House dragged through the shit storm that your little night of fun is going to kick up tomorrow.”
“Cassie, it was an accident—”
“An accident? How do you accidentally drink yourself to oblivion?” She huffed. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. You should know better than most how badly things can get in the media.” She rubbed her eyes and I noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t normally wear a lot, but she looked even more beautiful without it. I also took a quick glance at the rest of her, noting what she wore to bed—a pair of shorts and a matching robe that was thin enough to show she wasn’t wearing anything underneath and had probably just tossed it on to answer the door.
She caught me staring at her nipples and groaned. “Couch or get out.”
“Why are you so pissed at me?”
Only then did her expression soften. She raked her hands through her bed mussed hair and sighed, utterly exhausted sounding. “I’m not, Langston. Believe it or not, I’m pissed at myself.”
“Because of me?”
She stared at me for a long beat, long enough to answer my question without a word.
“Why?”
“Because I should have known better.”
With that, she turned and went down the hallway that led to her bedroom. A few seconds later, the door clicked closed and I sat there in silence.
Chapter Seventeen
Cassie
As expected, the media was having a field day with Langston’s night out. It hit my social media feed and had been shared and liked all over the internet by the time my alarm clock went off at five thirty. Several news outlets were reporting that both the blonde woman whose top had been torn off, and the camera man that Langston had violently shoved, were planning lawsuits against the football star.
It was a category five shit storm. To be sure.
I rolled out of bed, abandoning the noise of my phone, to hit the shower. I paused in the hallway, my ears perked for any sign that Langston had taken me up on my offer and crashed on my couch. Silence resounded back to me. I tiptoed to the entry of the hall and peered around the corner. The couch was empty and there were no other sounds in the apartment.
After re-locking the front door, I took a shower and hurried to get ready. I needed to get to Harvest House and speak with Mary Lou on how to handle Langston going forward. My only concern was for the kids that would be affected if the paparazzi and other media outlets started loitering at the entrance of the center. They didn’t need to be put through that. And I certainly didn’t want anyone getting access to Kenzie’s hospital room and turning the defenseless girl into front page news.
I’d go all Mama Bear on their asses if they tried.
Park called while I was in the middle of gulping down my coffee. I answered, my voice thick and groggy from a lack of quality sleep. “Hey, Park.”
“Holy shit! Baby girl, what is going on with Langston?”
I sighed and sagged back against the counter. “Hell if I know.”
“I mean this clip with him tearing the girls top off is all over the fuckin’ place!”
“I know. He came over last night and told me about it.”
“He did? Like right after?”
“Yeah, why?”
Park paused. “No reason. Just seems weird he would show up at your place. Unless…Cass!”
Shit.
“You boned him!” she yelped, her excitement loud and clear.
I groaned. “I thought we decided I couldn’t technically do that…”
“When did this happen? How many times? Where? And, oh my gawd, why haven’t I heard about it till now?”
I eyed my coffee cup. Could I switch over to wine now? Or, better yet, tequila.
“Park, focus, the point is not what happened. It’s the girls and how this damn fiasco is going to play out. I’m gonna put Langston on desk duty until this blows over or his hours are up. Whichever comes first.”
“Damn…so you don’t wanna jump his bones again?”
“No! It was a mistake the first time. A trainwreck of an idea the second”—I silently added third, fourth, and fifth time in my head— “time. I’m over it.”
“Pity.”
“Is it? You think it would look good for Harvest House if their activity director was publicly linked to him right now? I’m just lucky we never got caught on camera. I mean this shit is insane!”
Park grumbled her agreement, though it didn’t seem entirely sincere. She always had stars in her eyes though. Secretly I had a theory that the whole reason she got into fitness modeling was so she could run in some B-list circles and work her way up the Hollywood food chain.
To her, Langston was probably just a walking bank account with a dick.
I gulped down the rest of my coffee. “Listen, Parks, I gotta get to work. I’m going to see Kenzie afterward if you want to swing by. Then we can
grab dinner out. And drinks…I have a feeling this day is gonna need a truckful of margaritas.”
Park laughed and told me she’d meet me at the hospital before clicking off the call.
****
I watched the clock all afternoon, waiting for Langston to show up, but he never did. No call. Email. Nothing. Mary Lou stopped in at my office to ask what we should do about his no-show and I told her I thought it best to give it a day.
However, the next day, it was the same thing. Another no show.
And the day after that.
By Thursday, I was raging mad and finally broke down to call him.
To my shock, he answered on the third ring. “Where the hell have you been?” I growled by way of a greeting.
“Hello to you too,” he quipped, not a trace of humor in his voice.
“Langston.”
He sighed. “I’ve been busy with my attorneys. In case you hadn’t heard, I’m being sued by two different people and I can’t leave my house without two dozen cameras up my ass. So forgive me if checking in for community service isn’t on the top of my priority list right now. If you want me to sign t-shirts or some shit like that, you’re going to have to FedEx them to my fucking house.”
His terse tone caught me off guard. I wanted to believe it wasn’t personal but it felt personal.
I drew in a deep breath. “Wow. Are you all right?”
He barked a dry laugh. “Peachy.”
“Langston, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah? Well, me too.”
His anger both repelled me and drew me in. I’d dealt with a lot of angry kids and teens over the four years I’d been at Harvest House. I could handle it without flinching. And I also knew that most of the time it was a flimsy mask that was only in place to cover a lot of pain and despair.
Which, given Langston’s situation, made a lot of sense.
“How can I help?”
He scoffed. “There’s nothing you can do, Cassie. I’m in a pile of shit so deep I can’t see straight. My lawyers keep telling me they’ve got it handled and I’m just supposed to sit tight until they can get things hammered out.”
Silence ate at me as I rummaged through my crowded mind to try and come up with something encouraging to say. Everything fell flat. I didn’t want to come off as trite or dismissive in the face of his overwhelming situation. Likely, his lawyers would reach out of court settlements with the paparazzi and the woman and as soon as the next big story in the sports and celeb gossip world broke, Langston’s—literal—slip, would be old news.
