by S. J. Bishop
"Ten!" I shouted, jumping out of bed, suddenly awake. "Fuck me!"
Patti turned around, grinning. "Thought we’d already done that, but I'm happy to go for round two if you like."
I pushed her hands away as she tried to kiss me. "Not now," I said. "I'm late."
"Quiet," the redhead muttered. "I'm still sleeping."
"No, you're not," I said, pulling back the covers to reveal her soft, pink skin. She was prettier than Patti until she opened her eyes. Her right eye was the bright green I'd been so entranced by the other night. The other was a dull gray.
"Shit," she said.
"What is it, Brandi?"
Brandi? That was the redhead's name?
"I lost a contact. I can only see out of one eye."
She searched the bed a moment before peeling the green from her eye and throwing it into a wastebasket. She caught my look. "It's less disorienting if I'm seeing the same out of both eyes, even if things are a little fuzzy."
I shook my head. This morning was starting out all wrong. I’d better fix it fast. I had already missed that meeting Keith set up with Emma; now I was about to miss practice. "Get up," I said. "I've gotta go."
"Can we get a shower first?" Patti asked.
"No," I snapped. "I'll call you a cab."
"It'll take them time to get here," Patti said, gathering up her clothes.
"We'll see about that."
I had the cab service on speed dial and bribed them with an extra fifty if they could get here in ten minutes or less. Eight minutes later, the cab was honking.
"Bye, girls," I said. "It was fun."
"Not even breakfast?" Brandi asked, pouting.
"Sorry, girls, I can't. But here, stop somewhere and get yourselves something if you're hungry." I pulled a hundred from my wallet and handed it to them. Some girls might've been insulted by that, but Patti and Brandi beamed.
"Gee, thanks," Brandi said.
"Sure thing," I said, slamming the cab's door. When they were on their way, I hurried to my Porsche and jumped in, speeding all the way to Tomcats Stadium. I wasn't too worried about Emma. For all of her talk last night, she was still a woman, and if I could just get her alone, I was sure I could smooth things over. It still bothered me that she had left last night's party with Bryant and not with me, but I knew there was probably a good reason for that. Bryant was a piece of shit. Some women were just into assholes. Emma was hot as hell, but she probably had a screw loose. With Keith as her father, I wouldn't be surprised if she had daddy issues. He was one tough sonofabitch in negotiations. I could only imagine how he was as a father.
Coach Granger was gonna be pissed. He reamed people out for being five minutes late, and I was two hours past start time. My mind raced with excuses, trying to come up with something better than a drunken ménage with two semi-hotties.
I ran into the stadium, flying past security as I headed straight for the field after quickly throwing on my uniform. I could hear Coach Granger yelling at the team. His voice was almost as big as he was. With a waist six inches past the buckle and a frame to match, he would've intimidated most people who didn't know him. The thing was, Coach was a teddy bear. Sure, if you fucked up at practice or did some shit heel move outside the stadium, he'd ream you out, but if something bad was going on your life or your first baby had just been born, Coach made sure you got the time off you needed and was first in line with a stuffed puppy or kitty. He'd played football himself back in the day. Now, at fifty, he enjoyed teaching other guys how to be better than he had been.
"There he is!" Coach yelled when he saw me. "The lost Tomcat."
"Sorry, Coach," I yelled.
"It's not me I think you need to apologize to," he said, indicating that I should look behind me. I turned around and saw Emma. Her golden hair flowed past her shoulders in soft ringlets, and her cheeks were a petal pink. She glared at me when she saw me.
"Hey, Emma," I said, immediately putting on my best puppy dog face. "I'm sorry. I had car trouble."
Emma stopped and stared at me like I was speaking gibberish. "Car trouble?" she bellowed. "Car trouble?" I guess she didn't believe me. I'd never seen a woman look so angry, or so damned hot when she was angry. Her face glowed every time she yelled at me. It was almost worth it to piss her off, just to see the light in her eyes when she was all riled up.
She walked over to Dolan Newton and grabbed the football he was holding. Before I knew it, it was sailing through the air, directly at my nose.
5
Emma
I couldn't believe Jackson had the gall to lie to me right to my face. "I wasn't born fucking yesterday," I shouted at him. "Your car wouldn't start is a bunch of bullshit." The team started laughing behind them.
One of the guys shouted, "You tell him, Emma!"
Another player called out, "Hey, Jackson, why don't you play nice with the pretty lady?"
From over by home plate, I saw Bryant watching us, a huge grin on his face as if this was all entertainment for him. "Forget about her, Jackson," Bryant called out. "She just wants to get you alone so she can suck your cock. You're right. The Tomcats are never gonna re-sign you. Go with Florida. Maybe you'll get lucky and get eaten by a crocodile." Bryant's words pissed me off. He'd given me exactly what I'd needed last night, but I was glad it was only a one-time thing. Bryant was a dick.
Jackson cast an annoyed glance at Bryant then turned back to me, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Whatever. I've got practice right now. The Seattle game is coming up. I've got to get ready. I'll hit you up later."
He was absolutely infuriating. "You'll hit me up now or forget about renewing with the Tomcats altogether," I told him. I knew my father would never let me get away with that and only hoped that Jackson didn't call my bluff.
"It doesn't matter," Jackson said. "Everybody knows the Tomcats can't match Florida's offer. Not with Osbourne taking such a chunk out of the team's budget." He turned his head and glared at Bryant.
"Not my fault my contract's set for another year," Bryant hollered back to him.
"So you've already made up your mind to go to Florida then?" I asked. Jackson hesitated, and I pounced. "Just come and talk to me. I promise you we can work something out if you'll only give me an opportunity to present it all to you."
But Jackson was shaking his head, as stubborn as he was sexy. "Practice comes first. We can sort this shit out later."
"You can sort it out now," Coach Granger said, sounding annoyed.
Jackson looked at him, his face growing red as he tried to suppress his temper. "What are you talking about? What about practice?"
"Practice is canceled—for you," Coach said. "You showed up two hours too late."
"I can still get in some kicks. Some passes. You guys haven't packed it up yet." Jackson looked desperately at his coach.
"Not this time. If you want to practice, then you show up at start time. What if this was a game? Are you gonna leave your teammates hanging? Bryant was on time. Everyone here was on time, except for you. Now get off the field and sort your shit out. I'll see you at tomorrow's practice, unless that fancy car you drive breaks down again, that is, and you can't find a goddamn phone."
Jackson looked so shocked for a moment that I almost felt bad for him—almost. He stood with his jaw open, then slowly, he turned his gaze on me. His brown eyes, which normally looked like the most delicious chocolate you could sink your teeth into, were almost black. He narrowed them at me as he walked past.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" I asked, chasing after him. If I didn't know my job was on the line, I'd let him go. Jackson was a cocky asshole who didn't deserve the money he was being offered. But if I did that, my father would never give me another job. I'd had to practically beg him for this one. My reputation would be shot. And in this business, reputation was everything.
"I'm going home," Jackson said, stopping in the locker room.
"Oh no, you're not. Not until we talk."
"Fine. Talk."
I cleared my throat. I had a speech prepared, but I hadn't wanted to deliver it like this. To a pissed-off Jackson in a dirty, smelly locker room. But if this was my one chance, then I'd have to take it.
6
Jackson
I was pissed. It felt like I was being stalked. Emma had followed me into the locker room, trying to talk to me about my contract, when all I wanted to do was go home and have a beer. She was almost as tenacious and hot-headed as I was.
"Fine. Talk," I said.
She looked surprised for a moment then squared her shoulders back like she was getting ready to pitch a sale. I turned my head, hiding my smirk. Why did she have to be so damned cute? It made it hard to be mad at her.
"You've been with the Tomcats for two years now," Emma said. I nodded.
My uniform was hot, and I wanted to get out of it since I wasn't gonna get to practice. I pulled my jersey over my head and tossed my shoulder pads to the floor.
"Yeah, I know," I snapped. My body cooled with just my compression shirt left on, but it was still too hot, especially with Emma standing so close yelling at me. I peeled the shirt off and stuffed it in my locker, leaving my chest bare.
"In that time..." Emma said. Her eyes locked on to my chest. Her mouth opened a little. I couldn't help but be flattered. For once, I'd taken the girl's breath away.
"You were saying?" I smirked, flexing my muscles for her. Now that I'd gotten her attention, I might as well have a little fun with it. I did some deep knee bends and a few stretches. Emma stood silently watching me. Her expression said it all. Just like I thought. I can have her anytime I want her.
"I was saying?" she asked, looking confused. Her eyes never left my body.
I turned my head, chuckling to myself. When I turned, I broke her line of sight with my chest, and she seemed to regain her composure.
"Right," Emma said, clearing her throat. "But, um, in that time... in that time, you've had some serious incidents both on and off the field."
"It's been two months since I punched that referee, and he deserved it. I paid the fine. It's over. I've stayed out of trouble. My contract with Florida won't be affected by it."
"Yes, but that wasn't an isolated incident, Jackson. You've had numerous fights off the field."
"What I do in my time is my business," I yelled, growing angry again. I was getting tired of this. It felt like we were going around in circles.
"Not when it lands you in jail or in front of the Association. I can't believe you're taking all this so lightly. That ref incident wasn't the first time they've fined you, was it? There were two previous occasions before that, just this year, when you punched a fan—"
"He deserved it! He ran onto the field and tried to tell me off for missing a pass."
"–and when you and Bryant Osbourne brawled during half time."
"Oh sure, of course you'd take his side."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma asked, her cheeks glowing pink. For once, it looked like I'd rattled her.
"I saw you leave with him last night. I thought you didn't fuck football players. Ever. Or is that just something you tell your daddy when he's around?"
"My father has nothing to do with this!" she said, forgetting herself for the moment and stepping up to me so that we were nose to nose.
"Oh yeah? Your daddy's the one who gave you this job. If the Tomcats were serious about wanting to keep me, they'd have sent Keith to negotiate this, not some virgin scout wannabee."
"I am not a virgin!" she cried.
I chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that," I said, and she blushed. I could feel her breath on my bare skin as she panted. Anger flushed her cheeks, giving her a natural rosy glow that made my head dizzy.
"What the hell is your point about all this anyway?" I asked.
"My point," Emma said, lowering her voice. Her chest rose up and down in rapid succession, highlighting the perfect form her breasts took in a simple white t-shirt. I knew it wasn't my imagination. She wanted me.
"My point," Emma said again, “is that through everything, the Tomcats have stood by you. Do you really want to leave?"
"No," I confessed. "I don't." I was surprised to hear myself admit that to anyone. The whole time, I'd been playing it off as if I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of Dodge. But there was something about Emma that lured the truth from me. I couldn't help myself when I was around her.
I kissed her.
Emma stepped back, fresh anger manifesting on her face. She slapped me. Hard. She stood shocked for a second. I could feel her hand imprinted on my cheek. No woman had ever slapped me before.
"You don't get to do that," she said, her teeth gritted tightly together. "The next time you try something like that, it won't just be your face I slap. It will be some other, much more vital body part that I kick. And you should bear in mind that when I kick you, I'll be doing it in four-inch heels. Which could work out very badly for you if I do it wrong." She turned and walked off, leaving me with an image of exactly what she might do with those four-inch heels, and wondering whether or not another kiss from her might just be worth it.
7
Emma
I sat at my kitchen table in my little apartment, staring at the early detection pregnancy test. It had been just over a week since I'd slept with Bryant, and so much had happened between now and then that I simply hadn't realized I'd skipped my period until a few days after the date had come and gone.
"It can't be," I murmured, shaking my head. "Oh no. No, no, no. It can't be."
I rose from the chair and began to pace the brown linoleum that ran the length of the apartment, giving it a 1950s retro feel. My place was small, but it was all mine. I was glad I had moved out of my father's house at nineteen. Right now, I was especially grateful because I was on the verge of freaking out, and I didn't need an audience for this.
"Shhhiiiit!" I screamed, lifting my head to the ceiling.
"Oh goddammit!"
Now what the fuck was I supposed to do? I'd only slept with one person in the last six months—Bryant Osbourne. He'd barely said one word to me since the night he'd fucked me in his Ferrari. I didn't care. He was a dipshit, and I didn't want to see him again anyway. But now... I didn't see how I could avoid it. Of all the times to ignore my rule about fucking football players, I'd chosen the night of the Tomcats party to break it and Bryant Osbourne to break it with.
I didn't have time to think about this right now. My father was expecting me at the stadium in an hour. I'd been ditching his calls for the last week, feigning sickness, a dead cell phone, anything so that I wouldn't have to tell him I hadn't sealed the deal with Jackson yet. The Tomcats didn't want to lose him. If they did end up losing him, then my father had specifically told me that I'd better find someone even better to replace him with, fast, or I might as well get out of the business altogether and go work in a bakery somewhere. After all, women didn't belong in sports—they belonged in places like bakeries and hair salons. I wondered how my mother had put up with his male chauvinism for all the years they were married. If she were still alive, I would have probably asked her.
"Okay," I nodded. "First things first. Let's get to the stadium."
I hopped in my Corolla, and by the time I got to the stadium, I had calmed down, if only a little. So what if I was pregnant? That didn't mean I had to keep it. There was adoption or... that other thing. I didn't want to think about it, though. None of the options available to me seemed like a good idea. I'd been so lost in my thoughts that I must've sped the whole way here. I’d made it to the stadium gates a full twenty minutes before I was supposed to meet with my dad.
There's no time like the present.
I went in search of Bryant. He wasn't hard to find. He was in the locker room, about to head up to the field where the rest of the team was already waiting. Jackson ought to be around here, too. He'd made and canceled a half-dozen appointments with me in the last week. I'd have to track him down as well. I didn't understand why he w
as avoiding me. Sure, I'd slapped him, but he'd deserved it. I hadn't asked for that kiss.
You didn't seem to mind it too much for a second there.
I told the voice in my head to shut up. I admitted that Jackson's kiss had been delicious, but it had also been wildly inappropriate. I wasn't here to screw football players. I was here to work. The irony of my new situation was not lost on me. Despite my assertions that I wouldn't fuck football players, I was now carrying the unborn child of one.
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."
