Broken Play

by Tracey Ward

  “Oh, I’d ruin him,” Lonnie purrs into my ear.

  I roll my eyes, shifting my phone to my other ear. I stuff my right hand into my coat pocket to give it a break from the frigid air. Winter on the east coast is no joke. I’m freezing my California grown nips off standing out here waiting for my dad, but I’ll be damned if I get back inside that limo. The driver smells like menthols and peppermints. It’s hard to breathe in there.

  “Dude, I’m being serious,” I tell Lonnie. “I was so fuckin’ scared Anders was going to show up before I talked Tyus down.”

  “You’re on a first name basis now? Is he your new best friend?”

  “Yep. You’ve been replaced. Deal with it.”

  “Whatever,” she sighs, sounding bored. “I’m not scared. You need me. And you don’t want to be friends with this guy. You want to fuck him.”

  “I don’t even know him.”

  “Never stopped you before.”

  “Don’t be a cunt. Those days are over, remember? I’m reformed.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she laughs. “So, who is he again? The quarterback? The Hawaiian one?”

  “No, that’s Trey.”

  “Oh shit. Then I have no idea who this guy is.”

  “Tyus Anthony,” I repeat impatiently. “He’s a receiver.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “He’s sexy, yeah,” I answer, trying to sound like it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t. It shouldn’t.

  “Got it. He’s black,” Lonnie responds matter-of-fact.

  “What the fuck, Lonnie?” I snap.

  “What?” she asks innocently. “You have a thing for black guys.”

  “I do not.”

  “Are you ashamed of it? That’s racist, bitch.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it because it’s not true. I don’t have a thing for—” I cut myself off before I finish that sentence. There are reporters and fans swarmed around the door leading out of the stadium, there are two buses full of players and staff idling behind me, and there’s a steady stream of people traveling back and forth between them. And here I am – smack dab in the middle of the two. This is not the place to have a loud conversation about whether or not I have a penchant for black men. “I don’t have a thing for any type of guy.”

  “You only say that black men are sexy. Otherwise you say they’re hot. Or gross. You say guys are gross a lot.”

  “A lot of guys are gross. That’s not my fault.”

  “But not this one.”

  I close my eyes, releasing a long, foggy breath. I imagine it clouding over my face, hiding me. Shrouding me. It feels good. It feels private and safe, unseen in a way I never am. My dad is always watching me, and if he’s not there to do it, someone else is. The driver in the limo sees me in his side mirror. The bulky guy in the black windbreaker by the stadium exit is watching me out of the corner of his eye. My mom is at home in Los Angeles drinking her third chardonnay of the evening and tracking my phone from hers. I’m alone but I’m never alone, and that’s the loneliest fucking feeling in the world. To feel surrounded but separated, like everyone is on the other side of some unseen veil that’s thin as air, invisible to the eye, but stronger than steel. I’ve never felt anyone on the other side of it, on my side. Not my parents. Not my friends. Not the men who have been inside me in every physical way possible. The only thing that’s ever gotten me close to feeling connected is the drugs, and now that they’re gone, I feel more distant than ever before.

  “No,” I whisper into nothing. “Tyus is not gross.”

  “You like him,” Lonnie sings mockingly.

  “Yeah, sure. He’s a decent guy.”

  “And he’s sexy.”

  “Let it go.”

  “You let it go. You’re the one picturing him naked.”

  I wasn’t, but I am now. I’m thinking about those ads he did for Dolce where he was standing on a beach on white sand in white underwear that didn’t hide a damn thing. He’s bigger in person than I thought he’d be. You see guys like Tyus out there on the field surrounded by Goliaths and he looks tiny by comparison. But next to me, he’s huge; an endless collection of muscle rolling under soft, black skin like mountains on a moonless night. And his eyes. Fuck me, his eyes. So deep and passionate, my heart stumbled in my chest under the weight of them. I knew he was hot, but that’s Tyus on paper. Tyus in person is a whole other animal; lithe and exciting, like bottled lightning.

  “Fuck,” I grumble.

  Lonnie chuckles knowingly. “Called it.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yo, Mila!”

  My eyes snap open, my heart leaping into my throat. “Oh shit.”

  “What? What’s happening?” Lonnie demands.

  Tyus is gently but insistently pushing his way through the throng of fans and press. He’s live and in the flesh. And fully clothed. He signs a football as he passes a fan. He shakes a drunk dude’s hand. He ignores a thousand questions about whether or not he quit, and then he’s making his way toward me with his big, orange duffel slung effortlessly over his shoulder and a smirk on his lips. He’s relaxed but reserved. Casual but sexy. So fucking sexy.

  I don’t think I have a thing for black men. I think I just have a thing for men – real men with a chip on their shoulders and a fire in their eyes that says they’ll take care of their shit and then they’ll come home to take care of you. Every. Last. Inch of you. That’s the kind of look Tyus is giving me right now. I imagine him hurrying toward me. Touching me. Taking hold of me. I imagine his hands are on my hips, his lips closing in on mine with minty breath that feels cold and hot at the same time. I’m shivering. I’m sweating. I’m trembling in my belly as his hands pull me closer and his chest presses hard against mine, crushing me. Reshaping me into something softer than I’ve ever been before.

  “What’s happening?!” Lonnie shouts into the phone.

  I lick my lips, trying to stop the smile that’s pulling them wide across my face. “It’s Tyus. He’s coming.”

  “Oh shit,” she echoes. “Is your dad there?’

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell him who you are?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to fuck him?

  “I have to go.”

  “Mila, don’t you dare hang—”

  I hang up on her, quickly stowing my phone in my pocket. My eyes dart behind Tyus to the photographers. They’re not following him but they’re taking his picture. They’re about to take our picture. Us together. That’s going to be all over the internet tonight, with his full name and mine. Even if I don’t tell him who I am, he’ll know soon enough.

  That thought makes me unreasonably upset.

  I force a smile, casual and easy. “Mr. Anthony.”

  He frowns as he approaches me. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

  “I didn’t sling it.”

  He chuckles in reply. It’s deep as the ocean, sending a rush of cool sea salt through my veins.

  He’s lighter than he was in the elevator. His shoulders are lower, his chin higher. He’s happy with whatever happened in the conference room, but as much as I’m dying to ask about it, I don’t dare do it out here in the open. As many eyes as there are watching me, there are twice as many ears listening to him.

  Tyus stops a few steps from me; a solid distance that doesn’t imply any excess familiarity, and why would it? We didn’t do anything in the elevator. We just talked. And that’s all we’ll do now or in the future – talk. No touching. The second he touches me, that’s the moment his career really and truly falls apart, and there’s nothing I’ll ever be able to do to fix it. Daddy will make sure of it.

  “You look cold,” he comments.

  I shrug, suppressing a shiver. “I’ve been colder.”

  “You being tough right now.”

  “I’m always tough.”

  “Yeah, you look it,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound sarcastic. “Are you out here waitin’ on the boss man?”

 
“Always.”

  “That’s brutal.”

  “All part of the job.”

  “You need a new job.”

  “I’ll take GM. Thanks.”

  Tyus grins. His teeth are perfectly straight and I wonder if he had braces as a kid. I did. That shit sucked but my mom couldn’t handle the asymmetry of my smile.

  “With what you pulled on me in that elevator, you’re on your way,” he promises.

  “I didn’t pull anything. I was just straight with you.”

  “That’s what I needed,” he confesses seriously, his voice dipping. His body coming in closer. “That’s what they weren’t giving me. And if you hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have gone to that meeting. I wasn’t getting out of that elevator.”

  “You were going to live there? Forever?”

  “It was a really nice elevator,” he reasons, “with a really beautiful view.”

  I feel a burn in my blood that makes a break for my pussy, but I tell her to calm down. It was a compliment, not an invitation. Down, girl.

  “How’d it go in there?” I ask quietly, unable to stop myself. My curiosity is a living thing inside me. It has a mind of its own, a lot like my desire.

  I have it on good authority from four different shrinks that I struggle with impulse control, and I felt it every time I took another drink or another hit on a bong. Every time I woke up in bed with a new guy or a new car in the driveway. But I have it on lock now – that’s what I tell myself. That’s why I keep a joint in my pocket but I never smoke it. I just like to almost smoke it, like in the skybox when I lit it and stared at the embers dancing for me. Playing with me. Calling to me. Fuck, I wanted to smoke it, but almost as soon as I lit it, I snuffed it. It’s the closest I’ve come to jumping off the wagon in a long time and that fact makes me nervous. But I can’t doubt myself, not now. I have to remember that I’m strong. Stronger than my past and my fears and my desires. I can do this. I can keep temptation within reach and not fall for it like I used to.

  But when I look at Tyus Anthony in his dark jeans, dark sweater, and achingly beautiful dark skin, I wonder how strong I really am. If he asked me to climb in the back of this limo with him, would I go? Would I fuck him in my father’s ride in full view of the press and players? Probably not, but I’d want to, and how different is that from actually doing it? How strong am I really if I’m picturing him naked underneath me right now, his eyes out of focus and his fingers digging into my hips? His full lips parted to release a sigh that sounds a lot like my name as I ride him slowly, milking every ounce of pleasure I can from his immaculate body into mine where I’ll hoard it, hide it, and remember it later when I’m alone and feeling needy.

  Oh yeah, I think sardonically. I’ve got it all under control. That’s why I’m practically panting right now.

  Tyus, oblivious to the devious things I’m doing to do him in my mind, glances over his shoulder to make sure we’re alone. We’re not, not really, but we’re as alone as either of us is ever going to get. “It went down exactly like you said. They’ll match my Super Bowl bonus and I get my spot back.”

  “What’d you tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  I blink, surprised. “You told them nothing?”

  “I didn’t say a damn word while I was in there. I let them do all the talking. At the end, I nodded, shook Big Bill’s hand, and I left.”

  “That’s it? That’s all that happened?”

  He smiles. “You were hoping for a blow out?”

  “I was hoping you’d stay,” I answer honestly. “That’s all I wanted.”

  “Well, you got your wish. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then we all got our wish.”

  “They owe it to you,” he tells me seriously. “It wouldn’t have gone down like this if it weren’t for you.”

  I shake my head sharply. “They can never know that.”

  “No, but I will. And I’ll remember. I owe you, Mila.”

  I grin at the way he says my name. Like it’s a promise. “I love to eat. Just sayin’.”

  “Then I’d love to feed you. Give me your number and we’ll make that happen.”

  The way this man is smiling at me, I’d give him my social security number if he asked for it, but I’m afraid my phone number is going too far. What if he takes it and he actually uses it? What if he calls me and wants to take me to dinner? I can’t go. Daddy and his goons or the paparazzi would spot us. Either way, Tyus would be fucked and today would mean nothing. He’d be booted off the team for good, the Kodiaks would lose their shot at the Super Bowl, and yeah, maybe that means Daddy won’t sell at the end of this year, but is that loss worth it to me to keep my team? Is it worth grabbing a bite with a beautiful man?

  Two years ago, I would have said, ‘Hell yeah, it’s worth it. I’m gonna ride him like a rail of coke!’, but that’s not me anymore. It can’t be.

  “I like your chain,” I tell him, changing the subject. “Who is that? Amarus?”

  Tyus frowns faintly but he glances down at the diamond encrusted ‘A’ hanging from his neck. The carats catch the weak winter sunlight, reflecting back in his eyes, making him wince. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Dick has iced half the NFL. It was a safe bet.”

  “You call Richard ‘Dick’?” he asks incredulously.

  I shrug carelessly. “It’s his name.”

  “When I went in his shop he made me call him ‘Mr. Amarus’. I heard Kanye got kicked out for not shaking his hand the first time he went in. Dude is crazy about respect, and you’re calling him Dick?”

  “He’s an old friend of my mom’s. Before he was Richard Amarus & Co., he was Dick Ameroso. My mom was a model and she wore a lot of his stuff to help get his name out there.” I lean in closer to him, pointing to my ear where a small, black earring studded with tiny orange jewels dangles delicately. It’s in the shape of a bear standing on its back legs. A Kodiak bear. “Dick made these for me for my birthday three years ago. I wear these every game.”

  “Is that why we keep winning?” he asks in a hushed voice that I feel in my toes.

  I smile sinuously. “Maybe. They’re my favorite earrings.”

  He surprises us both when he reaches for them. For me. His eyes are watching mine when his fingers touch the soft curve of my lobe, his knuckles grazing my neck. My body shivers in anticipation of something it can never have, and I feel like I’m falling. Like I’m floating and drowning and flying. I’m breathless, weightless, and all he’s done is touch my ear. It legit scares me to think what would happen if he touched me for real. Would I explode? Would I spontaneously combust and burn up into ash that blows away on a wild wind that tosses me somewhere out over the ocean?

  I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out.

  He licks his lips, running his fingertip up the outside of the shell of my ear. It’s enough to send sparks across my skin. I can almost hear myself begin to burn, crackling like campfire. “They look good on you.”

  “Thank you,” I breathe, exhaling smoke that curls between us.

  He inhales it, ingests it, and I wonder if he feels it too. If he’s kindling ready to ignite. He leans in closer, just an inch. One innocent inch that leaves no doubt in either of our minds what he wants, what we both want, and even though I know I shouldn’t allow it, I don’t pull away. I can’t. I want to kiss him. To taste him. His body is flint and I can’t imagine anything more deliciously agonizing than rubbing myself against him until he strikes, ignites, and then… fire.

  The door behind him bangs open. Over his shoulder, I see Daddy come bursting out of the stadium.

  I immediately put distance between us.

  “Mr. Greene! Mr. Greene! What do you have to say about Tyus Anthony’s antics on the field today?!” a reporter cries.

  “Is he fired?!”

  “Did he quit?!”

  “What are the Kodiak’s chances of a Super Bowl victory without him?! After the play he made today, has he proven himself n
ecessary?! Will the team play him over Josh Ramsey in the future?!”

  Daddy walks through the crowd like they’re not even there. His security team expertly clears a path – one leading directly to Tyus and I.

  “You don’t know me,” I tell Tyus furtively, and the sad part is, it feels like the truth. It feels like everything we’ve said to each other up to this point is about to be wiped clean. It’ll be crushed to dust under the weight of my last name.

  Tyus plays it cool, smoothly putting his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry. I got you.”

  “Mr. Anthony, we meet again,” Daddy says with a forced smile. He’s tired. He’ll eat a steak on the plane and pass out with a half-drunk whiskey in his hand right around Colorado. I just have to get him out of here before he says anything to Tyus that would tell him— “And I see you’ve met my daughter. Mila.”

  Dammit.

  Tyus frowns. His eyes swing between me and my father, then back again. “Yeah,” he answers slowly. “We just met.”

  “Wonderful. She’s a big fan of yours. You should have seen how worried she was when she thought you were leaving us.” He nods to the bus behind us. “I believe they’re waiting for you. We’ll see you back in L.A., yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Have a safe flight.” Daddy opens the door to the limo. He stands to the side, waiting to let me in.

  It’s all happening so fast. Daddy is in a rush to leave and I’m stalling to stay, to figure out what I can say to Tyus that will get us back to just a second ago when I was a girl and he was a guy and his hand was on my body and my heart was in my throat. But there’s nothing. It’s done – the embers of whatever was building were quenched by a big bucket of my last name and the billions of dollars that go with it.

  I hesitate, my eyes on Tyus. He’s staring back at me but his face is blank. I can’t tell if he’s angry or shocked. Maybe he just flat out doesn’t give a shit. I’ll never know.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I tell him quietly.

  He nods. “You too.”

  I wait for more but there’s nothing. There never is. Once men know who my father is, I’m either a conquest, a payday, or a bright red flag. I’m definitely not Mila. I’m just a liability to him now. Same as I am to everyone.