I knew I was in for a shit storm.
Samson and Griffith covered their dicks with towels as Alice strutted past me to get to Rafe.
“Woman, you are testing my patience today,” Rafe growled as he gripped Alice to him and covered her eyes.
Erica made a beeline for me, her cellphone in hand.
“Get them out of here. Hembrey!” Griffith called out as he did his best to dress hastily.
Though in the wrong, Rafe came to his wife’s defense. “What’s the matter, Griffith? Afraid she’ll see your two-inch excuse for a dick?”
“Fuck you. Get them out!”
Alice peeked over Rafe’s shoulder, and he swatted her ass as she squealed in his arms.
He looked down at her with pure adoration. “How in the hell did you get in here?”
She eyed Erica with a wink. “My girl here has an interview to prep Ren for. And I’ve never been back here,” she said as she looked back up at him with just as much love.
“Yeah, well, get out of here, babe, before I get shit from the elders.”
Erica was in front of me now, her brown eyes full of hurt and anger as she confronted me.
“You had dinner with her last night?”
I nodded.
“Ren, why didn’t you tell me?” She gripped the phone in her hand as if it physically hurt to hold it.
But as I studied her, my pulse picked up, and all I could see was the length of her toned legs, the cinch of her waist, the deep crease of cleavage that led up to the thin gold chain around her delicate throat. She looked gorgeous in a crimson sundress and fuck-me heels.
She was glowing, and it was only diminished slightly by the hurt in her eyes. I wanted to grab her then to wipe the worry from between her brows and quiet her thoughts with my kiss. I was burning and had been since the night she told me she never wanted to be my wife.
“I tried calling you,” I said as I packed my duffle. “Her PR thought it would be good publicity for both of us if we looked like we were dating . . . instead of . . .”
“Instead of fucking,” she said coldly as she again looked down at the picture.
I had to admit it did look incriminating, but that was the whole point.
“I didn’t think it was a bad idea,” I said, though it was a nightmare after that dinner to keep her clothed and away from my dick.
I could see the jealousy and the hurt, but much to my disappointment, she swallowed them both before she spoke.
“It’s a smart move, but you should have run it by me.”
“My nights are my own, remember,” I gritted out, not because I didn’t feel like I owed her an explanation after what happened between us the day before, but because I still couldn’t claim her as my own.
We still hadn’t decided anything between the two of us, and I had no idea what we were. If we were anything.
She looked up at me with venom in her gaze. “Nothing public is yours, nothing until this season ends.”
“I tried to call you.”
“I was still down with the headache.”
“Natasha’s rep said he’s been trying to get in touch with you.”
I saw it then; she was guilty. She’d purposefully avoided Natasha’s reps. I couldn’t help my smile as she narrowed her eyes.
“You should have tried harder, Ren.”
“You are the one who put me on this bullshit schedule,” I reminded her.
“I’m the one saving your reputation,” she hissed. “Not her.”
I glanced around the locker room and saw that it was mostly empty. I was getting pissed, and though I wanted to respect her decision to keep our past under the radar, her berating me in the locker room told me she was itching for a fight.
“Don’t keep anything from me, Ren. Okay? Even if you think—” she looked around us and lowered her voice “—even if you think it will hurt my feelings,” she said through glossy, berry colored lips. “I mean it, Ren. Don’t.”
“That was our first and last dinner, now we’re supposed to let it fizzle out,” I assured her.
“Good. It’s all good. It shows consistency at least,” Erica scolded. “We both know you haven’t done anything close to that with any other woman.”
“Except you, and look where that got me,” I retorted.
“Makavoy,” Rafe called from the entrance of the locker room as a reporter came in with a video set up behind him. “You’re up.”
All-Business-Erica showed up at that moment and pulled a jacket and hat from my locker.
“Here,” Erica said, shoving the cap down on my head. “Remember what we talked about and what topics to stay away from, okay?”
“I can dress myself,” I snapped, adjusting the hat before I pulled on the jacket. “I look like a fucking mascot.”
Erica couldn’t hide her smirk. “You look like a baseball player who’s proud to wear his lettering. Act the part. Stay away from the personal questions and talk about your love for the ball. Your teammates. Your plans.”
Ren eyed me, his jaw tightening. “I can handle an interview.”
“We are rebranding you,” she warned. “Ren, please, this is important to our campaign.”
Before I could say another word, a teenager with a mic introduced himself. He was sickly white and sweating profusely.
“Hi, Ren, I’m Nick from WBSC,” he said carefully, as if he were afraid to approach me.
“Sup,” I said as Erica’s eyes flared. “I mean, nice to meet you,” I corrected, playing along to placate her.
Erica seemed satisfied and took a step back as Nick dug in.
“I’m a big fan, and I can say just as much for the rest of the station.”
“Thank you, it’s appreciated,” I said with a dry tongue.
I was still looking at Erica, who was watching my every move like a hawk. I wasn’t feeling it. The clothes, the interview, any of it because all I wanted at that moment was to figure out just what in the fuck was going on out of the spotlight.
I’d been a good boy. I’d played along with her best-laid plans, but inside I’d been fighting for weeks with my feelings after two years of waiting, and I was at my breaking point.
Nick looked between Erica and me and spoke up in an attempt to break the tension which was thick in the air between us.
“We’re live in about a minute. I’m not going to delve too far in, just the usual—” He broke off on a gag, his face going pale. “Sorry, excuse me, I haven’t been feeling well—”
Nick chose that moment to rear back and empty his stomach on the floor beneath me.
Chapter 14
Erica
“Oh, Jesus Christ, man,” Ren said as he jumped back in time to dodge the puke spewing out of our sickly reporter.
It was Ren’s worst nightmare, and I could see the terror in his eyes as he watched Nick toss his cookies on the floor. It would have been comical had Nick not been so pitiful.
“I’m so sorr—” Nick began to apologize but was cut short by another wave of nausea.
The smell was repugnant as he panicked, wiping his mouth and working out another apology before he retched again. Unable to contain my surprise, I covered my mouth to hide my laugh as Ren’s furious eyes found mine.
“Are we done here?” he snapped, as if to insinuate that the situation was somehow my fault.
I walked toward Nick, who was turning green. “Nick, I’m so sorry you’re sick. We can reschedule for another day, okay?”
Nick nodded, his humiliation apparent as he left the locker room and the cameraman followed. I turned back to face Ren.
“What an asshole you’ve turned into,” I scolded. “Are you such a miserable bastard now you can’t even find any concern for the poor man or at least find a little humor in the situation?”
“Yep, we’re done,” Ren said as he slammed his locker.
“Actually, we’re not,” the cameraman spoke up as he rejoined us with a cell phone to his ear. “Not enough time to divert. We’re live in t
hirty-seconds.”
Ren froze as the guy lifted the camera toward him and held out the mic to me.
“Think you can swing it? You’re his rep, right?”
I nodded.
“It’s a three-minute segment,” he instructed. “Just the usual questions. We’re at fifteen seconds.”
I hesitated briefly before I grabbed the microphone and lunged over the mess on the floor toward Ren, who caught me just in time.
Composing myself the best I could, a nervous laugh threatened to bubble up as Ren’s eyes watered with disgust. I braved looking into the camera with a smile as the man behind it cued that we were live.
“I’m Erica Wild, filling in for Nick today in Paradise Valley. I’m standing with Ren Makavoy, an asset to Denver since he was signed two years ago.”
Ren stood stiffly next to me, and I saw the surprise in his eyes when I rattled off a few of his highlight plays over the last two seasons. I turned to see his warm eyes on me.
“Ren, how are you feeling about the team this year?” Temporarily stunned with my recap of the last two years of his career—footage I’d watched on my downtime at the field—he studied my face as I gave him wide eyes to let him know he was stunting the interview.
“I’m feeling confident,” Ren spoke evenly, his eyes darting from me to the camera.
He was visibly shaking, which I found hilarious, all the typical smugness wiped away by a sickly reporter and his ex-girlfriend grilling him on camera. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I began to go over our rehearsed questions.
“Tell us, Ren, what do you see happening for Denver this season?”
“Collectively, I see us winning games, breaking records, and going all the way. Denver deserves a winning team, and we plan to give them one.”
After a few more questions, I went rogue. Ren was still on edge, and I wanted to use it to my advantage.
“I’m curious, as I’m sure other fans are, to know if you have any superstitious habits?”
His jaw tick was the only sign of his irritation. “None to speak of,” he said, and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“No pre-game rituals?” I pressed, feigning innocence.
Ren gave me a murderous glance before he relented. “I guess you can say I have a little ritual. I like to fool around with a deck of cards before the game. It keeps me sharp, focused.”
“Care to demonstrate?”
Ren stiffened as I looked pointedly at his pocket. I knew his card tricks would wow his fans. It was something he only shared with me, but to get the point across to the rest of the world that he was a man with a little more substance and not just a pretty playboy with a bad temperament, they needed to see it for themselves.
“I think I can manage one trick,” he said with a hint of ice in his voice before he gave me a half-assed wink that told me I was in deep shit.
He pulled the deck from his pocket and split it in half, shuffling the divided cards with skilled fingers. I saw a few lingering guys in the locker room pause to look on.
Ren didn’t pull simple card tricks. He was an expert at it. He’d got a magic set for Christmas one year at one of his foster homes and had only been interested in the cards.
I could never get enough of seeing his face light up when he performed them. It was a peek of Ren in his best form, relaxed, confident, and smiling.
And while we were together and in bed one night, after hours of memorizing each other’s bodies, I’d laid with my head on his shoulder while he performed trick after trick for an audience of one. It was one of the best nights of my life.
In that locker room, inches away from Nick’s lunch and feet away from a few of his teammates, I watched him slowly come into himself on live television. And he wowed us all. Even the cameraman moved his head from behind the lens to get a better view. It was magic. A glimpse of the genuine Ren Makavoy.
“That’s really something,” I said, as if I wasn’t the woman he’d manipulated into a first date with those cards.
The woman he hadn’t ravaged on that very deck seconds after I told him I loved him.
As if he hadn’t pushed into me with our hands clasped and our chests together, our mouths molded, and our hearts on fire.
I stared at the deck with longing as Ren packed them away and put them back in his pocket. His confidence returned as he looked over at me with a smug smirk.
In an instant, I was devastated and furious as I pictured him with Natasha the night before. Once again, I’d been blindsided with too much of who he was after us.
I white-knuckled the mic as I commanded the interview.
“So, tell us, Ren, we’re all interested to know. Will there be anyone special in the seats for you this year?” I thrust the mic toward him, smacking him in the mouth and tapping his teeth, hard. Ren jerked back in surprise before he composed himself enough to answer.
“The fans,” he said carefully, looking me over as if to ask what in the hell I was doing.
“Any special lady in your life?”
Ren blocked the mic midway to his mouth to spare his reddening lip and teeth from another blow.
Somehow, he read me and worked the camera like a pro. “Every lady with Denver gear on to show their support.”
I was on dangerous ground and found relief when the cameraman gestured for us to wrap it up.
“Well, we wish you the best of luck this year, Ren.”
“Thank you,” he sneered as the camera cut off and he touched his finger to his swelling lip.
“What the fuck was that?”
The locker room was empty now save for the camera guy packing up his equipment, who chose that moment to compliment me.
“You did a great job,” he said, giving me a wink.
Ren looked between us and his eyes dulled. “I beg to fucking differ.”
“I’m Lewis.” He held out his hand to me, completely ignoring Ren’s tantrum, to take mine and I gave it to him. “You really should consider doing something in media.”
“Thanks,” I said as a sickly Nick reappeared, spitting out more apologies before Lewis began to whisk him out the door, but not without extending an invitation to me first. “Can I call you sometime?”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ren scoffed, looking between us.
Lewis wasn’t half bad looking. In fact, in all the chaos I hadn’t noticed just how good looking he was.
“I’m pretty fucking serious,” Lewis retorted as Ren shot him daggers.
“Nice to meet you too, Makavoy.”
Ren’s voice was a full-on threat. “Fuck yourself.”
“I knew you were full of shit, and that was all just for show,” Lewis sounded off snidely as a vein in Ren’s neck popped out.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
I grabbed Ren’s arm and he shook me off as he took a threatening step toward Lewis.
“Ren, chill out,” I said pointedly before I pleaded with Lewis, who was still holding Nick up, waiting on my answer. “Please, just take him and go.”
Lewis looked between Ren and me. “Sure, but just so you know, you can do way better than this asshole.”
Ren’s body coiled as his eyes went to ice.
“Jesus Christ, man, do you have any intention of keeping your fucking teeth today?” He was about to snap, and I braced myself for it when Lewis finally disappeared out of sight.
“You can’t engage in that crap, Ren,” I said calmly.
He turned on me then, cold fury in his eyes.
“Don’t engage? Says the woman who asked every question I’m supposed to be avoiding?”
“That was the first of several thousand inquiries this year of who you’re sticking your dick in, boss. I’m just prepping you.” I shrugged and began to head for the door as a janitor walked past us to mop up the mess between us.
“No, that wasn’t prep. That was jealousy, pure and simple,” he whisper-yelled, closing the space between us. I glanced around us as he closed in.
> “Stop it,” I hissed, on edge with anger threatening to get the best of me. I moved to get around him, and he caught my wrist.
“I don’t think I will,” Ren said, his voice ice. “You don’t get to pull that shit on camera.”
“You did,” I reminded. “And I was blessed to witness it all!” Disgusted, I shook my wrist loose as he followed me toward the door of the locker room.
“I didn’t fuck her. I had dinner with her. I was trying to do right by her, which she deserved. I’m trying to do the right thing by everyone.”
I turned to him then and let my anger feed. I might have walked out on him, but he made damn sure I felt his wrath.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to regret walking out on us, Ren, because a minute later you became exactly what I feared you would. I hated the sight of you. I resented us.” I saw him flinch, and I took a step forward, gaining ground. “I resented everything that happened between us.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You think that back there was jealousy? That wasn’t jealousy.” I said as I crossed my arms.
“I’m sure of it,” he snapped. “But why don’t you lie to me and tell me what it was.”
“That was assumption because that’s all you ever grace us with, your adoring fans, those of us who want to see the best in you. But now we can only assume the worst. You put a sick taste in our mouths by becoming the epitome of the cliché. I had a grudge against baseball when I left you, but you made sure I was finished with it.”
Ren stood, eyes widening as I let my anger reign. “You made it a joke, a disgusting ego sport on and off the field. And I pity anyone who idolized you for the man you were the last two years.”
I saw the visible rip in his chest but refused to let up.
“You want a reason for why I left you? Here’s a good one. This fucking sport. It destroys things; it destroys relationships and people.”
“No, that was you,” Ren accused as he stared down at me.
“Was it me? Or did I get out just in time, before you turned into this self-important asshole who thinks he’s the only one with talent? Look at what you’ve become! There was no way I could watch it change you or what we had. And you are so much like him, Ren. So much.”
Team Player: A Sports Romance Anthology Page 43
