by Eden Butler
It seemed like the perfect set-up: get dressed up, forgo the skin and seduction for class and sophistication. Gia had picked something from her own closet, knee length, strapless sheath dress gathered on the side paired with understated gold Jimmy Choo sandals, also Gia’s not Reese’s, and delicate gold jewelry—the colors all a subtle shout-out to her team. Her hair was all wavy and soft around her face, just hitting the center of her back, makeup professional, but classic. Reese had caught one look at herself in the mirror on the way out of her apartment and took a double take. No jock-garb. No low cut lace. Just Reese, looking like a woman. A woman that Lennox Murry had doted on and praised and flirted with all the while pretending to be irritated that the paparazzi had caught them having drinks at the Decadence, the bar visible from the street, and dinner at Secrète, a new, exclusive French restaurant that was private but not secluded.
“I gotta see this picture again. Hand it over,” Billy said, a laugh already in his voice.
There was a rustle of paper, and Reese understood that the DJs were passing images of Lennox, leaning close to her, hand on her face as he reached down to kiss her.
Reese moved through the intersection, cranking up her AC as she pulled onto Baronne Street, then into her building garage. She flushed, her car suddenly hot as she remembered his deep, rasping voice against her lips just before things got interesting.
“If this were real, love, I’d kiss you so soundly no arsehole in his right mind would come near you.” He slid his mouth against hers and glanced up, angling her face closer. Those green eyes looked darker than they had been at dinner and Reese swallowed, her throat feeling thick at the thought that he wanted her. Lennox Murry, current UFC featherweight champion, might just want her, though she couldn’t be sure. Then that voice went lower, and Lennox promised, “And you wouldn’t want them to. I’d claim you forever with one bloody kiss” and Reese had to withhold a needy, low moan as he took her mouth hard, commanding and deliciously wet.
“That, my friends, is the look of a bastard thoroughly ready to smash.”
“Check for a pitched tent.” Bud laughed, making Reese shake her head.
“He’s Lennox Murry. The fucker always has a pitched tent.”
Gia convinced her to strike back at the asshole journalists who wanted to say the stupidest, simplest things about her. Calling her haggard and non-womanly was juvenile. Maybe so was paying a photographer to sneak pictures of her while she went on a pretend date with one of the hottest men in the public eye. But Gia reasoned these images would prove to the media and fans Reese wasn’t a sports jock or just one of the guys. She was wanted, desired by one of the manliest men alive. The exposure would also make the marketing people realize what a commodity Reese could be given the right opportunities. Either way, those pictures of her date and the Steamers’ calendar would be a huge draw. Reese hadn’t been happy about the entire scenario. She felt on display, like she was being followed for who wanted her, not her skill or ability. But Gia could be convincing. She was definitely bossy.
“Do it,” she told Reese. “Have a free meal and spend time with a sexy bastard. Enjoy yourself for once. You don’t have to marry him.” She walked around Reese, nodding at her dress. “But, honey, please fuck him. God knows you need it.”
Gia had hired local paparazzi to follow them on the date. Apparently, the photographer got followed and by the end of the night, the Royal Sonesta, where Lennox was staying was covered in photographers.
And all of them caught the kiss.
“Fuck,” Lennox said, holding her face between his large hands. On the other side of the lobby window, there was a thunderous roar of cameras clicking, and both Lennox and Reese’s names being shouted out. But Lennox ignored them. He ignored everything but Reese’s mouth and sliding his thumb over her cheek. “Bloody wish this wasn’t for show.” But Reese knew it was. Lennox, no matter how sweet, how eager to be alone with her, was well known for how often he slept around. He liked sex, it seemed, and right then, he wanted her to like the idea of sex. With him. That wasn’t going to happen. There were too many complications in her life. She didn’t need to add a horny, albeit, sweet and gorgeous UFC fighter to the mix.
“Murry didn’t hit it, I don’t think,” Billy said, sounding disappointed. “If he had, they’d have seen her leaving the Royal Sonesta or him leaving her apartment. But who cares? I mean, clearly by the looks of her on that date, she’s not the jock the paper claimed.”
“She’s very hot,” Bud agreed, laughing.
“Yeah, well, seems the only person who might care is, well…Glenn, I guess, from what I heard about his time at Duke, where Noble’s father coached.” He cleared his throat, waiting for a dramatic pause before he continued. “Of all people, Glenn would know about Noble, and how she is at smashing.”
The backtrack sounded and both men laughed, the obvious moan of a woman and squeal of bed springs in the background. “Word is, my freaks…” the DJ paused, queuing up the track of a muttering crowd quieting, “they were totally smashing!”
“What?” Bud asked, pretending to be surprised. “No way.”
The noise of shocked gasps and surprised exhales morphed into low, vulgar grunts and whistles. Reese sat in her parking spot, car still running, heart hammering, and she forgot about the bottle of water, and her phone, and everything else in life but the information those two assholes were leaking out to the world.
She leaned over, reaching for her phone, thinking of who she should call first, but the chest-beating teenage-boy antics on the radio gave her pause.
“Exclusive sources who were on the team with both Glenn and Noble his last year at Duke told me that they were smashing all through his last semester and then there was some bullshit about his dead sister and him leaving. Something real bad went down, and they hadn’t spoken until her first tryout.”
“Wow,” Bud said, sounding genuinely surprised. “That has to be why he was reported as not being too happy about her signing with the Steamers.”
“Gotta be it, but you know, Bud, I gotta say, this will definitely make the season more interesting, especially if the hot feminazi hooks up with Lennox Murry. Would be cool to see if Glenn and Murry go at it over the Steamers’ crazy bitch kicker.”
The laugh tracks went on, aided by whistles and snorts of noises that had Reese’s stomach turning. She killed her engine, making the cab silent as she sat there. Gia would know by now and all the bullshit Reese had fed her was about to surface. She’d lied to her general manager. Gia had asked Reese point blank after the argument at Decadence, after her meeting with Reese and Ryder and the kicker had stared at the woman, expression blank, sincere, and lied.
“Is there something going on with you and Glenn?”
“No,” Reese said, voice low, eyes steady.
“Well, has there ever been?” Gia seemed to hold her breath, worry pinching the corners of her eyes.
She was better than this. She had more integrity than to lie about something that could impact her placement on the team. But then, that was the issue. Her place on the team. The spot she’d spent half her life working toward. She’d come too far. She’d gambled too much, and Reese couldn’t let that go just because once she’d loved America’s favorite QB.
She kept that blank, faux sincerity on her face, fighting the small twitch that moved her left cheek. “No, Gia. Nothing happened.”
“Good,” the woman said, relaxing in her chair. “Because that would be a complication we damn well don’t need.”
Now she’d know. Everyone would. These jackasses had aired it all, let loose all they knew about the past.
“Ryder.”
Shit.
He had to know, too. Reese leaned back, hands over her face as the realization crashed on top of her. They’d mentioned Rhiannon. They’d been cruel about her death, and now Ryder would be put into the forefront of NFL gossip. The media would twist this. They’d make it seem like he’d had something to do with Reese getting a spot on his team.
/> Nepotism. That’s what they call this.
Thank God, no one had seen what happened in the elevator.
She sunk down deeper when a crowd of tourists moved by her car, and Reese reared back the seat, aggressively pushing the incline button near the door.
The elevator.
She’d spent that entire night replaying every expression on Ryder’s face. He’d been drunk, but passionate. He’d touched and kissed her like doing anything else was out of his control. He wanted her. She felt that, deep down. She’d seen it in his eyes, in the greedy, desperate way he went at her, wanting to claim and take and keep doing both until they were exhausted and spent and a puddle of sanctified goo on the elevator floor.
But unlike Lennox, who might be a bit of a ho, but still utterly free from commitment, Ryder Glenn had no business touching Reese the way he had. He wasn’t hers. He belonged to someone else.
She hadn’t spoken to him since that night. She got to her special-teams practices early. She avoided the locker room and the stadium gym, and when the pictures of her date leaked, she got a few raised eyes, some impressed grins from her teammates. Most had laughed it off. Some had been awe-struck that she had gotten Murry to be seen with her in public. He liked to be low-key with his dates and never allowed pictures of anyone with him but his crew. Her teammates nodded at her proudly, surprised by the pictures, but still impressed. Even Wilson and Pérez had complimented her, compared her leaked pictures to their professional calendar shots.
“Lennox looked good,” Wilson said. “So did you, that dress was banging, but I’m still way prettier.”
Others, though, didn’t like the attention. Reese had brought enough of it to their team already. This only brightened that spotlight.
“Ryder, what do you think about Reese dating Lennox Murry?” a reporter asked the quarterback as he left Lucy’s with Greer on his arm. There was a small crowd surrounding him, and he’d made the mistake of stopping for a few fans seeking an autograph. The second the question got asked, Ryder’s wide, happy smile at the fans fell from his face. He looked right into the camera, mouth tense, and shook his head. “I got zero opinion on that.”
Reese sat up straight, scrambling for her phone when it rang, the sound of it a shrill, loud ring that she wasn’t used to. Who calls anymore anyway?
Gia’s picture flashed across the screen and Reese lowered her shoulders. This would not be pretty, and it made no sense to decline the call. If Gia wanted to speak to you, she did.
“Hello?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” The manager’s voice was loud and livid. The question screeched in Reese’s ear, and she sat the phone in her cup holder, hitting the speaker icon.
“Gia…”
“Don’t you even try it, Noble. My God, do you know the shit storm this is going to cause? For fuck’s sake, Ricks is in a meeting with the owners right now to discuss ‘interpersonal team affiliations’ all because you and Ryder used to…to be…”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Reese told her, moving her seat up. She didn’t need someone who knew nothing about her or Ryder to fill in the blanks. “I lied to you, be pissed about that. But don’t make assumptions about me and the relationships I’ve had.”
Gia’s laugh held no humor, and Reese could make out the clip of her heels on a floor and the slam of a door before she calmed herself enough to reply. “I will if they concern my teammates.”
“No, you won’t, and don’t think you’ll get answers about what happened in the past.”
“I’m entitled to know…”
“No, Gia, you’re not.” The words came out raised, so loud, in fact, that the couple from 2-E, walking to their car, stopped to stare at her as they walked past her Challenger. Reese ignored them, inhaling to calm herself before she continued, her voice softer, but not calm.
“What happened at Duke is in the past. It doesn’t reflect on the way I play or the life I lead now.” That was only partially true. She could focus when she needed to. She could perform, but her life off the field was mostly empty. Reese simply never wanted to be invested anymore. Friends. Lovers. Other than her family, she chose to keep things friendly, but not close.
“If the owners are worried about interpersonal whatsits on the team, then tell them to handle Hanson and realize I’m not going anywhere, and Ryder won’t say a word about what happened in Durham.”
“You need to explain this…”
“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “I don’t and I won’t.”
Then Reese disconnected the call and powered off her phone.
15
Game Four, Regular Season
stats: 3:0
Reese
Reese had a feeling it was going to be a bad day.
The rain began on Thursday, and by Saturday afternoon there were questions about playing in the stadium. It was enclosed, comfortable, but had suffered major damage during Katrina and hadn’t quite been right since, despite the extensive repairs. Reese hadn’t wanted to play for fear that fans would venture out that Sunday amid the flooded streets and downed power lines just to watch the Steamers fail at trouncing New England.
By half-time, no one was speaking to each other except Ricks, and that was only to scream at Wilson and Pérez for their lackluster performances.
“Keep your eye on the target, you bastards, or you may as well sit your ass on the field shooting selfies, pretending to be real damn professionals.”
The mood only got marginally better when Ryder shot a third and final touchdown pass that normally required Reese on the field. But Ricks hadn’t wanted any chances at losing and had opted for two-point conversions over having her kicking. From the frown and head shake he’d sent her way when Ryder first scored, she understood that Coach was probably pissed at her for the pictures and the damn gossip.
A look over her shoulder and Reese caught Gia’s stony-faced expression, how the woman wore pitch black shades inside the stadium and utterly ignored the kicker all together. She hadn’t returned Reese’s emails or texts, and Cat confided that Gia had kept herself behind her office door all week.
“Whatever,” Reese mumbled, arms folded as she watched Ryder lining up the offense for another drive. Over her shoulder, Reese heard the crowd chanting, catcalls from New England’s side that were stupid and taunting but so far no requests for her to iron anyone’s shirt. But then she hadn’t gotten a shot at being on the field yet.
Until just then, when Ryder threw a pass that dropped smoothly into Hanson’s waiting arms.
“Yes!” Reese shouted, echoing the rest of the players and coaches on the sideline and the massive, elated crowd screaming in the stands.
She passed a look at Ricks, who’d steadfastly ignored her all game. He continued to ignore her, listening to something Mills said to him. Ricks looked at his playbook, holding it over his mouth as he said something to the special-teams coach that Reese couldn’t make out. Then, without looking at her, Ricks shouted, “Noble! Get out there.”
She didn’t hesitate, heading out onto the field along with Wilkens and their defenders. But as soon as she hit the field, something unsettling inched into her stomach, and Reese didn’t like the sensation. She felt nervous and paranoid as Wilkens readied himself on his knee waiting for her to angle up her kick.
“You good?” he shouted, looking at her like she’d gone green and was about to spew.
“Yeah…”
The chanting started low, a hum of noise she couldn’t quite make out. She thought she heard a name she recognized, then something else, but when she glanced up at the crowd, Reese’s face flamed and that queasy feeling in her gut churned into a burning, insufferable ache as she spotted a sign telling her exactly what they were chanting.
“What are they…?” Wilkens started frowning at Reese when she shook her head.
“Let’s go,” she told him, trying hard to ignore the refrain getting louder and louder.
Breathe, she told herself, hearing the comman
d in her father’s voice.
“RIDE HER…”
Just breathe, she repeated, inhaling as she stepped back.
“RIDE HER, RYDER!”
Reese closed her eyes as her foot connected with the ball. Her toe went high, hitting the ball in the middle, and it shot across the field. She released the breath she held, fists balled at her sides, then Reese hit the field, falling to her knees when one of New England’s blockers jumped, using his teammate’s back as traction, and hit Reese’s kicked ball, tipping it so that it went low then fell just three yards shy of the uprights.
“Shit,” she said, hands on her head as the crowd around her booed and cried and leveled the most vulgar, vicious curses at her.
“It happens,” Wilkens said, tapping her on the shoulder.
Reese moved, head down, but shifted her gaze up to the stands, finding her parents’ faces as she ran toward the sidelines. She ignored the look Hanson gave her to search her father’s face, nodding back to him when he gave her a wink.
“It’s okay, baby!” he yelled at her, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Get ‘em next time.”
She wanted to be sick. Reese wanted to run out of the stadium and find the nearest bathroom to vomit in. This had only happened to her twice in her career. One of those times the blockers used an illegal formation to hit her ball out of the way of the uprights. The other, Reese was running a hundred-and-two degree temperature and had no business playing.
But she wasn’t sick, and there had been no illegal formation on New England’s part. She just let the crowd get to her. She let the crowd and her teammates’ cold shoulders, her manager and coach’s cold shoulders, get to her.
Reese had forgotten to block out the distractions all around her.
“It’s okay.” She heard, turning to look up at Baker as he stood next to her. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and offered her a warm, welcoming smile. “You can’t be perfect all the time.”
“I’d settle for once,” she told him, arms crossed as she watched the defensive line jog out onto the field. “This is a disaster.”
