by Liv Morris
I hit call and the line rings.
“What’s up, Brady?” Rod answers, sounding upbeat. I wonder just how upbeat he’ll sound when I tell him my news. “The press ate up you eating that girl’s face last night. I’m surprised you gave me her name. Usually they go nameless, mostly since you don’t know their names anyway,” he trails off, laughing like he’s splitting a gut.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep laughing. Actually,” I say, my tone sobering, “I’m calling to tell you something about her.” My stomach knots up and I blow out a breath. Telling him makes everything seem real and fucking freaky. No more chasing pussy this season for me—not that my dick would let me anyway. “Well, I just bought an engagement ring for her.”
“Why would you do that?” he asks, his tone shifting, seeming flabbergasted. Not that I can blame him. The idea of me getting married to anyone is so far removed from who I am…or was.
“Because I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve seen her like how many times, five?” he says, disbelief in his voice. I sigh, dreading having to tell my brother too. He’s going to flip his shit.
“I’m going to ask her to marry me tonight.” Technically, I don’t have to do this, but Coach is insisting I make a public proposal—the down on my knees in a fancy restaurant kind.
“Well, it’s your funeral kid, or your johnson’s,” he laughs. I want to tell him my dick’s already dead, but why bother?
After that enlightening conversation, I spend the next couple hours at the penthouse. I’m not sure why I’m so wound up about having Cali here. I guess the last woman who stayed over didn’t leave the best impression.
Heather tells me there’s no food in the house, so I order a shit load from Trader Joe’s for delivery.
I have no idea what Cali likes to eat. Fuck, for all I know she’s a vegetarian. She does drink, so that’s in my favor, but we are virtually strangers, like those arranged marriages where they meet for the first time at the altar.
At least it’s not a lifetime commitment, just a temporary fix until things in my pants improve. I can stick this out until after the Series, if we are lucky enough to end up there.
Around six, I shower and forgo the usual shave, leaving the day’s scuff on my jaw. Chicks seem to dig it, and Cali may too.
Coach wants the world to capture this proposal on film for some crazy assed reason. Maybe to pin Cali and me to the agreement? So I’m taking her to The Signature Room atop the John Hancock Building. It’s all open and white tablecloths. It will serve the night’s purpose.
Heather reserved a table for two by the window and in full view of the rest of the patrons. I imagine the first thirty minutes will be me signing shit and taking photos, but after that, I want to have a nice steak, if my stomach will let me. This getting down on my knee business has me on edge.
I walk out of my room, ready for Stuart to take me to Cali’s apartment, when Heather stops me on the way to the door.
“Did you call Cali about tonight?”
“What do you mean? I thought it was all settled.”
Heather tsk tsk’s at me and I prepare for her to set me straight.
“I told you Cali wants you to call her for dates, etcetera.”
“Shit, I thought that was going forward, not tonight.”
“You’re such a knucklehead. Even more tonight since you’re going to propose.”
“How did you know that?”
“Coach. Plus, you buying something for a women’s finger that fits inside a small blue box already hit the wire.”
“Great. Just fucking great. I hope Cali doesn’t hear about all this.”
“Me, too. Better call her now and clear this up first. You don’t want her saying no, do you?”
“First Stuart and now you. What’s with everyone wondering if she’ll say yes? I’m Brady Luck, baby.” I try to air kiss Heather and she swats me away.
“Call her,” Heather demands like a bossy big sister.
Cali picks up on the first ring.
“Hello,” she says.
“Cali, it’s Brady.”
“So the caller ID says.”
“Well, wires got crossed and I’m calling to ask you to dinner tonight.”
“It’s almost six-thirty. What if I have other plans?”
“Do you?”
“No, but I might’ve.” Her voice has a warning in it, a silent “don’t fuck with me”, but damn, I want to.
“Well, I would love to take you out for dinner, if you are available?” Who the hell am I? I sound like I’m asking her to prom.
“Let me check.” Oh my God, is she really putting me on hold? “Looks like I can swing it after all.”
“Thank fuck,” I whistle before thinking.
“Nice language. I guess we are past first impressions.”
“You are moving in with me after dinner, so I think we’re past the formalities.”
“Don’t you wish,” she says, and I can see her teasing smile in my mind. Funny thing, it makes me smile too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brady
Stuart drives me to Cali’s apartment. I knock on her door, my most charming smile in place, ready to woo the pants—hopefully—right off her, when someone who is not Cali opens the door.
“Taylor. Best friend,” a black-haired chick with matching black eyes introduces herself. The smile drops from my face as she raises a brow at me and places a hand on her hip.
“Brady, boyfriend?” I cough out the word.
“So I’ve heard.” Taylor eyes me up and down and I shift on my feet.
“May I come in?” I laugh to myself. Me standing outside a girl’s apartment asking to enter, I don’t remember the last time this happened—if ever.
Usually my hookups and I fall into my apartment, a mess of legs and limbs from making out in the elevator and hallway. Add the fact that I don’t do dates and I bet it’s been high school since I stood outside looking in.
“Sure, just watch the landmines,” she jeers at me when I glance up at in confusion. “Just kidding.”
“So, you’re the interrogator?” I ask.
“Yes, and I’ve just started with you.” She wants to toy with me, and I can’t think of a place I’d rather not be. No wonder I don’t fucking date. She’s giving voodoo chick a run for her money.
“Taylor, you promised to be nice,” Cali admonishes as she comes into the main room. “Quit giving Brady too hard a time.”
My breath leaves me as I stare at Cali. “Wow!” I exclaim. “You look…” I am at a loss for words. Finally, I find one. “Stunning. Completely stunning.”
“Thanks.” She smiles and moves from side to side in a small twirl. It makes the lower part of her light blue dress move around her shapely legs. I can’t take my eyes off of them, or her.
She looks so damn beautiful, I want to parade her around on my arm for the world to see—and they will soon.
What the hell kind of talk is that? I better shut that down now.
“I see you’ve met Taylor,” Cali says, gathering her purse.
“We had a brief introduction,” I say, summarizing our thirty seconds.
“You came out too soon,” Taylor complains with a pout. “I didn’t get to warn him. You know, about the castration.”
“The what?” I squeal.
“Yep. If you screw with her, it’s your fate,” Taylor says, moving toward me. There’s a glint of danger in her eyes and I’ve decided it would be in my best interest to stay on her good side. I don’t want to see the other—ever.
“I will, promise.” I hold up two fingers like in my old Boy Scout days.
“Here’s me watching you.” She holds up two fingers like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction and does that eye-to-eye thing.
“For goodness sake, Taylor,” Cali says. “Cut it out. He’ll behave.” She winks at me, and she’s likely right. At least for tonight.
***
Cali and I arrive a
t the Hancock Building and I guide her through the entrance with the hand on her back. Even in her fuck-me-while-I’m-standing-here heels, she’s tiny next to me.
The Signature Room is on the ninety-fifth floor, and there’s only one way for Cali and I to get there. People gawk at us and click their camera phones while we walk through the lobby to the elevator bank.
Standard shit for me. I scan the crowd with a smile on my face and a couple head nods. Fucking love my fans, but Cali has drawn so close to me, her entire body is nearly plastered to my side.
“You’ve got this one, Brady,” a young kid yells out. I wave a thumbs up at him and smile.
The grin on my face has something real behind it, though. I’m ready to get this suspension over with and return to my team. Just being around Cali the last couple days has improved my mood. Maybe Coach is right. It’s all in the brain, not the head on my dick.
But all this attention isn’t anything Cali wants or asked for. I need to remember that. “You’ll get used to it. Promise. Besides, they’re just checking out my hot as fuck date.”
“Stop it,” she says, giving me a forced smile.
I reach down for her hand and spread my fingers through hers. Looking up, she smiles at me and my stomach twists, for whatever fucking reason, but not in a bad way. Whatever I’m feeling is foreign, but not bad. Matter of fact, I kind of like it.
“Why are you being so nice?”
Good question. “I guess I like you. As a friend.” This time, her smile back at me reaches her eyes.
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll get used to it around the time I move out.”
“We’ll see,” I reply with a squeeze of my hand, not sure whether I’m referring to her moving out or her getting used to the attention. It has to be the attention. This thing between us has an end date, and thoughts like that need to stay far away from my mind.
“Mr. Luck.” A man approaches us with one of those security type earpieces. He pushes the device closer to his ear and nods his head like he’s listening to someone on the other end. “I’m getting them now.”
“Sorry about that, sir. I’m Greg,” he says, gesturing for us to follow him. “Heather phoned ahead and informed us of your arrival. We have a special back elevator for high profiles.”
I glance down at Cali, who’s also looking up at me. “Stick with me, kid. I’m a fast way to the top.” She grins while rolling her eyes.
We arrive at the rooftop and I step off the elevator with the same pressure in my ears I get from flying. The man who escorted us to the elevator also escorted us up and hands us off to a hostess.
“Good evening, Mr. Luck and guest.” She winks at Cali, which is odd and welcomed. I don’t want people flirting with me tonight. Maureen was enough for one day.
I shake my head. Wanting women not to flirt with me has never crossed my mind—not once. What the fuck is going on with me?
I follow behind Cali and enjoy the sweet wiggle her ass makes in the blue dress and heels. If I weren’t behaving, I’d give it a little swat for good measure.
A hum starts in the place as we weave through the tables. Same old song and dance—people point, whisper, and click.
I pull out Cali’s chair and she gives me a look of surprise. “Remember my mother tried to raise me right,” I say with an emphasis on tried.
“Kudos to her for the attempt,” she replies while sitting down. Was she being sarcastic? It’s hard to tell at this point.
A waiter takes our drink orders the second the hostess leaves the table. This is what I call player service. It’s the usual in this town, even if we’re losing. Chicago fans are long-suffering.
“How do you do it?” she whispers.
“Do what? Order a drink?” I tease, already knowing what she’s implying.
“This,” she scans the faces all turned in our direction. “It’s like we are two goldfish in a bowl for them to stare at.”
A few kind souls turn away when they’re caught staring, others use it as an opportunity to get my attention. They’ll approach me for an autograph even in fancy five-star joints like this. A father and his son rise up from their chairs while talking between themselves and looking at me.
“Seekers. Ten o’clock,” I say to Cali with a slight nod of my head in their direction.
“Seekers?” she asks as she follows my eyes and sees the duo a couple feet away. “Oh, I get it.”
“Excuse me, Brady.” They always call me by my first name. I’m in their living rooms from spring to fall, so I’m like a familiar friend, even if they do cuss me out from time to time. “My son is your biggest fan. He dreams of playing for Chicago, too. Would you mind taking a photo with him?”
“I’d be happy to.” I place my napkin down on the table and wink at Cali. “Excuse me, baby.” She looks shocked at the term I use for her, or maybe at how naturally it rolled off my tongue.
I take a few selfies and posed shots with fans for about five minutes before the restaurant manager shuts down the show. I tell everyone I’ll take more if they’re around when I leave, which pretty much solidifies they will be.
“You know, you’re really great with your fans,” Cali says. “I’m impressed, to be honest.”
“Well, they’re everything to me. I’ve been a Chicago fan all my life too, and I’m lucky enough to play ball for them. Can’t take that shit for granted.”
“I guess your cockiness is saved for the ladies,” she quips.
I want to whisper back that no woman has complained about my cock or cockiness, but I wouldn’t be sitting here with her if that were true.
We both order steaks, and I grin. All the meat I ordered from Trader Joes is safe.
Other things I’m learning about her since we sit down is she’s fucking gorgeous, for one. Her brown hair is shiny and curled in waves over her breasts. I lick my lips when I try to imagine them bare. I would say at least a C-cup, maybe more. Either way, she’s real for sure.
I haven’t sat and stared at her like this, face-to-face with nothing between us, or alone in our conversations. Well, there are people watching our every move, but they’re only background next to her.
“Tell me something?”
“Like what?” She takes another sip of her red wine. She said it goes better with red meat, so I caved and ordered a glass too. First time for everything.
I rub my chin and look toward the ceiling, which happens to be over two stories tall. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Notebook. Hands down,” she declares. From her tone, I can tell it’s not to be argued about. However, I’ve never heard of it.
“Oh, is it about kids at college?” She shakes her head at me and wrinkles up her nose. My question seemed logical, since she’s just out of school.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asks with a look of disbelief.
“I’ve never heard of it,” I retort. “It’s not like it’s Star Wars or a Cohen Brothers’ movie.”
She laughs a little too loud and a couple heads turn. I wonder if people realize she’s laughing at me.
“Well, it’s the most beautiful love story in the world. Ryan Gosling is in it. Ring a bell?”
“Sure. He’s in this great movie called Drive. Violent as shit. He goes around blowing brains out.”
“Great dinner conversation,” she quips, but our plates were cleared minutes ago.
“So, what makes your movie so special?” I ask, prepping for chick language and love talk.
“It’s the story of two people. How they fought to be together at the beginning and then it shows them at the end of their lives together. The man’s wife can’t remember him, so he makes a notebook of their lives together. He reads it to her every day. Some days, she remembers. Some days, she doesn’t.”
“Wow, that’s some movie,” I say with a straight face, though it sounds like fucking torture. The put-a-fork-in-my-eye kind.
“Quit lying,” she says with a pointed stare. “You don’t fool me. You’d last t
wo minutes with this movie. Tops.”
“Does that include the opening credits?” I ask, and we both laugh.
“Okay, it’s my turn for a question. Have you ever dated anyone or thought you were in love?” She searches my face and waits. Jeez.
“Where did that come from?”
“Answer the question. I did yours,” she singsongs.
“It’s pretty easy really. Yes and yes.”
“Wow, really?” Cali tips her head, eyeing me. “Care to elaborate? Or too chicken to actually talk about yourself?”
Now she’s trying to get a rise out of me. I’ll show her that I can talk about my feelings, even if I would rather jump off a cliff, which kind of feels like what I’m about to do.
“It was a long time ago. Senior year of high school.” She leans over the table to get closer to me, which makes me shift in my seat and pull at my collar. I never talk about this shit with anyone, let alone a woman. Even my mother doesn’t know the full story.
“Brady, I think this girl broke your heart,” Cali says while reaching out for my hand that’s resting on the table. She wraps her fingers around mine, and damn, it feels good.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago. She wanted a guy who was going to college. Not some dumb athlete slinging a ball around a diamond.”
“Well, she was a fool.” She squeezes my fingers before releasing my hand.
“It helps me understand why you fuck bimbos.” I spit out the sip I was taking of my wine.
“Bimbos?”
“Girls who have bigger boobs than IQs.” She assesses me from across the table. “They’re not going to hurt you.”
Is that true? Whatever, I like big boobs and girls who use their mouths for things besides talking.
Enough of all this feelings shit on just my side. “Since you asked about my past, what about you? Been in love?” I ask, leaning back a tad in my chair.
She looks down at the table and starts fiddling with the only fork left, the dessert one.
“Yep, college for me.”
“And…” I roll the word around in my mouth for a couple seconds. She finally looks up into my eyes, but I’m not prepared for the sadness I see in them.
