My emotions are a jumble as I try to sleep. The halftime talk with Allie has me feeling strange. I’m not sure at all what to think of Marcus Jennings, but since I have a lunch date with him tomorrow, I’ll have a chance to learn a little more.
“First, I’d like to apologize for my behavior at the fundraiser. I’d had a couple of drinks and went too far.”
Jennings and I have just placed our orders at Miracolo, the Italian restaurant I picked for our lunch. He’s apparently decided to address the elephant in the room upfront, a move I applaud. The last thing I want is to go through the entire lunch with that ugly comment of his hanging over our heads.
“Apology accepted, Marcus.” Half-accepted, to be honest. I still don’t trust this man.
“I just got carried away because you were so damn gorgeous. That dress was amazing. You were easily the most beautiful woman in that ballroom.”
It’s one thing to have over-the-top compliments thrown at you by someone whose sole interest is bedding you. Women are forced to deal with that all the time. But this is Marcus Jennings, a stunning hunk of masculinity, sitting across the table from me, and the look on his face seems sincere.
“You’re full of it, too,” I say. Marcus smiles as I try to fight back a blush.
“No, seriously. And I thought about what you said. I was out of line and needed a chance to apologize. That’s why I wanted this lunch with you.”
“This lunch wasn’t really about the foundation, then?” I ask. I knew it. “You tricked me.”
“I admit I did. Any foundation events that require hotel facilities are already being held at the Sunset Grand. But it was the only way I could get you to agree to see me. I needed to apologize to you, because I honestly like you, Rashida.”
I have no idea how to respond. An awkward moment of silence descends between us, and I quickly put an end to it.
“So, what are we going to talk about?”
“How about Jayden? Where’s his father?”
Well that certainly was an abrupt shift, but I’m thankful to get away from his comment about liking me.
“We were married in college. After we had Jayden, I learned that he wasn’t exactly dad material.”
“Divorced now?”
I nod. “Every year, he slips further out of the picture.”
“That’s a shame. Every kid needs a father. How’s Jayden handling it?”
“He’s accepted it. Occasionally something comes up that reminds him. Lately he wants to quit soccer because the other kids all have dads who come to the games. Moms apparently don’t count.”
Jennings smiles. “Yeah, my dad never missed a game—basketball, football, baseball, whatever. Mom, either. I was lucky in that respect.”
“Are you close with your folks?”
“Very close. My mom is a sweetheart, but Dad is a tough one. We didn’t have much money growing up, and he was always preaching about responsibility and hard work. Still preaches that, in fact.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“Sanitation. Trash collector. Since before I was born, Dad would get up five days a week at three in the morning. Never misses a day, no matter how sick he is.”
“He hasn’t retired since you turned pro? Surely he doesn’t need the money anymore?”
Jennings laughs at the prospect. “Dad, retire? No way. He wouldn’t even let me buy them a house or a car. He said, ‘I make my own money, Marcus. Don’t need yours.’ Dad’s a tough old guy.”
“Are they happy with your career choice?”
“Dad is very proud. They both are, but Mom wanted me to be a doctor.”
I hope he doesn’t notice how surprised I am by that comment.
“Was that a real possibility?”
“Yeah, definitely. Mom always pushed me on my studies. I was valedictorian of my high school class in Oakland and a National Merit Scholarship finalist. I was offered academic scholarships to a dozen schools, including Stanford. With a few years of hard work, I could have gotten through med school.”
I’m blown away. Marcus Jennings is that intelligent? I would never have suspected. “Why didn’t you go?”
“Because I liked the attention I got playing ball. I was good enough at it, too. I’ve had college and pro scouts sniffing around since I was in eighth grade. I knew I could go to Kentucky for one year, then move to the pros as a high draft pick, maybe even number one. I did the math and was certain I could make more in my first five years in the NBA than I could ever make as a surgeon.”
“Were you? The first player drafted?”
He smiles. “Third. But the second guy is already out of the league, playing in Italy.”
“Why do some people say you play selfishly? I don’t know enough about basketball to tell.”
The smile disappears. “Here’s the deal: I’m better than most players. Not everyone, but almost. Why would I want lesser players to take the shots if I’m on the court? It makes no sense.”
“But what about the idea of playing as a team? Isn’t that what sports is supposed to be about?”
“Rashida, this is my career we’re talking about. To me, that’s more important than the Lakers. My dad taught me not to rely on other people, to always take important matters into my own hands.”
I ask him if that has negatively affected his career in any way, and he tells me about the pointed interview questions, the lack of respect from his teammates, and especially about his problems in getting an endorsement contract commensurate with his status as the hottest young player in the league. By the time he finishes, I can’t help but think that he’s making a lot of things difficult on himself.
“Enough about me, though. I wanna know about you, Rashida.”
So far, Jennings has been honest with me, even humble at times. And his apology for his prior behavior seemed sincere. I look him square in the eye.
“What would you like to know?”
By the time lunch is over, the two of us are getting along better than I thought possible. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the looks I’ve been getting from other women in Miracolo. They no doubt wonder who this unknown chick is with big-shot Lakers star Marcus Jennings.
We fight over the check, but he laughs and lets me win, saying it’s only because Mr. Weatherford’s the one who’s really paying.
As we pull up to the hotel in Jennings’s stunning Lamborghini, I tell him not to bother parking, that I need to get in quickly because I have a meeting. It’s not true, but I don’t want him walking me into the building.
“Let’s just say goodbye here,” I say.
“Okay, but I have a quick question for you. We’re playing again tonight, but I’m free tomorrow night. Would you like to go out?”
He’s been charming the entire time, never saying anything the slightest bit out of line. Maybe I’ve been judging him too harshly because of the strange way we met.
“What do you say? We’ve had a lunch date. How about a nighttime date, like adults?”
I still have reservations about Marcus’s ability to behave like an adult, but I’m only human, and Marcus is one of the most handsome, likable guys I’ve ever met. And so ludicrously sexy it takes my breath away at times.
I push that last thought from my mind.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Later, Jayden and I watch the Lakers play the San Antonio Spurs. He asks why we aren’t at the game and I tell him we can’t afford to buy tickets for every game.
“Marcus will give us tickets,” he says, matter-of-factly.
I refrain from telling him I have a date with Marcus twenty-four hours from now. I don’t want to get his hopes up that this might be something long-term.
At that point, a little voice inside speaks up. Could it possibly evolve into something long-term? What exactly are you hoping for?
It seems a part of me is more than a little irritated that I agreed to go out with Marcus, because that part doesn’t see us as anything close to a good m
atch.
Another part of me is so excited that my stomach is already doing flip-flops, and that’s the part of me I’ve decided to listen to.
For now, at least.
15
Marcus
We thump the Spurs by twenty points to move into ninth place with five games left in the regular season. Just above the Lakers in the standings are the Dallas Mavericks. It would be sweet to knock them out of that final playoff spot. The whole team—the entire city, in fact—seems suddenly excited at the possibility of making the post-season for the first time in six years.
I’m even a little excited by that myself. It certainly could raise my Q-rating.
Not to mention me getting a career-high forty-three points tonight. Despite that, I still caught shit from Coach Madden and from our center, Andre Pender. Same old shit. Pass more, don’t ignore open teammates. Excuse me? I had forty-three fucking points. Tonight’s win was because of me, and if we make the playoffs that’ll be because of me as well. They should be thanking me.
I’m already irritated when I leave the stadium. As I drive out of the players’ underground parking area, I keep an eye out for a hot chick who gives me that look or shouts my name. Yeah, I’ve got a date with Rashida tomorrow and I plan on getting some pussy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get some tonight, too. At least a blowjob.
“Marcus!” At least half a dozen women are screaming it, and a few guys, too. The guys have jerseys and pictures they want autographed, but the women want something else. I scan the small crowd and see one chick with big-ass titties wearing a Steph Curry jersey. Really? You scream my name while wearing the colors of our in-state rivals, the Warriors?
Then it occurs to me that I want to fuck this chick while she’s wearing that jersey. I want to bend her over a bed wearing only that ugly-ass blue and yellow shirt and fuck her so hard Steph Curry himself screams. I signal her over and tell her to get in, and she does as asked. Tight jeans, asymmetrical hair style that’s a buzz cut on one side and long on the other, and shitloads of tattoos. This is going to be fun.
“Destiny,” she says as she straps her seat belt across those big tits.
“Indeed.”
She laughs. “No, my name. I’m Destiny.”
“And I’m Marcus,” I say with a grin as I punch the pedal. Tires squeal and Destiny is pinned against her seat as the Lambo roars out into the cool Southern California night.
“You up for some fucking tonight, Destiny? I need to wind down after the game.”
“Mmm… sounds like fun. Where are you going to take me?”
Good question. I refuse to take chicks I don’t know to my crib, and the Sunset Grande is off-limits for now because I don’t want Rashida to find out I did this the night before I take her out. Instead I choose the Mondrian, another luxury hotel on the Sunset Strip.
Destiny decides to stroke my thigh while I drive, and by the time we get to the hotel I can feel the blood in my cock. I’m ready to have some fun. As we pull up to the valet station, though, my phone rings. I glance at the screen.
MACIE
What the hell does my little sister want? I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. I swipe to ignore the call—if it’s important enough, she’ll leave a message. I hand the keys to the attendant and take Destiny’s warm hand when the phone rings again.
MACIE
Something important is up if she’s trying this hard to get ahold of me, especially on a game night.
“I have to take this,” I tell Destiny, and walk a few feet away to answer.
“What’s up, Macie?”
The voice on the other end is shaky and barely sounds like my sister.
“Marcus, Daddy’s in the hospital. You have to come right away.”
My blood runs cold as I try to wrap my brain around those words. By the time I hang up, Macie’s bawling like a baby, and all I know is that my father’s had a heart attack and is in critical condition.
“Is something wrong?” Destiny asks when I approach. I’m sure she can see it on my face.
“Sorry, I’ve got to fly to Oakland.” I pull out my money clip and peel off three hundred-dollar bills.
“Right now?”
“Yeah, now. Family emergency.” I stuff the bills in her hand. “Have some fun tonight. Leave your info at the front desk for me.”
She frowns, but she’ll probably go club-hopping on the Strip then take an Uber home. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see her again anyway.
I call Drake and tell him what’s happened and that I need to use his plane. He owns a private jet and has two pilots ready at his whim. He doesn’t bat an eye. “Get to Van Nuys Airport as fast as possible. Brian and Jerome will meet you there and have the plane ready to go.”
The valet hasn’t parked my car yet because I’m still holding the keys. I climb in the Lambo and screech away from the Mondrian. It’s a miracle I don’t get pulled over or hit someone as I rush to my house, throw some clothes into an overnight bag, then drive like a madman to the airport. My heart is pounding as I go through the security gate and pull my car up to the hangar. Just as Drake said, the two pilots have everything ready to go. Drake has even instructed them to have food on board ready for me, just in case.
Minutes later, less than an hour after I got the phone call from Macie, we’re in the air en route to Oakland International Airport.
It’s rare that I pray, but I spend the flight repeatedly asking God for help.
16
Rashida
I’m in a foul mood as I drop my purse on my desk and pull an everything bagel with cream cheese out of a brown paper sack. I have a large coffee from Starbucks and don’t intend on leaving my office at all today if I can help it.
Of course, that’s when Yvette knocks and quickly walks in, her wide smile unintentionally mocking me.
“So, how was it? I want to hear every little detail!”
I frown in return. Yvette had put her slight feelings of jealousy aside when I told her Jennings had asked me out. She was disappointed that he hadn’t followed up after meeting her, but was still able to be happy for me.
“There are no details to share,” I tell her. “It never happened.”
Her wrinkled brow demands an explanation.
“He stood me up.”
Yvette’s mouth opens in semi-horror. “Oh, my God. What did he say?”
“Nothing at all. Didn’t show up, and I never heard a word from him.”
“Did you text him?”
“Nope. I’m not going to beg him for an excuse. That was his only chance, though. I’m nobody’s fool.”
Even as I say it, I realize I’ve already been Jennings’ fool and am instantly annoyed at myself.
“You poor thing. I’m so sorry.” She does seem honestly sorry. I’ve got to give her credit, Yvette is a solid friend. That’s more than I can say for you-know-who.
She offers to take me to lunch or out for a drink after work, but I politely decline. I’m just not in the mood.
I sulk through the entire afternoon. Luckily, I have no appointments during which I’d be expected to be professional, so I choose to stay at my desk with the office door closed, letting my sour mood fester. Ronald calls me and says he’s back in town and would like to see me again. I’m really not up for sex, but maybe that will change by the weekend. Regardless, I need the distraction so I agree and we make plans for Saturday night.
On the drive home, I finally force myself to snap out of it. I have a child who needs me to be the same steady mother he’s grown to expect. By the time I pick him up from daycare I’ve returned to something resembling normal.
Jayden turns on the TV as I start making dinner. Ten minutes later, he steps into the kitchen and looks up at me with those big, innocent eyes of his.
“Marcus isn’t playing tonight,” he says with a frown.
I didn’t know he was watching the game, but I’m not surprised because he’s been doing that since I took him to see Jennings play. He just keeps ch
anging the channel until he eventually finds a Lakers game, if there’s one on. I’ve even caught him watching replays of the games on NBA TV, although he has no idea he’s not watching live.
“He’s not?” I ask, trying not to let my blood boil like it had all day.
“No. The TV man said his daddy died.”
I stare at my boy for a second, then turn off the spaghetti sauce and rush to the living room. The Lakers game is on but Jennings is not on the court, and I don’t hear anyone mentioning him on the broadcast.
I grab my tablet and Google his name, then click on the “news” tab. Sure enough, the top link is to an ESPN story with the headline “Jennings to miss Lakers game due to father’s death.” I hurriedly click on the link and read. The story says his father died yesterday morning from complications of a severe heart attack he’d suffered the night before—the same day Marcus and I had lunch and he spoke so fondly about his parents.
I suddenly feel horrible for all the things I’ve been thinking about him for the last twenty-four hours.
After considering whether it was even my place to do so, I send him a text.
Just heard the news. Sending prayers to you and your family.
I follow it up a few seconds later.
I’m here if you need someone to talk to, Marcus. Thinking about you.
After I hit send again, I wonder if that was too much. It’s not like we’re even friends at this point. Still, I wanted to let him know I was available if he needed a shoulder to cry on.
When I slip into bed around midnight, Marcus still hasn’t replied.
Then again, why would he?
17
Marcus
Oakland may look the same as I remember it, but everything has changed.
This is where I grew up, where I played as a little boy, then as a teen had my life neatly divided into the only two categories my parents deemed important. The first was my studies, which my mother oversaw, making sure I did not only every homework assignment, but all kinds of additional projects that would get me extra credit. I’d rather have been playing video games or hanging out with friends, but she never gave me that option. By high school, I was one of the few kids in my hood taking AP courses.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Page 10
