Pass Interference (Connecticut Kings Book 6)

by Christina C Jones

  My eyes went wide. “Wow! Seriously? No… no cage match?”

  “Nah,” he laughed. “He did threaten to make sure my body was never found if I hurt you or Madison, but I mean… I feel like that’s fair.”

  “True,” I nodded. “But overall… we’ve gotten off pretty easy with this, huh?”

  He grinned. “I told you, you were making it bigger in your head than it had to be.”

  “I don’t think so – social media hasn’t gotten ahold of this news yet, but it’s coming.”

  “You say that like you actually care,” he countered, putting his hands at my waist. “When we both know that beyond the shallow part, the not wanting people to have anything negative to say about your relationship… you don’t give a fuck.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Who asked you though?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  He dropped his lips to mine, and I was completely ready to get lost in the kiss, lost in him, until I heard a throat clear behind me, reminding me of Madison’s presence. Laughing, I turned to find her wearing a pained, disgusted expression.

  “Can y’all get a room?”

  Sixteen

  “I want to take you on a date.”

  That was Nate’s greeting when I opened my hotel room door, after a long ass day.

  A good day, but long nonetheless.

  The time difference between Connecticut and England had done a number on me, but the Kings seemed to have adapted fine. They practiced, and did the photo ops and played to win – did win – and my receivers made mama proud. We had a bye week after this, and they were all off to vacation, with France seeming to be the place to be.

  All I wanted to do was go home.

  But there Nate was, at my door.

  “A… date?” I asked, stepping aside to let him in. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Leading all the way up to this trip, Nate had been very clear about his disinterest in going. He didn’t do well on trans-Atlantic flights, or something like that, and I hadn’t questioned it, because hell, neither did I.

  And yet… here he was.

  “I’m here… to take my lady on a date. Outside.”

  I smiled. “That’s what I am? Your lady?” I teased, biting my lip as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close.

  “You know good and goddamn well this is all me.” His hands slipped lower, grabbing handfuls of ass. “Thank you for keeping my pussy warm all the way over here.”

  “Damn fool,” I squealed, giggling as his mouth moved to my neck, licking and biting me there. “I thought you were here to take me out, not play grab-ass.”

  He groaned. “I am. You’re right. So get dressed.”

  “Dressed how? Where are you trying to take me?”

  “Brixton. Take us about an hour to get there. Dress… to dance.”

  My eyes went wide. “To… dance? We’ve never danced.”

  “But I’ve definitely seen these hips in action.”

  He smacked my ass, then pressed a quick kiss to my lips before he stepped back, grabbing the remote before he sprawled across my bed, flipping the TV on.

  “Put ya’ backside in motion woman. Get dressed.”

  I rolled my eyes at his demand, but did what he asked, going to my suitcase to see what I could put together. I hadn’t really planned for a night spent clubbing, but I found leggings and a light, oversized sweater which I layered over a tank in case I got hot. I left my hair in the goddess braid it had been in since this morning, only taking time to touch up my edges before putting on a quick face and tossed on earrings, then stepped back into the main part of the hotel room, where Nate was waiting.

  “Damn,” he grunted, sitting up as I took a seat on the end of the bed to pull on my boots. “Might not take your fine ass anywhere.”

  “Think again,” I scolded, shying away when he tried to put his face in my neck.

  “Fine.” He pulled out his phone, and I glanced at the screen to see that he was calling a car for us. “But afterward, I’m wearing you out… if this date doesn’t.”

  My eyebrow lifted as he stood up, extending a hand to help me. “Where did you say you were taking me again?”

  “Brixton? As in… the Brixton riots?”

  “As in, the Black British mecca. Now come on. Let’s go.”

  It was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating to walk out of my hotel room with my fingers intertwined with Nate’s. Even though several key people on the team knew about us, we’d kept a low profile, still hadn’t been out together in public.

  Here, no one except those who were Kings affiliated knew who the hell we were.

  There was freedom in not being recognized.

  Because of what he’d said about Brixton, we spent the hour-long car ride Googling and telling each other what we’d found – including the fact that police brutality and the subsequent protests and abuse and rioting were far from an exclusively American problem. To a degree, I’d felt somewhat sheltered from that, but now realized how naïve it was. By the time we pulled up at our destination, I was wishing I’d given all those young Black men on the team a warning before they went out celebrating their win.

  They weren’t safe here either.

  But it was hard to remain somber as I breathed in the sights and smells of Brixton Village. It was an eclectic mix of shopping center, farmer’s market, swap meet and restaurants, with flags and fabrics and cuisines from all around the world represented.

  “I’ll bring you back tomorrow if you want to shop or something,” Nate spoke into my ear, obviously noting my desire to stop and look at everything. “But we only have one destination here for now.”

  I turned to him, smiling. “Lead the way.”

  The way turned out to not be very far, to a little storefront with a red canopy and a bright yellow, hand-painted sign declaring itself Fish, Wings, and Tings. We made our way through a thick throng of people to get inside, ordering roti and prawns and jerk chicken and curry and Carib beers, all of which were delivered to us on bright teal, picnic style tables inside.

  The food was amazing, but Nate’s company was better. We were so busy flirting and exchanging kisses that it took us way too long to finish our food.

  Once we left there, I declared that I wanted to experience London, whatever the hell that meant, so we walked to the nearest public transit and used that, laughing and getting lost a few times as we hopped from stop to stop, changing trains until we made it to Shoreditch. Our destination, Queen of Hoxton, was a building covered in painted-on vines, with a bright neon sign announcing its’ name.

  Outside, signs advertised Old Skool Sundays, which worried me a little, but inside… was, as Madison would say, “a vibe”. The music wasn’t remotely what I would consider “old school” – this particular night was “Drake night” but it was a walk down memory lane.

  As promised, we danced, we sang along with the hip-hop, R&B, and soul pumping from the speakers, we played ping-pong and Jenga and danced off any heaviness from our late dinner.

  The whole thing shut down at midnight, which was honestly relieving – my feet were killing me, even though I’d had a great time. I was further relieved when instead of pulling me back onto public transit, Nate had the foresight to call a car, allowing us to spend the ride back to the hotel in relative privacy and comfort.

  “You know,” I told him, with my head propped on his shoulder in the backseat of the car. “If this were a real first date, you’d get major points. This was a lot of fun.”

  He shifted, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You know… it is our first real date though. When you think about it.”

  “It is, huh?” I smiled, turning to meet his eyes. “You finally brought me out in public.”

  “Nah, chill,” he laughed. “We both know you’re the one who wanted to keep it all on the low. I would’ve proudly walked you out of the party in Vegas on my arm. That very first night.”

  With everything that had happened si
nce then, somehow that memory still made me blush. If he’d never approached me that night…

  “Where do you think we’d be now if… you know…” I started, unsure of how to phrase my question, but Nate grinned.

  “If you’d responded to any of my “this could be us but you playing” messages?”

  “Yes. That. If… two years ago, we’d said fuck it, and decided to do more than screw each other’s brains out… you think we’d even still like each other by now?”

  “I think you’d be Sloane Richardson by now. Gotta get rid of the Brooks shit.”

  I laughed, loud. “Wooow. I’ve become quite accustomed to Brooks now – why do you think I kept it, even after I dropped the husband?

  “Sloane Brooks sounds better than Sloane Charles, which sounds like a small town from a Lifetime movie, so I get it.”

  “So you’re just gonna completely roast my maiden name? That’s what we’re doing now?”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “Mmmhmm,” I hummed. “And besides that, um… I could’ve sworn getting married wasn’t even on your radar, but now you’re telling me you would’ve changed my last name?”

  “You asked a question baby, and I answered it.”

  “Yes, and now I’m asking what changed?”

  He shrugged. “We changed. You changed. I changed. Four years is a long time to do anything with one person.”

  I sucked my teeth. “You know goddamn well…”

  “Okay,” he grinned. “A lot changed in… like a year and a half?”

  Yep.

  That was about when I noticed the shift, and started trying to push him away… obviously, I’d failed at that.

  “That’s when you dropped all your hoes for me?”

  “Nah, the real question is when did you drop your hoes for me?”

  I smirked. “Who says I have?”

  “You’re trying to get some motherfucker killed, aren’t you?” he asked, dropping his head to kiss me behind the ear. “I told you whose pussy you were carrying around, didn’t I? I know you’re not letting anybody else get it.”

  “They can’t even get close,” I assured, prompting him to grab me under the chin, turning my face toward his.

  “Why not?” he asked, instead of kissing me, which was what I’d expected.

  “Certainty.”

  I knew, from the way his expression shifted, that he knew exactly what I was talking about – knew exactly the conversation I was referencing. I’d been the doting wife and young mother, had already gotten my fill of that phase. I wasn’t opposed to being married again but certainly wasn’t craving it. My life was in a very specific place, with a very specific need.

  Certainty.

  I’d told Nate before that he’d turned me into a liar when it came to that specific topic, and that was still true. He was offering exactly what I needed.

  “I love you,” he told me, as we pulled up to the hotel, and all I could do in return was grin.

  “The feeling is so, so mutual.”

  I was only a little nervous.

  Despite the post-game interviews, and our short session after training camp, the thought of talking to Wil Cunningham-Bishop in a longer format had my stomach flipping a little. Through the season, as my profile lifted, I’d been offered plenty of opportunities to speak with the media, and declined every one, preferring to focus.

  The season was halfway done now though.

  As was her standard, Wil and her crew had come into my home, taking over my living room for the interview. We sat together on the couch, both dressed down, in designer athleisure, giving the appearance of simply talking with a girlfriend. I wanted to focus in on that, to meet her halfway with that friendly vibe. But, she’d asked me before we started if there was any topic off-limits for our conversation. Without thinking, I’d said no.

  Now, I was second-guessing that.

  She started with the easy questions – how it felt to be first, if I’d faced any backlash, how I handled it, and all that. Those inquiries settled me, and helped me feel a little more comfortable with what I knew was coming.

  “So… we’re halfway through football season now, and the Kings… are doing okay. Not great, but not bad either – you’re 6-3 so far, with seven more games on the table. What do you say to critics who feel like, with those numbers, your hiring was overhyped, that you’ve dropped the ball?”

  “I’d say I don’t know what they’re talking about when they say I’ve dropped the ball – the Kings have the lowest fumble stats in the league this year,” I laughed, shaking my head. “But no, honestly… I’ve had to tune out the critics. Football isn’t the type of thing where the public’s opinion is something to take into consideration. It’s a game, with very specific rules, very specific – yet unpredictable – moves to follow if you want to win. There’s nothing a commentator, opponent, or fan can say that’s going to make you better at this, whether you’re coaching or playing. In this game, focus is very important, so I choose to focus on what matters – helping those guys in uniform play the best they possibly can. That’s it.”

  Wil grinned. “So… you’re saying you wouldn’t point them to the difference between last year’s receiver stats and what they’ve done since you took on the wide receiver position?”

  “I ain’t say all that now,” I laughed. “On a surface level, there’s the urge to point out what you’ve been doing well, but like you said… the team hasn’t had a great season. Last year they did, and the year before that, once Trent Bailey came back. Hiring me hasn’t been the only development for the Kings this season, but it’s significant. Even though my receivers have been doing well, I don’t get to dust my hands of responsibility. We’re a team. A unit. I have a duty to tailor what the receivers are doing in a way that complements the whole team. It’s something to work on, and I’m confident in the Kings moving into the next seven games.”

  “Speaking of confidence,” Wil started, with a grin that made me wonder what was coming. “A few weeks ago, I had a conversation that you’ve probably seen, with Mr. Rutledge Kadar Amare – a rookie with the confidence of a ten-year vet. He credited you, by name, with making him a better player.”

  “Yes, I did see that interview, and I’m… honestly blown away by that young man. Our very first encounter was rough to say the least, but ever since then, he has consistently impressed me. In a really short time, he has grown up so much, and become an asset to this team.”

  Wil nodded. “Is that why you chose to put him in, instead of Terrence Grant, after that cringe-worthy play that took Jordan Johnson out for the season?”

  “It is,” I confirmed. “Amare has major potential, he just needs experience. And he’s responded very well to having this spotlight thrust on him. I won’t pretend that Johnson’s presence isn’t missed on the field, but Amare has more than proven himself worthy to stand in the gap.”

  “And how is Jordan Johnson doing? His serious rotator cuff repair was confirmed, he’s already had the surgery… what impact has it had on him as a player, and on the team as a whole?”

  “As mentioned, he’s missed, but only on the game day field. Jordan is very much still present with us, at team activities, and practices, and with his usual infectious energy. He’s only missed one or two weeks, right after he was injured, and that was only because he was recovering. He’s already started the rehab he’ll need to be back on the field with us next season, but we’re making sure he takes it slow.”

  “Something I’m sure his new wife appreciates.”

  “Oh of course.”

  “While we’re on the topic of the Richardson family,” Wil started, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh God, here we go,” I groaned, making Wil laugh.

  “Come on, Sloane. You knew it was coming.”

  I pushed out a sigh. “I did.”

  “For the viewers and listeners who may not know what’s going on, we’re referring to Sloane’s relationship with Nathan Richardson, Nicole’s twin b
rother. Now… pictures of the two of you looking quite cozy first popped up in London, after the international game, and had the internet buzzing like crazy for multiple reasons. I’m going to be real with you Sloane – after my own experience with invaded privacy, pictures on the internet, all that, I was torn over whether I’d bring this up or not. But… it doesn’t appear that you and Nate are hiding, because since London, you’ve been seen together several times. Do you care to make an official announcement?”

  “Absolutely not,” I laughed. “I’ll say that my life is great right now.”

  “Now you already know I have to dig deeper than that, miss lady,” Wil giggled. “Nate Richardson is not only the son of Kings’ owner, Eli Richardson, but he holds an executive position in the Kings front office. And, he’s thirteen years younger than you. Is there anything you’re willing to give us about this whole older-woman younger-man workplace romance thing the two of you have going?”

  “Very little,” I answered, making her laugh harder. “Other than clarifying that he and I were involved well before I became a Kings employee, and the relationship had absolutely no bearing on my being hired.”

  Wil nodded. “There has definitely been some ugly speculation surrounded that…”

  “There has, and just like with coaching, I had to tune it out, because my relationship is yet another thing that public opinion should have no sway over. But even understanding that, there’s a real difficulty in deciding not to let it affect you when people are using your love life and other personal things to discredit you. Such as saying I was only hired because I was sleeping with the bosses’ son, and it’s like… honey, if you only knew… that definitely wasn’t the energy I got. It’s insulting to the team, to suggest they’d hire me because of that. I was hired because of my resume, and I do my job damn well.”

  “And your ability is obvious. Which makes it insulting to you as well.”

  “And insulting to him. As if access to the Kings is the only thing he has to offer, which is far from the truth.”

  A smile crept onto Wil’s face. “Dare I ask what else?”