Playing Dirty: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Mickey Miller

  I sauntered back into the bar area of McBanners, shocked at what I had just done: told my mother off. Cut her off. Ignored her.

  For my whole life I’d gone along with exactly what she wanted. Yet, just now, I couldn’t go along with her. She no longer knew what was best for me. Only I knew that.

  Or did I?

  All doubts aside, I knew that I needed another drink right now to deal with these feelings that were bubbling up. Maybe not the healthiest way of dealing with them, but hey, I’d been dealing with my feelings in a healthy way for twenty-three years, and where had it gotten me?

  I pulled up beside Amy at the bar, a newfound sense of resolution running through my blood. “Hey, I’ll take two shots of tequila,” I told the bartender.

  Amy eyed me. “You all right? Who was that?”

  “My mother,” I answered, giving her a shudder. She nodded heartily, as if that was all the answer she needed.

  “I’ll take two shots also,” she said, holding up two fingers. “Not going to let you drink alone.”

  The bartender poured a couple more, and we downed them in quick succession.

  “Well, this night just got really interesting,” Amy said, scrunching her face before she bit down on the lime. We were both starting to feel a solid buzz.

  A half hour later, the night did get interesting. My feelings started to tumble out.

  “Dammit Andrea, you’re the coolest,” Amy blabbed. She was in full-on drunk confessional mode. “You’re so fucking cool. We had a girl here before, and she would always steal my pens and lie to me. Until one day, I caught her red-handed, and she still didn’t admit it. You’re nothing like the pen stealer. And for that, cheers to you.”

  “Well thanks,” I giggled as we clinked our appletinis together. “Seems like the standards have been set pretty low if all I had to do was just not steal your pens.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She backtracked. “Besides the pens. You’re a good person. You try so hard to be good. You have Jake Napleton trying to hook up with you for goodness’ sake, and you’re turning him down because you want to keep things professional! My God! The self-control you have!”

  “Shhhhh. Keep it down!” The bartender had looked our way, and who knew how loud she was screaming at me. We were starting to get borderline belligerent.

  “Okay!” she said in a loud voice. The bartender laughed and shook his head, then turned to another customer.

  I wondered what Jake was up to today since the team had an off-day, and Friday off-days weren’t that common. They had their last game of the week with the Bulldogs yesterday. By Sunday, Jake’s suspension would be over, just in time to play the Jacksonville Firebirds. I took out my phone. With all the alcohol swimming through me, I did not think twice and fired off a text to Jake while Amy turned and chatted with the guy next to her at the bar.

  Me: Hey. How’s the off-day?

  Jake: Worked out this afternoon, just showering at my place. What’s up?

  Me: You going out tonight?

  Jake: I can be. Are you?

  Me: I’m at McBanners.

  Jake: Can I come or does that violate your work rules of professionalism?

  Me: You should definitely come!

  Jake: I will. Fast and hard.

  I sent him an eye roll emoji.

  Jake: Sorry, should have mentioned you will first.

  Jake wasn’t even that clever, and the exchange was stupid and arbitrary, yet I felt a wave of heat coming over me as I thought about anything having to do with him and me and coming and going. Whether it was the simple act of him coming to the bar or something else entirely, he put a spell on me. The fact that last night had not phased him was a nice surprise. Or was he thinking he was wearing me down? Crap, me inviting him here would just make him think I wanted to pick up where we’d left off. I mean, I did, but, well…crap.

  “Um, Andrea…?”

  I spaced in, and Amy was poking me. I put my phone back in my purse.

  “What?”

  The bar had gotten considerably more crowded, and I couldn’t tell who she was talking to. She gave me a wide-eyed look, almost like a warning. I found out why when she moved her head out of the way, and instantly a chill ran through me. And not the kind I liked.

  Grant Newman stood there with a stupid smirk on his face.

  “Andrea, so good to see you again.”

  A chill ran over my body. “Thought you flew out today,” I said coldly.

  “Nope,” he grinned. “Decided to stick around for our off-day.”

  “How’d you even know I’d be here?”

  His grin turned positively wolfish. “Your mom texted me.”

  Just effing great. I turned to the bartender. “I’m going to need another shot of tequila please.”

  So now Andrea wanted to hang out all of a sudden, after blatantly rejecting me the night before. My wheels were spinning, trying to figure out what Andrea wanted from me. I’d had blue balls so bad the night before, and now she was hitting me up via text, telling me to come meet her at some bar?

  I couldn’t figure her out. As good as I was at reading people, much of Andrea was still a giant question mark to me. She was a mystery, and I was damn well going to get to the bottom of her.

  Besides, it was a good night to let loose. We had a rare Friday off today after a four-game series with the Bulldogs. I couldn’t be happier that Grant Newman had likely left the city this morning on a flight out of Chicago. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why the guy irked me so much. It wasn’t like I didn’t have asshole friends, but at least they’d have my back. Newman, on the other hand, was the kind of guy who would start shit for no reason then blame it on you.

  I hit up the crew, and of course they were down to go out. My catcher, Dwayne, the right-fielder, Buckner, and the closer, Franco. Fucking bunch of bros, they knew this was one of the last nights we could go hard before we started easing up as we made our World Series run.

  We hopped out of the Uber in front of McBanners, in the middle of a very important philosophical conversation.

  “Franco, fuck you if you think Emma Stone is hotter than Marilyn Monroe. You have no appreciation for the classics,” Buckner was ranting.

  “Please dude. That’s not even a contest. That’s like major leagues versus minor leagues. Marilyn was overrated. Everybody knows nostalgia distorts reality. Napleton, for the love of God, back me up on this one.”

  I shook my head. “The two are from totally different eras. That’s like asking, ‘Would Babe Ruth hit seven hundred homeruns in the 2000s?’ It’s impossible to know, but we should definitely appreciate the classics. And no fuckin’ way can you say Marilyn isn’t classic.”

  “I still ain’t convinced of Emma Stone. She’s got those crazy eyes,” Buckner retorted, shaking his head.

  “Mmmmm. I love me some crazy eyes,” Dwanye chimed in, pointing his eyes in different directions, which freaked us all out.

  “You seriously need to get that checked out,” Franco said.

  As trivial as our conversation was, it made me smile. Our team chemistry was humming, and with the playoffs right around the corner, we were peaking at just the right moment to have the best shot at winning the World Series. When I got traded last year, it’d been a low, but my teammates had embraced me without reservation. While they did the same shit that I did, it was me that always got flack for it. Honestly, I never let it bother me, but this idea to behave and not stir things up sat at the back of my head. If I was going to see Andrea, she expected me to behave, and I definitely wanted to see her.

  The doorman, Chubbs, waved us ahead of the line, as per the norm. God, I fucking love my home city.

  “Jakey baby!”

  We slapped hands.

  “Good to see you, Chubbs.”

  “Yeah man. What you doin’ on a Friday night? Ain’t you guys gotta game or something?”

  “Off-day. Then we fly to Jacksonville tomorrow.”

  Chubbs nodded. “You’

re the second crew of ballplayers in here.”

  “Really? Other Jaguars came in here?”

  “Nah man. Some New Jersey Bulldogs players. That guy whose head you pushed into the sand? Yeah, he’s here. And some of his entourage.” Chubbs gave me a knowing look. “You guys cool, right? You ain’t gonna start nothing?”

  I chuckled. “Chubbs! Please. We left that all on the field. I’m not gonna start shit in the real world. C’mon, bro.”

  Beneath my confident veneer, I was a little pissed that the Bulldogs hadn’t left Chicago yet. But I couldn’t blame them for wanting to spend an extra night partying in one of the best summer cities in the world.

  “All right, man. You fellas enjoy the night.”

  He removed the rope, and we headed through to the bar. Before we reached it, I noticed that Andrea and another girl were talking to that fucking guy. She was leaning away from him while he was leaning into her.

  “Asshole alert,” I said to my crew, pointing to Grant Newman. “Guys, I gotta hit the john before we get drinks. Meet you back at the bar.”

  I split off and headed to the bathroom, wading through a sea of drunk-asses to get there. Shit, it was only seven-thirty, and these people were hammered.

  I went to the john, then to the sinks to wash my hands. I splashed a little water on my face, reminding myself of the one thing I wasn’t going to do tonight. No fighting.

  I still remembered that triumphant look on his face when Andrea had left me at dinner. So much had happened since that night. Normally, I didn’t have girls telling me no, but even if they did, that was their right. But I was finding that I really wanted Andrea, and not just for her hot body. Fred holding that stupid gun at her head through the door of her window pissed me off. It had scared me in ways I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. I wasn’t as close to my sister as I’d like since she’d moved to San Diego, but we stayed in touch. Would I have been as scared if it’d been her in that car instead of Andrea? I’m not sure. I felt close to Andrea in ways I couldn’t explain. Her meeting Tate and knowing what I did after practices had also freaked me out, but for completely different reasons.

  That Jake Napleton is so normal. Most would find that version of me dull. Hell, if they knew about half the shit that I’d been through as a kid, bouncing from foster home to foster home, they might even feel sorry for me, and that was the absolute last thing I wanted. The public wanted the Jake that did stupid shit and kept up appearances. And I liked having fun and partying. I’d earned it. I knew Mr. Yerac, my coaches, and my agent all wanted me to fall in line, but what did that even mean? I thought about Tate, and how he reminded me of myself at that age. I remembered the people I’d looked up to, and they’d all been baseball players, guys who’d appeared to be great guys—though not all of them had been “good” guys in the traditional sense.

  I didn’t want to be fake. I also didn’t want to play up an image that wasn’t wholly me or geared to make me palpable to the masses. Could I actually have both?

  Andrea seemed to think so, and I was wishing I could believe her. I wanted to believe her, because she wasn’t like most people who took and wanted something from me. She was trying to give me something, and she meant it.

  I heard the door behind me bust open, and the voices were unmistakable. My mood instantly soured. I’d recognize that high-pitched, steroid-popping voice anywhere. What he said would make my non-violent pledge very hard to keep.

  “I’m taking Andrea home, no doubt about it,” Newman said. “I’m gonna do with her what I should have done in college, but she never let happen.”

  A cold-blooded surge of adrenaline went through me.

  I stayed bent over at the sink so he wouldn’t know I was there. “Dude, didn’t you like cheat on her and shit?” I recognized the voice as one of the other bitch boys on the Bulldogs that I had struck out.

  “Who the hell cares?”

  “Dude, you were sleeping around on the reg with other girls then.”

  “Man, what’s your deal? Fuckin’ hater.”

  I could feel my anger start to edge out the calm. He’d cheated on Andrea? I’d never cheated on a girl I was with. Ever. I turned around, deciding what to do. The two of them were pretty drunk, still talking to each other at the urinal. I walked up behind Newman, looking down at the little pussy.

  “Shitty hitter, even shittier teammate, so I’m not surprised you’re also a cheater, on and off the field, Newman,” I said, seething. “I can’t believe Andrea ever dated you. Probably the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  I swear I saw him tremble a little. He turned around and tried to zip up, but caught his shirt in his fly. “This is none of your goddamn business, Napleton. And I don’t care if you are dating my ex, enjoy it while it lasts, because she’ll always be mine.”

  The guy had to be fucking with me, trying to get a rise out of me.

  Yet the fact was that Andrea had walked out of Marseille Club, and I was left with Newman’s dumb ass smiling at me.

  Suddenly, it made sense. Andrea did have feelings for me, even then, even before I really got to know her. Add the fact that she probably hadn’t even wanted to be in the same room as this jackass, considering he’d cheated on her. Knowing that now, my anger leveled out, but it was still there and would be until Newman finally left Chicago for good. Knowing that he thought me and Andrea were dating put a smile on my face.

  Mr. Jackass finally pulled his shirt out of his fly and zipped all the way up.

  I leaned in and got in his face. “You better watch yourself, Newman. Keep this act up and you’re going to be eating a lot more than dirt.”

  “You better watch yourself, too, Napes. Nips. Napes.” The dude was so drunk I could see him swaying from side to side.

  I grinned and laughed as I turned to push the door. “Have a good night, ladies.”

  The one thing I’d accomplished was not punching Newman in the face, but I really wanted to. I marched back toward the bar area, through a sea of people who all stared at me as I walked. I was used to the staring in Wrigleyville bars, where people acted surprised that Jake fuckin’ Napleton was a real person who went to real bars and had real friends. Some dude put out his hand for a high five, and I nailed it.

  “Holy crickies. Coolest Jaguars pitcher ever! He’s just getting drunk on a Friday, just like us!” The guy had a backwards Jaguars cap on. I smiled and took a picture with him and gave the camera a thumbs-up.

  “You mind if I Insta this, bro?”

  “Course not,” I said. “Insta-away!”

  “Holy crap! Jake Napleton!”

  If that beerless pic of me went viral, I wondered if I’d get bonus points from Mr. Yerac. I eventually made my way to the bar area. My teammates were standing around, and they already had a Guinness lined up for me.

  “Dude, total hottie sitting at the bar over here.” Franco elbowed me. I smiled. He was pointing at Andrea. “Bet you can’t pick her up.”

  “Bet I can.”

  Guinness in hand, I strode over to the barstool where she was sitting. She still had on her work clothes that I had ordered for her that morning, and damned if she wasn’t a knockout. I wanted to take her right there.

  Then, as I made my way to her, she did one of those unbelievable maneuvers that girls do that drives guys crazy—and I was sure she had no idea what she was doing. She put both arms behind her back and stuck her chest out in some sort of stretch. Really, all it did was stick her boobs way out and make them look even bigger than they normally did.

  My boner pressed up against my jeans. Down boy. You’re going to give away our position.

  Although it wasn’t like she didn’t know my position after Wednesday night anyway. The way her body felt pressed up against me would have been enough to give me wet dreams every day for the rest of the week.

  “Hi there, gorgeous,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Unexpectedly, Andrea jumped two feet in the air off her barstool and slapped my arm away, whirling around.

  “Get the hell away—oh. It’s you. It’s you!” Her frown curved instantly upward into a smile, and she wrapped her arms gleefully around me, pressing her chest into me. Yeah, the glassy look to her eyes told me enough. Andrea was very drunk.

  “I’m...glad you’re so happy to see me.”

  “Well I am happy to see you. Very happy. Happy.”

  She held her arms around me for a few extra beats. I hadn’t expected that, but I reciprocated, wrapping an arm around her harder, taking in her smell. She smelled like sexiness mixed with tequila. I loved it. And I greatly enjoyed feeling the full length of her body pressed against mine.

  God help me, this was going to be a test of self-control, of playing it cool.

  “Please, don’t leave me,” she whispered in my ear, and I noticed her glancing over my shoulder. For appearing drunk, there was a degree of seriousness in her voice that I hadn’t felt before. She unwrapped her arms from around me. “He’s here.”

  “I won’t leave you,” I promised, feeling her tense up. I turned my head, following her line of site, and she was looking right at the Bulldogs’ number one prick. Was she…scared of Grant Newman?

  Now that I knew they had dated, my mind wheeled in a million directions, trying to make sense of the information I had. Why hadn’t she given me the full story about her and Grant yet? I was dying to ask her, but this loud and noisy bar wasn’t suitable for a serious conversation.

  “Well, I’m glad Andrea is so good at introductions,” a voice interrupted, right next to Andrea. We released our hug, and a perky, tiny little brunette popped herself into the frame.

  “Hi,” I said, extending my hand toward her for a shake. “Jake. So nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Amy,” she replied. “And thanks, I know who you are. Think I might have seen your face on a Calvin Klein add or two.”

  I shuddered. “Just so you know, I’ve never let my agent live it down after I let her convince me to do that one.”

  “Oh, I think it’s quite all right.” She gave me a quick up and down.

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