Play Me

by Alla Kar

  “Roxanne, right?” someone asks from the doorway.

  How long has she been standing there? Another trainer, Sarah I think, is staring at me form the hallway. Her blue eyes are bright and with her blonde hair it gives her a baby dollish look. “Yes, but you can call me Roxy.”

  She gives me a warm smile and gestures for me to follow her. “The boys are here,” she says in a seductive voice. “It’s raining muscled, college-aged football players, baby!”

  I hide my smile and follow her down the hallway toward the training room. The door is open and I see shadows casting against the furthest wall. No noise is coming from the room.

  Sarah pushes the door open and walks in like she owns the place. The position coach, Coach Turner, who hired me, is standing in the center of the room looking out at a room full of football players. Not that he would ever be intimidated. He’s a huge man. No hair, dark chocolate skin and muscles the size of my head.

  My eyes flutter to the floor as I take my place beside Sarah against the wall. Two male trainers are on the other side of Coach Turner oblivious to anything other than their phones.

  “Let’s get these guys taped up, girls. You’re in charge of the defensive team. Boys, you’re in charge of the offensive players. Follow me this way.”

  And he leaves … just like that. The vibe in the room automatically lightens and all the players file into their chairs and start yapping. It smells like sweat in here but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. I know how to tape player’s ankles and obviously Sarah does too. She sashays over to the left side and starts taping a dark haired boy’s ankle.

  Shit.

  With my eyes still turn downward, I grab the tape from the box on the counter and start on the right side. I get through four players before someone taps my shoulder. Glancing up, I see a guy I’ve never seen before staring down at me. He must have some kind of Latino blood in him because he’s dark complected, with long jet black hair that’s tied at the nape of his neck. “Hi,” he says. Definitely detect a Spanish accent.

  I tightly wrap the tape around his ankle. “Hi.”

  A smile rises from the corner of his mouth causing a dimple to indent. “I’m Blake Martinez. You’re one of the new trainers, huh?”

  I don’t look up because my face is in front of his crotch. “Yes, I’m Roxy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mami,” he says, offering me his hand. Looking all the way up, I shake it. He’s actually pretty cute.

  “You, too–,”

  A loud exaggerated cough comes from beside Blake and I glance up. What. The. Hell. Weston is sitting beside him. His thick legs sprawled out in front of him, his tattooed arm resting behind Blake’s head. And an I-know-you-want-me look on his face.

  As if I care that he’s sitting there, he smiles. “Did I sleep with you?”

  What. The. Hell! My eyes snap to his. “You wish.”

  Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees. An overwhelming scent of sweat and man hits my nose. “Oh, you have no idea, Roxy.” Sliding his tongue against his thick, bottom lip, he sits back against the foldout chair. “That name fits you.”

  Asshole. Everyone knows Weston Garrison. SAU’s prized possession and obviously the town’s golden boy, since he gets out of tickets when he is clearly drunk off his ass. And of course I ran into him at the party completely buzzed. I’ve never been one to hold my tongue, but add some tequila and every thought imaginable spills out of me like word vomit. God! And then there is the gas station incident, like spilling beer down my shirt wasn’t enough.

  I ignore him, sliding over to Blake’s left foot. Sarah is getting close to meeting me in the middle. Hopefully she’ll get to Weston before I do. Taking my time, I wrap Blake’s ankle tight. “Are you a freshman?”

  What? Oh. I laugh. “No, a senior actually.”

  His shoulders move when he laughs. “I haven’t seen you at any parties or around campus. That’s why I asked.”

  “I don’t–,”

  “Oh, she’s a trip at parties, bro. Spills drinks on herself, busts in on people while they’re trying to use to the bathroom.” Weston leans closer jabbing his finger toward me. “Definitely a party animal, that one.”

  Anger rages inside me. “Yes, because Weston Garrison has such a fabulous party image. Drunk off his ass, can’t walk straight, and fucks anything that doesn’t have a penis between its legs.”

  Weston’s gaze pins me to my pathetic place kneeling on the floor, until he sits up quickly and bends down to look me in my eyes. “And why do you care so much about who I fuck?” he whispers. Every molecule in my body quivers as he says fuck. Am I breathing? God, I need to check. Yes, I’m breathing … I think.

  A tension is sizzling between us as he watches my lips with his dark eyes, not giving a damn that I’m watching him. Wait … weren’t we talking about something? Shit!

  “I don’t care who you fuck, Weston. I don’t care what you do. Now get out of my face and wait your turn.”

  I don’t dare look up at Blake, because I know my embarrassment is written all over my reddened cheeks.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says lowly. The deepness of his voice settles chills against my skin. I’m shivering.

  I watch out of the corner of my eye as Sarah scoots toward Weston. But he rests his hands on her shoulders and guides her up. “Me and Roxy have an appointment,” he says, smiling down at me.

  Dammit. Sarah stands and wiggles her brows at me before disappearing out of the door. Only a few players are left and most are adjusting their shoulder pads before going out. Sliding over, I sit in front of Weston. He adjusts his legs and widens them, relaxing his large hands on his upper thighs. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my life and he knows it. That would explain the smug grin. Sitting between his open legs, my face inches away from his junk is not how I imagined this job going.

  Just hurry and get it over with.

  Grabbing the bottom of his foot, I hold it in my hand as I wrap the tape around his ankle. Jolts of heat swarm my face and I pray the few pieces of hair that have fallen from its ponytail are hiding my blush. “So, Roxy. Did you enjoy the party last night?”

  I did until I ran into him. I rarely go to any parties but my friend Erica dragged me to this one, leaving Maddox with her mother who adores him. “Yes.”

  My fingers shake as I grab the tape and tear it from the roll. A low, deep laugh comes from his throat. “No offense, but you don’t look the party type.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? “You mean because I don’t look like the blonde you were fucking in the bathroom? So sorry to disappoint.”

  A soft fingertip touches my chin and I recoil from the warmth. Unable to help it, my eyes turn up, catching his dark brown gaze. A chunk of blonde hair falls in front of his eye. “I never said I was disappointed, stalker.”

  Chills rake over me, so I push his hand away. “Such charming words. I’m sure every girl in the school has heard them.” Tearing the last of the tape, I stand up in front of him. He doesn’t move, but his eyes rape me from head to toe. It’s not that impressive, especially since we have to wear khaki pants and blue polo’s. A dirty blond eyebrow lifts and he sucks his bottom lip in his mouth.

  He’s pinning me in place. His long limbs outstretched, looking oddly graceful for someone so big. “Only the ones that deserve it,” he says.

  “Right. Well, nice catching up. I need to go.”

  A breathtaking smile breaks from his face. If he wasn’t gorgeous already his smile sure sent him over the ten mark on the hotness scale. “The door is right there,” he says, tossing his head toward the open training door.

  Okay, more like a six. Rolling my eyes, I speed walk out of the door and down to the lobby.

  ***

  The football player’s practice lasts until six fifteen, which means I’m fifteen minutes late to relieve the babysitter. Of course.

  We refill the water and ice buckets as they wrap up practice. Only one player hurt himself and it’s on the offens
ive side which means one of the male trainers will wrap him. Coach requests all players be wrapped before practice to prevent accidents. Maybe I should loosely wrap, Weston’s?

  Sarah walks with me to the training room where we grab our things. “So, what’s up with Weston and you,” she asks. Before I can answer she twirls around and leans against the lobby counter. “Are you two lovers?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes. “He makes my armpits sweat just looking at him.”

  Okay. “Uh, no,” I say, grabbing my keys. “We are not lovers. And he is … okay.”

  She gasps, bringing her hand up to her lips. “You take that back. I’ve had a crush on that boy since I saw him strip naked and give this girl a lap dance at last year’s Phi Lamb Christmas party. Best. Night. Ever.”

  Does she hear herself? “Right. Well, I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  She gives me a finger wave. Sliding out of the field house, I start toward my old Honda Civic. A group of players are huddled around someone’s truck but I don’t look. A loud squeal echoes from the group, so I peak over. A semi-circle is formed around Weston, who is holding a girl up with one hand over his head.

  Typical.

  He tosses her up and catches her while she screams at the top of her lungs. I roll my eyes, but when I look back Weston is staring at me.

  That smug smile creeps up his face and he winks. “Bye, Roxy!”

  Smug bastard.

  ***

  The TV is blaring when I get home. I can hear that Maddox is watching SpongeBob from outside the door. Our small duplex mostly consists of old people. The landlord chewed my ass for playing music last weekend. Beth knows this because I’ve told her ten times. Obviously, she needs to hear it eleven.

  With my bag in one hand, I sling the duplex door open with the other. Maddox jumps up from his place right in front of the TV and runs toward me. His black hair matted to his sweaty forehead, which shows me he’s played outside all evening and hasn’t taken his bath. “Momma! You’ve got to watch this with me!” he shouts, jumping in a circle and landing on his knees.

  “Hey, baby. I’ll watch it in just a bit. Turn the TV down a bit for me.”

  Maddox flips around the living room in tune with the Kids Bop commercial, before grabbing the remote and turning it down two notches. Beth is sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine when I walk up.

  “How was the first day?” she asks, flipping the page. All I see is the top of her blonde head.

  “Fine, thanks for asking,” I snap, slinging my bag onto the table, sliding her magazine into her lap.

  She narrows her eyes and stands up, adjusting her too small tank top. “Didn’t I tell you to keep the TV down? I have elderly neighbors.”

  She grabs her magazine and holds it against her hip. “It wasn’t loud,” she says.

  I stare blankly at her with one hand in my open school bag and the other hanging loosely at my sides. God help me.

  She finally sighs. “Well, I’m out of here. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She grabs her cell phone and marches into the living room. “Bye, Maddox,” she says before shutting the door behind her.

  Thank, God.

  “Maddox, baby, have you eaten?”

  “Yep! Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich.”

  What? I glance over my shoulder at the instructions for dinner sitting on the cabinet. “Are you still hungry?”

  “No!” Maddox yells.

  Of course. Asking a kid if they’re hungry is like asking him if he wants to go to school. “Did you do your homework?”

  “Yes! Beth helped me with the letters.”

  I’m surprised she knows them herself. “Okay,” I clap my hands. “Time for a bath and then bed!”

  I read over my History notes while Maddox plays in the tub. History is my last elective and a piece of cake compared to my biology classes. Maddox is making shooting noises and crashing his toys against one another. Water laps over the edge of the tub and I reach down and place a towel there to catch it.

  “Momma.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are we ever going to go see Daddy?”

  My book falls from my lap and smacks against the tile bathroom floor with a thud. We have only talked about Maddox’s dad a couple of times before. He doesn’t really remember him, but he has seen the pictures. And knows the stories, well, the good ones. It’s not easy to tell a four-year-old that his dad is a crack head and I hope he never has to see him again.

  Looking down, Maddox is staring up at me. His big green eyes, like mine, wide. But he has his daddy’s hair. And face. “I don’t think so, Maddox. Why do you ask?” This is a stupid thing to ask him. Of course he wants a dad. Other kids have them. I’m not sure he even understands why he doesn’t have one.

  “My friend James from class has a dad. He picks him up from school.”

  I frown. How do you answer these types of questions? I’m not ready for this. I need a manual.

  His little eyebrows pull down in focus. “Well, will I get a new daddy?”

  God. How do you answer that? “Baby,” I say, sliding to the floor. I press my thighs against the damp outside of the bathtub and run my fingers against his wet forehead. “Your daddy will always be your real daddy. But, maybe, in the future I may find a husband and he would be your daddy. Do you understand?”

  Picking up his hand out of the water, he runs it over the car in his hands. “Okay.”

  It feels like a knife has been stabbed into my gut. His little mouth is turned down into a frown. “Hey,” I say. “Time to get out. How about I go get us some ice cream before bed?”

  Throwing his hands in the air he shouts, “Yes!”

  After drying Maddox off, I get him dressed in his Spider Man pajamas. His tiny feet swing off the kitchen chair as we share a bowl of ice cream. I watch him as he hums underneath his breath and scoops mouthfuls of ice cream into his mouth. We don’t need a dad. He’s a great kid. I can do this. I have for two years alone.

  After we finish our ice cream I tuck Maddox into his bed. He’s growing so fast, I can’t imagine him starting Kindergarten next year. “Momma,” Maddox says as I turn to leave.

  “What is it?”

  “Can you take me to a game for the Muleriders soon?”

  I hold back my laugh. Maddox is obsessed with football. He watched a game with Erica and me a few months back and it’s all he can talk about now. “I’ll take you to the first game. How about that?”

  He smiles, turns and presses his face into the side of the pillow. “That’s great,” he whispers before falling instantly asleep. Turning his light off, I watch my little man from the doorway for a few minutes before walking down the hallway.

  My body is barely coherent as I drag my feet to my bedroom. It’s small. A full size bed is smack dab in the middle of the small room. A few seconds pass as I look out over my isolated room. It’s not much but it’s my home. The only home I’ve had for a really long time.

  I don’t bother pulling my covers back before I fall onto my bed in complete exhaustion. I welcome the blackness with a smile.

  Chapter Three

  Weston

  “The herd of freshman girls has arrived,” Jason says. He’s standing on a locker room bench with his hands thrown in the air. “Little tight asses everywhere. It’s almost unfair.”

  I snort. Bracing my hand against my locker, I slide into one of my cleats. “Have they? They’re littering the cafeteria, too,” I say. “And they’re perfectly fuckable.”

  Dom raises his fist from beside me and I pound it. “Hell yeah they are. Just wait until this Friday. There are fliers everywhere for the Phi Lamb party.” Dom waggles his eyebrows at me.

  “Freshman chicas are the best. But I’m not sure we’ll find a better ass than on the new trainer.”

  New trainer? Turning, I look over my shoulder. Blake is standing next to his locker, putting on his shoulder pads. Is he talking about Roxy? Please. She’s definitely fine, don’t get me wrong, but not worth the time. She h
as all four walls up guarding herself from anyone. No one has probably touched her in years. Is he interested?

  “Oh, the brunette?” Dom asks from beside me. “Hell yeah, she’s pretty hot. She’s actually in my History class.”

  Roxy has a class with Dom? Shoving my foot into my other cleat, I turn and look around. Roxy didn’t wrap my ankles today, she stayed clear of me. Probably a good idea since she isn’t worth my time, but it is fun to watch her blush and get angry. Damn fun. “She’s okay,” I blurt out.

  Dom furrows his brow and ties his dreads into a low ponytail like he always does before practice. “Are you blind? Or sick?” Dom asks, raising the back of his hand to my forehead.

  I swat his hand away. “No. Just saying.”

  “Really? Because it seemed like you knew her yesterday,” Blake says. Who the fuck invited him into this conversation?

  Grabbing my shoulder pads, I begin to strap them on. “I never said I didn’t know her, I said she was okay because she is just okay.”

  Blake smiles. “Then you don’t mind if I give it a try then?”

  Why would I? I barely spoke to her yesterday, right? I shrug and grab my helmet from the bottom of my locker. “Doesn’t make any difference. Go for it.”

  He’s wasting his time. She isn’t approachable. He won’t make it two minutes into a conversation with her. It’s like tossing a lamb into a lion pit. “Dude, are you okay?”

  I turn to look at Dom. His dark heavy brows are raised and he’s looking at my hand. What’s wrong with my hand? Oh … fuck. I’ve scratched paint off the side of my helmet with my fingernail. When did I do that? “Oh, yeah, just a habit.”

  “Gather around boys!” Coach Perry yells, the locker room door shutting behind him. Whew, that’s all I could handle of that conversation. Everyone goes silent and takes a seat on the benches in front of our lockers.

  Propping his foot onto a bench, he stares down at us from under his blue SAU cap. A blue polo is tight to his beer gut that his brown belt is barely keeping in. “Alright, guys. It’s the second day of practice. A brand new year. We’re starting fresh and putting last season behind us.” Scanning the room, his eyes settle on me. “We have a new offense and some great freshman coming in this year. Give ‘em hell, boys!” The seniors laugh. We all know if we really give them hell we’ll be running drills for a month. “Most of the players from last season are still here. Let’s give these seniors a great last year. I want them to leave with an amazing last year under their belts. Now,” he stands up, adjusting his pants, “let’s go get ‘em, boys!”