by Ney, Sara
“I wasn’t planning on going,” Trace tells Marlon, shifting on the balls of his feet.
“Oh, you’re going—and you’re taking your girlfriend.” My best friend bumps Wallace with her hip, causing our bodies to press closer together still and I catch a whiff of his aftershave. Body wash? Masculine cologne—something. Whatever it is, it smells sensational.
I almost sniff the air like he sniffed my hair.
“Babe, do you want to go to a team BBQ?”
He says barbeque like B-B-Q, pronouncing each of the letters individually, and Lord help me, I smile. What a moron, this big goof. I don’t even like the guy, but for some reason, I’m grinning up at him like a damn fool. “Not really. Babe.” I throw that in for good measure, pleased by the surprise crossing his expression. It’s there and gone in a flash.
“You know what?” He ups the ante. “I think you’d actually have a good time, so we should go. You would love Noah Harding’s girlfriend. Remember, I’ve been telling you about her?” He presses his lips to my forehead. “We’re definitely going.”
“Um.” I rack my brain for something intelligent to say. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can, my little cactus flower.” He boops me on the tip of my nose. “Mmm, you smell like honey, little sugar bee.”
“Oh my god.” Madison busts out laughing. “Stop it! Now you’re making me want to throw up—get a room you two.” She glances at my ex-boyfriend. “They’re always hanging all over each other. She is sooo into him.”
“You never let me call you babe,” Marlon pouts—actually pouts, crossing his meaty arms and scowling.
“Oh yeah, Daymon?” Trace is grinning from ear to ear. “It’s probably because you have a small dick, so…”
“Shut the fuck up, Wallace. You’ve seen my dick—you know it’s not small.”
Trace rolls his eyes, squeezing my upper arm conspiratorially. Winks at Marlon. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“I do not have a small dick!” My ex-boyfriend’s voice booms at the same time the band stops playing, the deafening silence in the room followed by a snicker from my best friend.
“I hate you,” he hisses at me, the glare so odious I shrink into Trace Wallace’s big, warm body.
“See you tomorrow!” Trace calls to him as he stalks off toward the exit, his large, brooding body crashing through the doors. Trace wiggles his fingers in my ex’s direction, even though he doesn’t look over his shoulder.
Madison bounces up and down, boobs bouncing too, and I will her to stop with my laser-like glower. Shrug Trace Wallace’s heavy arm off from my body, easing out from under him, slinking to stand next to my friend—who is not helping these matters at all.
“What time are you picking her up?” She wastes no time getting down to business, as if she’s my manager making a deal on my behalf—once again acting as if I’m not here.
“I’ll grab you at noon, if that’s cool? We can be casually late—unless you want to be casually early? That’s usually my thing. Harding loves when I drop in on him unexpectedly.”
Somehow, I doubt that. “Seriously, I appreciate the sentiment and I appreciate you getting him off my back, but it’s not necessary to entertain me tomorrow.”
“Noon is so late in the day,” Madison informs him. “Hollis is an early riser—why don’t y’all do coffee then make your way to Harding’s? That will give you time to get to know each other before you get there.”
How about not. “I have a hair appointment.”
She squints at me. “You just had it done two weeks ago.”
“It’s a blowout.”
“You have nothing going on tomorrow.” She continues thwarting my arguments against a faux date with this Neanderthal. “You have to get out of the house and start meeting men.” She glances at Trace, who is still standing there. “No offense, but you’re not her type.”
“I’m everyone’s type,” he says confidently.
“Not mine,” I shoot back stubbornly. “Besides, the last thing anyone wants is the general manager’s daughter showing up to ruin their fun.”
“That apparently didn’t stop you from going out with dipshit over there, did it?” He has a very good point. “You look like you could use a little fun and wouldn’t it be a blast rubbing a relationship with me in his face? The dude fucking despises me.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he’s a child.”
That explains absolutely nothing. “Well. I’m not going with you tomorrow.”
Trace Wallace, the Chicago Steam’s giant closer, levels me with a stare I’m sure is intended to make men cower. “Suit yourself, but I’m going to that barbecue and when I see your ex plaything there, I’ll be forced to tell him the truth because I hate lying.”
I throw my hands up. “You just straight-up lied to his face not five minutes ago.”
“I’m a changed man.”
“Oh my god.” He did not just say that.
“You take the Lord’s name in vain a lot,” he tells me, grabbing a small cup of vegetables and dip from a nearby tray, stuffing a stick of celery in his mouth.
I take the Lord’s name in vain? “What, you never swear?”
“Oh, half the words that leave my mouth are curses.” He chews, crunching noisily, and changes the subject. “Anyway. It was nice officially making your acquaintance. Wish me luck tomorrow. I’ll be forced to come up with a backstory all on my own, and who knows how that will end.”
Whoa, whoa whoa—not so fast. “Wait just one damn minute. You can’t go telling him we aren’t dating.”
“But we’re not. I’m not your type.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yes it is.” He gnaws on more celery, dips it into the tiny container of dressing, and bites. “Although, it wouldn’t be lying to say we’re dating if you came with me to the barbeque as my date.”
“Right, but then I’d be stuck with you for who knows how long.”
“Ouch. That one hurt my feelings.”
Madison’s head whips side to side as we volley shots back and forth.
“I’m not going to some party with you because you’re trying to manipulate me.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
“But I also don’t know what you’re capable of when left to your own devices.”
Chomp, chomp. “So true.”
“What do you plan on saying to Marlon?”
Trace shrugs. “Don’t know. Probably the truth—I saw him hassling you and came over, thinking if I pretended to be your boyfriend, he would leave you alone.”
Hmm. I don’t like the way that sounds either, even though it’s the truth.
“Or I’ll tell him you have morning sickness and didn’t feel well enough to come along, because the sight of Sweet Baby Ray’s makes you want to puke and it’s not good for the baby.”
I blink.
Madison snickers.
Trace chews.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His head cocks to one side. “Mmm, wouldn’t I?” Another stick of celery gets dipped in dressing. “I’m bored. This amuses me. I’d like to continue amusing myself with Daymon tomorrow and if no one is there to stop me…” He shrugs a pair of wide, toned shoulders. Every muscle flexing with the simple, single motion. “I should go mingle. Ladies.” He tips his head by way of salutation, and I watch him go, stunned.
Silently, my best friend and I stand there, observing his departure.
“Wow. He is really something, isn’t he?” Her tone is as dreamy as her adoring gaze.
I hold up a hand to silence her. “Do not start with that. He is a scumbag—did you not hear him try to blackmail me?”
“Blackmail you with what? No, he’s teasing you. He wouldn’t do that.”
Wouldn’t he? “Teasing me?”
“Flirting then. Hollis, give the guy a break—he came to your rescue. What would be the harm in going with him to one measly gathering tomorrow? It’s not like you have anything else
going on.”
I hate when she points out the obvious. “Gee, thanks.”
“You don’t. Plus, you’d get to stick it to Marlon.”
“I don’t want to stick anything to Marlon, let alone it.” My attempt at a joke falls flat as my best girlfriend stares at one of my father’s players.
Player.
That’s what Trace “Buzz” Wallace is and I’d do well to remember that.
Still. He did try being my knight in shining armor—too bad he was wrapped in tin foil.
“I can’t do it. I cannot go to Noah Harding’s house and fake a smile for multiple hours. My lips will fall off.”
“I know, I know. Your motto is, ‘If I have to fake a smile, I’m not going.’ You say it all the time, but Hollis—he’s so cute.”
“So? There are tons of men in here who are cute, and most of them are lying, cheating, assholes.”
“But some of them aren’t.”
I wish she would stop defending Trace. “But he is.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He’s in all the papers and gets into so much trouble.”
“Seriously, Hollis? You’re the one who is always telling me not to believe anything I read in the papers or online, saying the media makes up information to sell stories—so how bad could he be?”
I laugh, tipping my head back, and when my eyes find their way across the room, locking with a set of dark brown ones, I swallow. “Bad enough.”
“Fine. You win.” She sips from the glass she’d been holding this entire time, which I’m sure is piss warm. Oops—I mean lukewarm. “I won’t mention it again.”
I stare at her, knowing she’s going to mention it again in five, four, three, two—
“All I’m saying is, you cannot let that man go to that party and tell people you’re knocked up.”
I roll my eyes. “He won’t.”
“No, probably not. By tomorrow he’ll invent something even more mortifying because look at him. His brain is probably the size of a walnut, all loose inside his head, knocking around in there.”
“Hey, don’t be mean. I’m sure he’s intelligent.” I study him now, as he stands in a cluster of players and their wives, the group of them laughing so loud I can hear them from here. Cheerful, carefree laughter. Like they’re having fun. Like I should be.
Those people will most likely all be there tomorrow.
One of them looks over his shoulder, directly at me. Raises his brows then turns back to the group.
Shit.
My forehead begins to sweat.
Surely he hasn’t already…
Surely he wouldn’t…
Again, our eyes meet. Someone else follows his gaze and I see an elbow bump.
A knot forms in my stomach.
That asshole!
Why is he doing this?!
The last thing I need is some pampered, spoiled, professional athlete who never gets told no using me as some sick form of entertainment. I am not a joke! I am his boss’s daughter, for God’s sa—
Shit, sorry God. I throw a prayer up, apologizing for using his name in vain. “What the hell am I doing?”
Shit. Sorry again.
“Talking to yourself, apparently.”
“I’m internalizing.”
“Clearly.” Madison holds up her glass, out of wine. “Can we take this little snooze-fest to the bar? I need a refill.”
I nod absentmindedly as I trail aimlessly behind her, a bit shook from this entire day—and it’s not nearly over yet. Tickets being forced on me. Marlon approaching. Trace ambushing us. The fake date idea.
It’s too much for my brain. This is not my style. I like plans and structure—spontaneous and impromptu invites make me twitchy, so in that regard, I’m a lot like my dad.
I groan.
Stare at the back of Madison’s head and start counting down the minutes until we can get out of this place.
* * *
Unknown Number: What time am I picking you up?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown Number: You’re adorable when you do this. It’s so cute.
Me: No for real—who is this?
Unknown Number: Your date for tomorrow. I’m going to come grab you and then we can get coffee, or tea, or whatever you want before heading to Harding’s. His house isn’t far from mine, but I can get you, nbd.
Nbd? What does that mean?
I google it, unsure. No big deal.
Right.
Me: Trace I am not going to that party with you. And how did you even get my number?
Trace: I called your dad’s secretary and told her I wrote it down instead of putting it in my phone and she gave it to me. The party is a backyard BBQ, so we’re good. Less pressure, wear shorts.
Me: Look I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but the last thing in the world I want to do is go to a party and be anywhere near Marlon Daymon.
Trace: Fine. But you should know he told someone else on the team that you’re full of shit and still in love with him.
Me: STILL IN LOVE WITH HIM! I WAS NEVER IN LOVE WITH HIM TO BEGIN WITH! WE WENT OUT FOR FIVE MINUTES.
Trace: Why are you yelling?
Oh my god, I’m going to kill this guy, for real for real.
Me: Please tell me you’re lying.
Trace: Loverboy told Jose Rodriguez you’re not going to show tomorrow because you’re still pining for him.
Me: Pining? Who even says that anymore?
Trace: I mean—he used different words, but you’re a lady so I used my filter. Shocking, I know. My mama would be so proud.
I cannot for the life of me imagine the actual sentence he would have said. If there’s one positive thing about Marlon Daymon, it’s that he might be a jackass, but he was never lewd or disrespectful. I mean…if you don’t count the cheating, ha ha.
Me: And you think me showing up today will make him stop talking about me? I never wanted anyone to know we went out in the first place. I don’t date players for this EXACT REASON.
Trace: First rule of baseball: Nothing is sacred. Guy code. We tell each other everything—you’re fooling yourself if you thought he was going to keep that shit on lockdown.
Me: And now everyone thinks I’m dating YOU??? That’s the LAST THING I WANT PEOPLE THINKING. WHAT IF MY DAD FINDS OUT?
Trace: Your dad’s an asshole, no offense.
Me: None taken **eye roll**
Trace: Don’t get salty, I’m just being honest. Your dad doesn’t like anyone, so there is no one you could bring home that he’d approve of, player or not.
Ugh. He has a point.
I concede.
Me: True.
Trace: Just come to the party. I promise I’ll behave.
Me: LOL
Trace: I’m being serious. We can even have a safe word, so if you feel uncomfortable while we’re there, just say it and we’ll go. No questions asked.
I stare at that declaration, a bit surprised, chewing on my bottom lip, debating. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m warming up to him. Warming up to the idea of going to the dumb housewarming or whatever it is.
Glance down at my pajamas. They’re the same ones I wear a few times a week, swapping them out for my other boring pair here and there. My “single girl pajamas,” as I call them both, because they’re old and worn and comfortable and I would die if any man saw me in them.
Me: What kind of word?
Trace: You choose.
Me: Literally any word? And I say it and we leave?
Trace: Yup—any word or phrase. Say, for example, you were talking and wanted to go and said wiener. I would know it was time to leave.
Me: As if I’d be able to use the word wiener in a sentence casually in front of all those people.
Trace: It wouldn’t have to be in front of anyone—you could whisper wiener in my ear.
This has got to be the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with a man, in my entire life.
Me: Um, yeah, no.
Me: LOL
I laugh, imagining the look on a baseball player’s face—or a wife’s, or a girlfriend’s—if I used any of those words in a sentence.
Trace: Wanker. Phlegm. Plunker. Flaps.
Me: No! Where are you coming up with these?
Trace: It has to be a word that is distinct so there is no mistaking it’s the escape word!
Me: I get that, but does it have to be gross?
Trace: What’s gross about the word plunker?
Me: LOL
Trace: Fine. How about…Daddy.
Me: LOL
Me: Nice try—I am NOT calling you Daddy in public.
Trace: So what you’re saying is, you’ll call me Daddy in private?
Me: LOL NO!
I laugh again. Honestly, he’s making me laugh and I cannot stop now that I’ve started snorting.
Trace: Do you have any better suggestions?
Me: Literally any of my suggestions are better than those.
Trace: Fine, let me hear them.
I sit back, leaning against my headboard, and tilt my chin up to stare at the ceiling. Hmmm, what are some good safe words?
Me: What about if I said something like, “I think I forgot to close my bedroom window.”
Trace: Ummmmmmm it’s not supposed to rain.
Me: Oh. Duh.
Trace: Let’s just go with ‘gizzards’ and be done with it.
Me: LOL
Trace: Are you actually laughing out loud or just trying to make me feel good?
Me: I’m laughing out loud.
Trace: Good, I don’t want your pity LOLs.
I laugh again but don’t tell him that. He’s making it damn difficult to be irritated with him.
Me: Trust me, I use them sparingly.
Trace: I’ll come grab you at noon and we can figure it out on the way there. What’s your address?
Before I can think twice about it, I type it out and hit send.
Shit. Shit! I hit send? I hit send. Ugh!
Trace: Noon. Dress casual, swimsuit optional. It’ll be fun.
No way in hell am I bringing a swimsuit.
Me: I already regret this.
Trace: LOL
Trace: We’ll have fun, don’t worry about it—leave it to me.
