Passion Overtime

by Pamela Yaye

  “Too bad it’s never the right type of girl.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re not flattered when a sweet, young thing sashays over to you and slips you her number?” He opened his mouth to protest, but she pushed on. “Terrence, you’re not fooling anybody. I’ve heard the stories. I know what’s up.”

  “Kyra, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Spotlight Tinseltown is not a valid news source. Everything you see on TV isn’t true.”

  The air felt light on her face, but her heart raced. It had been ten years since they dated, a full decade since they’d made promises and vows to each other, but she was as skittish as she’d been on their first date.

  “Keep this up and I’m going to cancel your subscription to Celeb Today magazine,” he warned. His unfailing good humor calmed her, but when he casually put an arm around her shoulders in a split-second embrace, she broke out into a sweat. “I’m not as bad as the media makes me out to be. My mom raised me to be a gentleman, and all those afternoons I spent with her talking about respecting black women weren’t in vain.”

  The emotions his smile evoked squeezed her heart. Held on tight and wouldn’t let go. Everything about Terrence Franklin aroused her. His voice soothed, his smile compelled and he pulsed with a sexual energy. But he was a player. A dog. A womanizer of the worst kind and she had the emotional scars to prove it.

  “I’m glad we made it out here today.”

  Their eyes met and held. Sparks flew like invisible streaks of lightning. And as if programmed, her face warmed, her legs tingled and butterflies danced in her stomach.

  “Being here takes me back. Makes me feel like I never left Hollington.”

  But you did. And you left me. Shaking off feelings of melancholy, she admired the blue, cloudless sky. Her mind slipped back to the summer of 1998. Terrence had surprised her at this very spot. Right there in the middle of the field. He’d spread out a blanket, then made love to her under a breath-taking full moon.

  Kyra pressed her eyes shut. That night—that sweet, enchanted night—was ingrained in her heart forever. It had been a tender moment, and despite all of her attempts, she’d never been able to forget it. Kyra hoped Terrence didn’t remember that warm summer evening. Hoped he didn’t mention it or reminisce about how willingly she’d given herself to him…

  “Man, I’d die to be out there one more time, playing to the crowd, spinning out of tackles, showing the whole world what I can do.”

  Terrence gazed out onto the field and Kyra stared at him. It was unbearably humid, and as hot as the desert, but he was wearing a black V-neck shirt and tan pants. The former NFL running back had powerful shoulders and a Herculean build, but it was his smile that seduced her every time.

  “I used to dread training camp,” he said, with an easy laugh. “The days begin well before sunrise and we endure the most grueling practice sessions imaginable, but I’d gladly run a hundred laps if it meant I could play just one more pro game.”

  “It must be hard knowing you’ll never play again.”

  “Hurts like a bitch.”

  “Don’t worry, your female fans aren’t going anywhere,” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m sure they’ll give you a hero’s welcome at the opening game.”

  “Is that what you think I miss about playing in the NFL? The women?” Disappointment colored his face. “Most people don’t know this, but the Dallas Cowboys organization is very involved in the community. We clean up drug-infested neighborhoods, read to preschool children and paint over gang tags and graffiti. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but there’s no greater feeling than signing a kid’s T-shirt or visiting cancer patients at the children’s hospital. Making a difference in someone’s life trumps meeting the winner of some model reality show any day.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, I—”

  “And while we’re on the topic of females, let me just say this. It’s not as easy for me to meet women as you think.”

  “It’s an open secret that pro athletes bed women by the hundreds, Terrence. Everyone knows they’re dogs.” Determined to prove her point, she said, “They jump from one groupie to the next making babies they refuse to support.”

  “No one with a lick of sense would date an ODB.”

  “A what?”

  “A woman who only does ballers. Every league has them.” His tone was persuasive, matter-of-fact. “The major leagues have bat girls and soccer has bedposts.”

  “Are you serious? That’s crazy,” she said, “and slightly disturbing.”

  “I have to work plenty hard to meet sisters. Independent, career-types like you automatically think the worst of me, so I have to work twice as hard to prove that I’m a stand-up guy.” He winked, “Because I am, you know. Ask Mom. She’ll tell you!”

  His good-natured smile almost made her forget he’d once dogged her out. She was sure that her opinion didn’t matter anymore to him, didn’t hold any weight, but she couldn’t resist asking him about the now infamous Spago Smackdown. “Is it true you were dating two actresses on the same network at the same time and got busted leaving Spago with one of them?” she asked, giving in to her curiosity. “Why did they start tearing each other’s clothes? And was Jerry Springer really there egging them on?”

  Terrence snorted. “That’s pure fiction.”

  Amused, she listened as he defended his reputation. It sounded as if he had years of frustration to get off his chest. Kyra heard the irritation in his voice and the underlying sadness he couldn’t conceal. He had several million-dollar homes, luxury cars and all the other trappings of success, but expected her to believe he wasn’t happy. Please. Did she have sucker written across her head in pink neon marker. That baby-life-is-hard speech might work with other women, but not with her.

  “Being a professional athlete isn’t easy. You wouldn’t believe all the crap I go through just because I’ve got a little money.”

  “Confessions of an NFL running back,” she quipped, trying to keep a straight face. “How sad. You have women throwing themselves at you, and everything you’ve ever dreamed of, but it still isn’t enough. I don’t get it. What more could you want?”

  “You mean besides you?”

  Her breath caught. A rush of pleasure flowed through her, immobilizing her and leaving her mute. If the school founders could see her now, they’d be hanging their heads in shame. Four years of university down the drain. Remembering that this was the same man who’d dumped her via e-mail made Kyra’s interest wane. Terrence had had his chance, and she wasn’t interested in dating him again, no matter how persuasive he was.

  “Kyra, I want what every man wants.” He leaned over until their arms were touching. “A woman who’ll love me for me and not for the things I have.”

  Her lust level soared. Kyra swallowed the lump in her throat, her thoughts racing like a kid in a toy store. And when he moved closer still, shivers vibrated down her spine.

  “And—” He paused for a moment. His gaze was strong, steady, invasive. For a second, one crazy terrifying second, she wanted him to kiss her. To create some space between them and usher in some fresh air, Kyra made three shifts to the right. “I want a woman who’s a lady in the street, a sex kitten in the bedroom and a Sara Lee chef in the kitchen!” He chuckled. “I’d like to have a bunch of rug rats and a couple of dogs, too.”

  Unable to picture the scene he’d just described, she read his facial expression for clues. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “Nope. I’m going to be the Brad Pitt of the NFL!”

  Laughter came.

  “What about you? Are you ready to tie the knot?”

  Studying her hands, she slid her silver bracelet up and down her wrist. When the silence became unbearable, she said, “I guess so.”

  “You guess?”

  Annoyed that he was poking fun at her, she rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk with your bimbo girlfriends and strip club birthday parties,” she shot back.


  “All right, you’ve got me there. I’ve been a very, very bad boy,” he confessed, his words strung together like cans on a string. “I’m not trying to get on your bad side, Kyra. I just figured you’d be married by now.”

  “I would have been if.

  “If I’d been man enough to step up to the plate?” Facing her, he offered a weak smile. “It’s okay, Kyra, you can say it. I was a sorry excuse for a man back then.”

  Their eyes came together. It felt as if a bowling ball were sitting on her chest. Every breath was a struggle. Insects hummed in her ears, but all she could hear was the gentle timbre of his voice and the deep feeling behind his words.

  “Everything was coming at me so fast. Training camp, opening season, the wedding. I’m not making excuses, Ky, I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t you. It was me. I was the one trippin’. I was the one who screwed up what we had.”

  Kyra didn’t know if it was the quiver in his voice or the gut-wrenching look on his face, but something compelled her to say, “It was a long time ago, Terrence, and neither one of us were ready for marriage.”

  “I promised myself that I wouldn’t bring up the past, but—”

  “Terrence, I’m begging you. Please don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what? Apologize for breaking your heart and—”

  “You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” she snapped, stunned by his nerve. Where did he get off? After signing with the Cowboys, he’d dropped her, and taken up with a stunning, Cameron Diaz look-alike, but that didn’t mean Kyra had gone off the deep end. Yeah, she’d set fire to his Letterman jacket and cut up his pictures, but that didn’t mean she was bitter. “I was upset, sure, but I moved on. In fact, I took a trip with my girlfriends that fall and had the time of my life.”

  A challenge rose in his eyes.

  Kyra averted her gaze. Okay, so she’d spent the entire trip in bed crying, but listening to every song ever recorded by Aretha Franklin was incredibly therapeutic.

  “Just hear me out, okay? I have to do this or we’ll never be able to move on. We’ll always be stuck in the past.”

  Refusing to participate in the discussion, she stared absently out onto the field, her mind chock-full of memories. The players were standing on the sidelines, guzzling water and slipping on numbered jerseys. Discussing the demise of their relationship wasn’t going to change anything, and Kyra suddenly wasn’t in the mood to hear another one of his well thought-out speeches.

  “What I did was messed up and I’ve always felt guilty about the way things ended. I was stupid. A stupid, terrified kid who didn’t know if he was coming or going. I listened to the wrong people, and I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  Feigning boredom, but secretly touched by his confession, she inspected her manicure, pretending not to notice him eyeing her. Their breakup had nearly ruined her, and Kyra didn’t want to relive one of the lowest moments of her life.

  “If I knew then what I know now, I never would have left you.”

  “Terrence, we were kids. We knew nothing about love.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We were two lonely teens experiencing love for the first time. Or what we thought was love.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Lust is a powerful emotion and we mistook it for the real thing.”

  “You’re wrong.” He was transparent, open, as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him. “I know a good woman when I see one, Ky. I loved you more than anything, more than anyone. Don’t ever forget that.”

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” His smile was back.

  “I think so. We’ve accomplished a lot in our respective careers and we both have a lot to be proud of.”

  “I’d like if we could start over.” Wearing a grin as long and as broad as a four-lane highway, he offered his right hand. “Friends?”

  Touching him was dangerous, deadly, riskier than selling Girl Guide cookies in Compton. Kyra was finally headed in the right direction and she didn’t need a great-looking athlete playing with her head. Or her heart. Having Terrence here—at Hollington, the place where they’d met and fallen in love—was confusing enough without him playing mind games with her. Kyra sensed his interest in her, and didn’t want to make a habit of seeing him on a personal level, but she liked the idea of calling a truce. Just to prove she was really over his betrayal. Steeling her nerves, she reached out and shook his hand. “Friends.”

  His touch shot chills down to her toes. She saw the question in his eyes, felt the warmth of his remarkably soft skin and knew something special had just passed between them. Passion was synonymous with desire, but Kyra refused to believe that after all this time, the chemistry between them still remained. This wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to fall for his smooth speech and muck up what she had going with…damn, what was the name of the guy who’d taken her to lunch last week?

  “You know why I returned to Hollington, don’t you Kyra?” His gaze was so deep, so penetrating, she felt naked before him. Like that night they’d made love on that bearskin rug, in front of the fireplace, to the soothing, sound of D’Angelo’s whispery vocals. “I came to see you.”

  “Terrence, we could never be more than…” was as far as she got. Gripped by his megawatt smile, his invigorating scent and his touch, she gulped down the rush of emotion threatening to overtake her. Several deep breaths later, Kyra ordered herself to get a grip. Terrence had the bravado of the James Bond icon and more sex appeal than a Chippendales dancer, but she refused to be duped again by his suave moves.

  “There you are,” a familiar voice said.

  Kyra dropped Terrence’s hand as if it were a roasted stone. Smile frozen in place, she swiveled around on the bench and met her boss’ gaze. “Mr. Morrow, hi, um, what are you doing here?”

  Chapter 7

  Secretly pleased by the interruption, Kyra looked on as her boss led Terrence onto the field. Fifty feet away, she could still hear Mr. Morrow’s rich, booming laugh. Introductions were made, players were split into teams and, to her surprise, Terrence donned a red pinny and joined the smaller of the two squads.

  Digging her cell phone out of her purse, she got up off the bench and walked over to the sidelines. Kyra smiled when she heard her best friend’s message. After striking up a conversation at the Georgia Conference for Women three years ago, Aimee Phillips had quickly become someone she could depend on. The Houston native had parlayed her love of down-home cooking into a culinary career, and Kyra was thrilled the personal chef was relocating to Atlanta.

  Anxious to speak to Aimee, she pressed Redial and put the phone to her ear. On the third ring, her girlfriend’s light, breathy voice floated over the line. “What took you so long to call me back?” Aimee asked once they’d exchanged greetings. “I called you hours ago.”

  “It’s been one of those mornings. Crazy from the moment I rolled out of bed, and growing longer by the second!”

  “It couldn’t be any worse than the day I’m having.”

  “What’s up? You sound bummed. Is everything okay at the…”

  Momentarily sidetracked by Terrence’s impressive moves on the football field, she lost the ability to think and talk at the same time. Glued to the spot, her eyes slipping and sliding all over his bulging forearms, she waited for her mind to clear. A minute passed. Then another. Kyra was having a mental lapse again, but ever since Terrence had arrived at her office, daydreaming had become a daily occurrence. And when their eyes met, desire washed over her like water from a brook. Blessed with the face and physique of a model, he had the height, the build and the kind of personality that women of all ages found hopelessly attractive. Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned away from his powerful, muscled body and regained the use of her tongue.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked, remembering her girlfriend was on the line. “Are you visiting your parents this weekend?”

  “No, they’re out of to
wn.”

  “Great. So you can join me and Shaunice at The Tavern for trivia night.”

  “Kyra, you know you’re my girl and everything, but that sounds kind of corny.”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it. Last month we won the grand prize.”

  “What, a year’s supply of corn chips?”

  “No, thirty-five hundred dollars.”

  Aimee’s voice perked up. “What time did you say it started?”

  Giving in to her laughter, she raised her head just in time to see Terrence yank off his pinny. Walter paused to speak to Coach Mayo before falling in step with the former NFL running back. The men strode off the field, wearing identical smiles.

  A minute later, Kyra slapped her cell phone shut and slipped it into her purse. “The kids sure looked happy to see you,” she said when Terrence pulled up beside her.

  “As they should be. Flash is the real deal!” The excess skin around Walter’s chin jiggled and his shoulders shook with merriment. “You should have seen the wide-eyed expression on their faces when Terrence asked if he could play. They looked like they were going to pass out!”

  Terrence pointed his chin towards the field. “They’re a good bunch. If they study the play book and listen to the coaching staff, they might have a chance this year.”

  “With you at the helm, they’ll have more than just a chance. But we can discuss your vision for the team over lunch.” Walter clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a great restaurant up the street that has the biggest steak burgers you’ve ever seen.”

  “Don’t say no more. I can eat any time of the day!”

  “All right,” Kyra began, putting on her Prada designer sunglasses, “you guys go have lunch and I’ll catch up with you both this afternoon.”

  Mr. Morrow frowned. “Nonsense, you’re coming with us. We’ll talk football, and then you can show Terrence around our fine city.”

  “But Terrence went to school here,” she pointed out. “He knows the area better than I do. He doesn’t need to me to show him around.”