by Tia Lewis
“Never mind,” I grumbled.
“Oh, come on.” Jared trotted over. “We all know you drove off with that cute little piece of ass on Sunday, after the dinner. I mean, why else would you be fucking up so bad today?”
“What did she do to you?” Trey asked, chuckling. Already they were on me like vultures, and they didn’t know what we had done. I had to make a decision and fast.
“We didn’t do anything, okay? We talked it out, and I took her home. That was it.”
“Oh, really?” Garrett and Jared exchanged surprised looks. I didn’t care they would probably make fun of me even worse for not taking advantage of her. All that mattered was that they didn’t try to take what happened and turn it into something nasty, like the way we always talked about the women we were with. I would have talked about Layla or any of the others like that, but not Abby. She was different.
The voice in my head sneered at me. Why don’t you tell the truth? You don’t want them to know you were with her because you don’t like that you were with her.
I thought about it way too much, when I shouldn’t have. I needed to get my head around practice, around getting the ball into the hands of my receivers. Instead, I kept underthrowing, overthrowing. I even got sacked twice. It was a pitiful performance, and I deserved every filthy thing Coach Cramer shouted to me.
The whole time, Abby played it cool. Nobody would have known she had been with me since Sunday night, that I only dropped her off to get her car early that morning. That we’d had sex three times since breakfast on Monday. She was totally innocent. And there I was, thinking she would be something to worry about. I was the one who needed worry. I was the one screwing everything up.
It was so bad, the coach felt the need to pull me aside after practice. I’d showered and changed quietly, away from the others. I couldn’t get into their jokes, not when I had no idea what the fuck was happening in my head. Was I ashamed that we were together? No, that couldn’t have been it. Then what was it?
“What is with you, Max?” I sat across from Coach at a little table in his office. It was filled from top to bottom with memorabilia from his days as a player all the way up through the present day. Almost fifty years of memories in one room. Trophies, framed jerseys, pictures, two game balls. How he got it all in there, I would never know.
“I have no idea. I guess I don’t feel too well today.”
“Bullshit. You’ve never fucked around at practice like you just did out there. Do I have to start getting Mo warmed up to take over for you in Denver?”
My head snapped up, my eyes meeting his. “Hell no!”
“I thought that might wake you up a bit,” he grinned. “But don’t think I’m joking because I’m not. I’ll put him in faster than you can blink an eye if you don’t get your shit together. You’re a good quarterback, Max. I don’t have to tell you that. But I can’t let your personal shit, whatever it is, get in the way of your game. Denver’s not gonna be a pushover.”
“I know. I’ll be better tomorrow. I swear it.” Just how I would be better, I didn’t know. Things had been so perfect with Abby—I hated to use the word, but it was the right one. They were perfect. And I couldn’t have that because it might mean she would want things to keep being perfect. No way we could stay together. No way.
Only it didn’t seem like she wanted to stay together. In fact, when I stopped by her office after talking with Coach, she wasn’t there. It looked like she had already locked up for the day.
16
Abby
It had come as a surprise when Skylar called to ask if I wanted to go shopping with her after practice.
“Really? You want me to?” It was like being accepted by the popular girls. Hard to believe, as much as I wanted to.
“Sure! It’ll be fun. And we’ll get something to eat, too, if we’re out that late.”
“What about Garrett?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“I mean, if we’re out late, wouldn’t he want to have dinner with you?”
Silence. Then, “Oh, honey. There is so much you need to learn. I’ll pick you up after practice.”
Sure enough, when I looked out my office window to the parking lot outside, she was waiting by her car. A cute little thing, cherry red, low to the ground. I’d never been a huge car person—one make was just as good as another, in my opinion—but there was something sexy about her sports car. I hurried out to meet her.
As I had expected, she looked flawless. A flirty little sundress showed off her tiny figure. She had perfectly blown-out hair, beautifully subtle makeup. She was the whole package. I felt frumpy next to her. Was she taking me shopping as a message of some sort? Like I needed to get my act together? Not that I didn’t—I certainly did. I just didn’t enjoy being reminded, if that was the case.
“Come on,” she said, giving me a hug. “A couple of the other girls are meeting us at the mall. We want to induct you into the club.”
“The club?” My head spun as I buckled myself into the seat. I felt like I was sitting behind the controls of a spaceship, the car was so hi-tech. “What do you mean?”
She giggled. “Don’t be so serious. It was just an expression. You’re one of us, now. We want you to feel comfortable.”
I would never be one of them, but it was sweet of her and the girls to want me to feel welcome. I had to stop classifying them as different from me. We were all people. They couldn’t be bad if they wanted to induct me into their so-called club. I was flattered by the attention.
And to be seen with them, for that matter. Jessica and Patrice were two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen up close, except for Skylar. They could have been models. Jessica, a tall brunette with a curvaceous figure, was Mo’s wife. Patrice was Trey’s girlfriend, and her smooth, mocha skin and brilliant hazel eyes were mesmerizing.
We stopped at a Starbucks for lattes—skinny lattes for the ladies and a non-fat for me. I couldn’t stand the taste of artificial sweetener. Then we walked around the mall, and I noticed the names of the stores. Jimmy Choo, Louis Vuitton, Ferragamo. I hoped they didn’t think I could afford those kinds of prices. I was on the team’s staff. I wasn’t making player money—or, rather, player’s wife money.
The girls led the way, starting with Jimmy Choo. I could only look at the shoes while they tried them on. Every one was more beautiful than the last. I sat and watched.
“So, the first thing you have to learn about life in the NFL is not to pay close attention to what the players do on their off time.” Skylar winked, sliding into a pair of sandals.
“Okay. What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, earlier you made a comment about me wanting to have dinner with Garrett. Believe me, nothing would make me happier.” She stood, tottering over to one of the mirrors. “I would love to have a fiancé who wanted to spend time with me.”
I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I prompted her. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”
All three of the girls laughed quietly, exchanging knowing looks. “Honey, it’s a choice we make. We either stick around for our men, because we love them, or we choose to pay attention to the things they do when we’re not around. We know these things go down—affairs with the cheerleaders, for example.” Patrice shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Yes, or one-night stands when they’re out of town.” Jessica couldn’t decide between one pair of heels and another. She held them up for me to decide. I went with the leopard print that laced up the calf.
“I don’t get it, though. Doesn’t that bother you? You act like it doesn’t matter—not that it’s any of my business,” I backtracked. They’d brought it up, though, so it wasn’t like I was prying.
“Sure, it bothers me.” Skylar sat down to take off the shoes. “It used to bother me a lot more. But I think about it this way, and I took this idea from an old movie I watched once. They’re all a bunch of little boys. Would you agree?”
“Yes.” N
ot a second’s thought required there. They were spoiled little boys who had been told one time too many how special they were, and it had gone to their spoiled heads.
“Would you get mad at a little boy for taking the candy when it was right there in front of him? Would you blame him for giving in?”
I had to laugh at her reasoning, but I realized she was serious. “That’s what you chalk it up to, then? Boys will be boys?”
“Something like that,” Skylar grinned. “And it has its perks.” She waved her massive engagement ring. It was beautiful and enormous. But it all felt sort of empty to me. If that was what made her happy, more power to her—I would never tell another woman how to live her life. It just wasn’t the life for me.
Was that what life with Max would be like if anything happened between us? It was a moot point since he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing more serious than a fling. In my heart, I couldn’t help but wonder if something bigger would grow from us. Did I even want it to, knowing the way the players treated their women?
We left the store, with me being the only person who didn’t make a purchase. I had the feeling that was the way the rest of the trip would go. It would be more of a learning experience for me than a shopping one.
“Are all the guys like that? Or wouldn’t you know?” I looked around at the three of them as we walked to the next store.
“I think it’s a safe bet that they are,” Jessica nodded. “Even the ugly ones. They’re NFL players. They’re like royalty.”
“And there are always women out there, looking for a come up.” Patrice made a face. Looking for a come up? So, what, was she blaming the women for making her man cheat on her? I didn’t understand it, but I wasn’t about to ask questions. It would just take me deeper down the rabbit hole.
“Are there a lot of dramas around stuff like this?”
“You mean, are there a lot of baby mamas out there?” Jessica laughed. “Not for my man.”
“Not for any of our men, but there are a couple,” Skylar said. “We don’t talk much about them, only because it bothers the wives. It’s an open secret type thing.”
“Gotcha. What about … Max?” I couldn’t help myself. I had to know.
“What about him?” Patrice asked as we stepped inside a Carolina Herrera. I had a weakness for handbags, and I wanted to touch every single one of them as we walked into the store.
“I mean, does he have any baby mamas out there that you know about?” I wished I hadn’t asked, but it was too late to take it back. I did what I could to keep my voice neutral like it didn’t matter either way. Naturally, I prayed that the answer would be no.
I saw Skylar and Jessica exchange a knowing look. “Is there something you haven’t shared?” Skylar asked, smirking.
“No.”
“You’re such a liar. I don’t even know you well, and I know you’re lying.”
I felt my face turning red, and I turned away. It was too late for that. The three of them sat me down in the dressing room area, nearly crawling on me to get information.
“So was it when the two of you left the restaurant the other night?” Skylar asked. “I knew there was something funny happening with you guys, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”
“Oh, my gosh, tell me you haven’t slept with him,” Patrice groaned.
“Why? What's the problem?”
“You did, didn’t you.” Patrice slapped her forehead.
“I don’t understand,” I insisted.
“He’s the worst.”
“He flirts with anything that moves.”
“He’s been with more women than I can count.”
“He thinks he’s hot shit.”
“No, he knows he’s hot shit.” Their voices overlapped, the three of them trying their hardest to help but only making me feel worse in the process. I didn’t need the reminder that I was one of the hundreds of women.
“Listen, I appreciate the advice,” I said, holding my hands up to silence them. “I mean it. I do. It’s not like that with us.”
“Us? Oh, geez.” Jessica shook her head mournfully. “You’re already in too deep. Already talking about ‘us.’”
I had to smile. “You don’t understand. I’ve known Max since we were in kindergarten. We didn’t just meet for the first time last week.”
Three gasps. Three identical looks of surprise. “Oh, forget shopping. We need drinks, STAT.” Skylar dragged me from the store, the other two girls behind us. As usual, there was no stopping her once she got an idea in her head. We went to one of the restaurants in the mall, an upscale steakhouse with virtually no customers so early in the evening. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, but martinis were ordered.
She could hardly wait to tear into me. “All right. Spill. You mean you’ve known Max Anderson your entire life?” The girls leaned toward me from their spots around the table in the dimly-lit, quiet restaurant.
“Yes, I have. I didn’t know he played for the team when I came from London. I haven’t spoken to him in ten years.” I told myself not to tell them the entire story. I told myself they didn’t need to know, that it would better if they didn’t. Yet there I was, spilling my guts. I told them everything—how awkward and unpopular I had been, how close we’d been as kids. How I’d secretly, or not-so-secretly, adored him from afar.
By the time I finished, we were all finishing our second martini. The girls sat with their chins in their hands, staring at me with wistful looks on their faces.
“Wow, so after all this time …” Skylar mused. “That must have been …”
“Explosive,” Patrice finished.
“Pretty much,” I admitted.
Jessica pushed her long, wavy hair over both shoulders and took a deep breath. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
I froze like a deer in headlights. “What do you mean?”
“What will you do? Pursue him? Forget it ever happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I can’t decide how I feel. He wants to act like it never happened, that’s fine with me for now. We had a great day yesterday and a great night before that. If that’s all I ever get, it’s much more than I ever hoped for.”
“Do you want him?” Skylar asked.
“Of course,” I mumbled. I felt embarrassed, especially since they’d just told me not a half hour earlier what a prick he was, how he used women. What could they think of me?
“If you really want him, then go for it.” I looked at all of them in turn, and they all nodded.
“Wait. Backup. You just told me he’s a piece of human garbage, now you want me to take him. I’m confused.”
Skylar grinned. “I’m not gonna insult you by saying he’ll change for you. People don’t change.” She sounded like she knew all too well what she was talking about.
Patrice nodded thoughtfully. “But if you love him, and you want him, then you gotta take what’s yours. Don’t let some trashy chick take him from you one day because she gets herself knocked up or something.”
It was all too confusing. I was less sure than ever that I was cut out for their world.
17
Max
Standing on the sidelines, watching our defense get trashed to pieces, was one of the hardest things I ever had to do as a player. I hated that helpless feeling, watching as we gave up yard after yard, missing chances to block the running game. Denver’s leading running back ran right past me, our cornerback and safety behind him. They might as well have not bothered. I stopped short of throwing my helmet to the ground in rage. The on-field camera guys would love picking up footage of me losing it.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” I asked nobody in particular. We were all feeling the same thing. The offense could only score so many points on our own, and we had already put fourteen on the board. It didn’t matter when Denver matched us touchdown for touchdown.
That was always the worst, playing your heart out when you were frustrated and tired and beaten half to
hell. And some of us let it get to us a little too much. Players started losing patience, taking risks they didn’t need to take, acting sloppy. That was what happened when the offense took the field after Denver scored yet another seven points.
I felt the tension in the huddle. It was up to me to keep everybody together, working as a team. I felt like I was losing my grip on them. We would run a screen play. As the huddle broke, I reminded myself to keep a good attitude for the rest of the team. It wasn’t easy. I caught a glimpse of Coach Cramer looking at me as I joined the line. I felt a sort of animal anxiety in the rest of my guys. They wanted to make their mark on Denver’s defense.
The crowd was going nuts, loving the way their team marched all over us all day. It was already the end of the second quarter, but their energy was as strong as ever—maybe stronger. I could hardly hear myself think over the roaring and stomping. I called the play, fell back to do a fake hand-off which diverted two of the defensive linemen, then fell back three steps to pass. Trey was running downfield, ready for my pass. I let it go.
Then, something happened. He ran hard and got there in time, but when he turned to catch the pass, one of Denver’s cornerbacks hit him hard, sending him to the ground without the ball. He didn’t get up right away.
Coach called time, and we all ran the thirty or so yards to where Trey was on the ground, lying still. Coach knelt next to him, calling his name. The offensive coach took off Trey’s helmet. His eyes were open, and he looked pained.
“What is it?” Coach asked. Trey took a deep breath, then groaned.
“Wind knocked outta me. My knee. Something with my knee.” His face crumpled in agony. I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, though. For a second there, I thought it was a lot worse. The cold hand of fear that he gripped my heart loosened a little. It was something all players went through, even if they didn’t want to admit it.
Coach called for a stretcher. “I don’t wanna take any chances on that knee,” he said, even though Trey wanted to get up and try to walk. Two of the team’s physical therapists came out to lift him onto a cart, and there was light applause from the stands as the cart took him to the locker room. Abby was in there. She would take care of him, I was sure of it.
