Devon Drake, Cornerback

by Jean C. Joachim

  Her cell rang. It was Sam.

  “I’m not ready yet. About a half hour?” Stormy asked. Sam agreed.

  The weather had warmed up a bit. It was forty degrees, sunny, and dry. Stormy didn’t know what to do. She walked around the building and stopped in front of a large, plate glass window. There was a newscast going on. This time a woman sat in front of the camera. Stormy waved. No response. She jumped up and down and waved some more. Still no response.

  I have to do this. For Devon. I have to clear this up. He doesn’t deserve this.

  One of the men working behind the scenes smiled and winked at her. Aha! I have his attention. Overcoming shyness had been a lifelong problem for Stormy, and today was no different, but Devon’s reputation was at stake. So, she stuffed her bashfulness down inside and sashayed up to the window. As she made eye contact with the man wearing headphones, she licked her lips.

  He sat up, his gaze glued to her. She hummed the tune “The Stripper” as she unzipped and peeled off her jacket. The man slid his chair closer to the window. She began to dance slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people on the sidewalk had stopped moving. She took a deep breath and eased her sweater up as slowly as possible.

  Now, the man in the headphones was gesturing and talking. The others in the room turned to stare. Stormy kept humming and dancing. She was getting into it. Ignoring the cold, she pulled her sweater over her head, twirled it around, and flung it at a man standing nearby. He caught it and applauded.

  Next, she unzipped her jeans. All the time, she kept one eye on the people running around frantically in the newsroom. Two were talking on telephones. Stormy slid the denim over her hips. She silently thanked God she was wearing a pair of sexy, black panties underneath.

  When the pants got to her knees, three people, including one cameraman, came running out of the newsroom, like roaches scurrying from danger. At the same time, she heard a siren blaring, getting closer and closer. Shit! Cops.

  The man who had winked at her thrust a microphone into her face. “Who are you, and why are you stripping in front of the newsroom on this cold winter’s day?”

  “I’m Allison Gregory, the girl you had on tape. Devon Drake of the Kings did not assault me. Edgy Mason did. I want to tell my story, but they wouldn’t let me see the news director.”

  “You’re being taped now. Damn, you’re pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Stormy blushed. “But, please, listen to me.”

  “Okay, young lady. Put your clothes back on. You’re coming with me.” A burly policeman stood next to Stormy, giving her the once over and blushing.

  “Okay, officer. If I get dressed, can I do the interview first?”

  “Please?” The man with the mic pleaded. “This is a great story. And it’s in defense of Devon Drake of the Kings.”

  “Drake? The cornerback? Okay. You’ve got ten minutes. Talk while you get dressed. Christ, lady, you’re causing a traffic jam.”

  Stormy looked behind her and saw cars stopped up and down the street.

  “And I can see why,” the officer finished, chuckling.

  * * * *

  His shouting match with Jackie the previous night about the negative publicity had brought Devon down. It had taken him twenty minutes to convince her he was innocent. Even then, he wasn’t sure she had believed him.

  Jackie had expressed concern about how this would reflect on her. Devon had yelled and hung up on her. With his nerves on high alert two days before the Kings were heading to Miami to play the Sidewinders in the Super Bowl, Devon wasn’t happy to return to an empty house after being at the Stadium.

  He had expected a dinner of heart-warming food and an early, peaceful night. He needed to recover from vigorous training and rest up for the game, which was sure to be a challenge. But the women were nowhere to be found. He opened the refrigerator and saw a huge salad.

  More rabbit food. I want a steak. He took out a bowl of celery and carrots then grabbed a beer. He thought about it then returned it to the fridge for a bottle of water. He pinched his waist. Still too much there. The scandal with Stormy had done nothing to decrease his appetite, but rather had had the opposite effect. He sought comfort food to soothe his wounded pride.

  Stormy had suggested a strict diet for the week before the big game. Meat, vegetables, and fruit. And nothing else. Especially not beer. His cell buzzed. It was Sam.

  “We’re on our way home. I had to pay a fine at the police station for Stormy. We’ll tell you all about it.” She hung up before he could ask even one question. Devon threw his phone on the sofa. What the fuck? Was Stormy arrested? She’s a walking disaster area. Maybe she should move out. Go back to Illinois? I don’t want her to get hurt by that ape, Mason, but she’s messing up my life.

  Curiosity trumped fear, driving him to turn on the news. Hope that Jo Parker had been able to quash the story about him rose in his heart. Munching on a carrot, he sank down into the comfy cushion, clicked on WMON, and braced himself for the worst. The lead story had him bolting right up off the couch and spitting carrot pieces. There she was, Stormy, practically naked, dressed only in her bra and panties, crying, “Please let me tell my story. Devon Drake is innocent!”

  Holy shit! Stormy, what did you do?

  He sat back down, his gaze glued to the screen. He watched her interview, as she put her clothes back on, naming Edgy Mason as the man who had assaulted her. She went on about how wonderful Devon had been to take her in and shield her.

  The cornerback’s mouth hung open as he absorbed every word. The program cut to a fuzzy picture of Edgy and alerted the population to be wary of him. They cut back one more time to Stormy. By now, she was dressed. “Devon Drake is the kindest man in the world. He’s playing the Sidewinders in the Super Bowl this week. Wish him luck.”

  The program went to commercial, and Dev sat back against the cushions. Vindicated. People would no longer give him dirty looks in the pharmacy, the bank, or passing on the sidewalk. His heart felt as light as angel food cake. He jumped up and danced a little jig by himself.

  He didn’t notice the door opening until he whirled around at the sound of applause. Warmth suffused his cheeks as he faced a laughing Samantha and Stormy.

  “Haven’t seen you dance since you were sixteen,” Stormy said. Immediately after the statement slipped out of her mouth, she paled.

  “Look, Stormy…”

  “Forget it, Dev.” She waved her hand. “Ancient history.”

  He approached her. “I was a jerk back then.”

  “So was everyone. Forget it.”

  He took her hand. “I’m sorry. I never should have treated you like that. I was a moron. But I got my ass kicked a few times in college. I’m not like that anymore.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I didn’t realize how bad I was. When I got to school and saw someone at a fraternity act like that, I got it.” He bent down to kiss her cheek. “You didn’t deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” She bowed her head, her face flushed.

  “I don’t know how I can repay you for getting my rep cleared. What the hell were you doing on television in your undies?”

  Her blush deepened. “You saw that?”

  He laughed. “Babe, you were on TV.”

  “Yeah, but I never thought you’d see it.”

  “You looked damn good out there. A little cold, but otherwise, smokin’ hot.” He snickered.

  Stormy punched him in the arm. “Brat. I had to do something. They wouldn’t listen to me. I had to tell the truth. I couldn’t let you take the rap.”

  “It was ingenious. Sure got everyone’s attention,” Dev remarked.

  “She stopped traffic. Probably the first traffic jam ever in Monroe,” Samantha said.

  “Really?” Dev raised his eyebrows.

  “When I strip, cars stop.” She wiggled her hips then headed to her room.

  A slight sizzle shot through him as she passed by. He gave a low whistle.

  Stor
my stopped, giggled, blushed, and then stepped up her pace.

  * * * *

  Across town, Buddy and Emmy Carruthers’ house

  As the game with St. Louis came closer, tension grew in Kings’ households across Monroe. The Carruthers’ place was no exception. Emmy tried to stay out of Buddy’s way, but the wide receiver seemed to be everywhere. He paced, ate a mountain of food, especially beef, and complained constantly. Or so it appeared to her. She’d never seen him so ornery. Even Gert tried to avoid him by coming and leaving early.

  Emmy’d had an attic room converted to a small studio. She’d disappear there when Buddy’s nerves got the best of him. Instead of a full piano, she had a keyboard plus a couple of guitars. Two skylights let her connect with the outside and get fresh air. It was her little nest, her haven where she could compose music, or simply play favorite songs. Buddy rarely joined her there.

  The day before the team was leaving for St. Louis, Buddy knocked on her door. “Emmy! Get down here. I need you,” he called.

  She rolled her eyes and put down her guitar. Slowly, she ascended the stairs, dreading an encounter with him when he was so wound up. “What’s up?” She rested her hand on her hip.

  He grabbed her in a bear hug. “I need you, baby. Please don’t hide from me.”

  She closed her eyes, winding her arms around his neck and taking in his delicious scent of floral fabric softener, clean shirt, and Buddy. “I’m here. I’m not deserting you.”

  They stood in silence. Hugs from Buddy were her favorite. Nobody hugs like he does.

  The wide receiver bent to kiss his wife’s neck.

  Something hard pressed against her belly. “Hmm. Are you telling me something?”

  He slid his fingers up to her breast. “Only if you want to.”

  She couldn’t remember ever not wanting to make love with him. Not like with Stash, her former manager and lover. He had lacked Buddy’s passion. Emmy raised her chin for his kiss. He slipped his tongue past her lips and took her mouth and crushed her to him. She pushed up on tiptoes. His strength sent a shiver up her spine.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s get comfortable.” He took her hand, leading her to the bedroom.

  A tingle of anticipation shot through Emmy.

  He wrapped his fingers around her neck and guided her through the door, kicking it shut with his foot. “Gert’s coming today,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” she replied, falling back down on the bed, pulling him with her. “Ooph.” He knocked air from her as he fell.

  “Take it easy. Patience, baby.” He chuckled, pushing up to remove his weight from her small frame.

  As she stripped off her T-shirt, he eyed her with lust. She had no bra on and was commando too. Buddy slid off her sweats and ripped off his as well. He covered her soft skin with kisses then pushed up on his knees.

  “I can’t wait, honey,” he whispered, easing two fingers into her.

  “No protection,” she reminded. “We’re letting nature take over, right?”

  “You got it.”

  He was inside her before she could take another breath. She smoothed her hand down his back to his butt. Feeling the power of his muscles increased the tension he was building in her. She moved her hips with his as he pumped. Excitement grew to a crescendo and burst into a hard orgasm. Emmy called his name as her hips bucked.

  Buddy followed her quickly, drilling into her. She clasped her hands together behind his back.

  “I love you, baby. Love you so much.”

  She combed his short hair back from his sweaty forehead. “You’re the best.”

  They broke apart, but she put her hand on his chest, pushing him back on the bed. Emmy cuddled up to him, her head on his shoulder.

  “That could be the one,” she said.

  “What one?”

  “The one that becomes our baby.”

  She heard him gulp air.

  “Don’t be scared. You’ll be a great dad.”

  “What if I drop the kid?”

  “Buddy, you’re the best wide receiver in the league. If you can hold on to a football, you can hold on to a baby. The child’ll be a lot less slippery than a pigskin.”

  He laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” He pushed up off the bed. “Practice and team meeting. New strategy for the Sidewinders. I gotta go.”

  He dressed quickly and was out the door in ten minutes. As Emmy lay on the bed, her eyelids grew heavy. She rolled onto her side and gave in to sleep. Sometime later, she felt a blanket being thrown over her. She cracked an eye and spied Gert covering her up.

  “Too chilly to sleep like that.”

  Emmy smiled and returned to her dream.

  * * * *

  It was four o’clock before Emmy opened her eyes. The sky grew dark, and a stiff wind bent the trees. The house was quiet, except for the gentle snore from Blitz, their pug, asleep on the end of the bed. Gert had done her job and gone on her way. Emmy slipped on one of Buddy’s robes because she loved his scent. She wrapped it around herself.

  She padded to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Curling her fingers around the hot mug, she made her way to the sliding glass doors to the deck. Peering out, she saw only an occasional visitor at the feeder. It was too late in the year for most birds.

  The appearance of a shadow that didn’t move with the wind startled her. It drew nearer. She heard her heartbeat in her ears. Caught between fear and curiosity, Emmy held her ground. When the figure turned the corner, she could barely keep her feet from fleeing.

  She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and then rubbed again. Standing in front of the glass door, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, was Stash Mullins. She could hardly believe her eyes. He knocked on the glass then motioned for her to open up. Blitz immediately began barking. Anger bubbled up to replace fear. The dark, frigid, January air swirled around him. He shivered.

  The taste for revenge by leaving him out in the cold gripped her. But, again, curiosity and the desire to tell him off were too strong. She slipped the lock open and slid the door aside.

  “Well, well, well, hello—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, she stepped forward and slapped him across the face, hard. The crack was loud enough to be heard above the howl of the wind.

  “I suppose I had that coming,” he said, rubbing his jaw.

  “That and more. I should call the police. Wait, maybe just get Buddy’s gun and shoot you in the head, saying you were trying to break in.” She smiled inside to see his smug expression change in a heartbeat.

  “He doesn’t have a gun, does he?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She folded her arms across her chest. “What the fuck do you want now, Stash? You took all my money. What’s left?”

  “I didn’t take it all.”

  “Pardon me. You left me ten grand. Why are you here? The F.B.I is looking for you.”

  “I know. I had to see you one more time.”

  “Why?”

  “Can I come in? I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

  She stepped back, not to make him more comfortable, but to ask him some questions.

  Stash looked around. “Nice.”

  “Buddy has good taste.”

  “He does,” Stash agreed, his eyes glittering with lust as his gaze roamed over her body.

  She tightened her robe. “Forget it, Stash. I’m married.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying. We were good together once.”

  “What the fuck do you want? Or should I call the F.B.I.?” Emmy fisted her hands and placed them on her hips.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be out of here before they arrive anyway.”

  “Why did you do it?” she blurted out.

  “Ah, the question on everyone’s mind—why.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Because I could.”

  “What?”

  “Because I could take all your money. Because I could do it slowly over time. And every time you played the drama queen, I took a
little more. It made it easier to put up with you.”

  “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “There are worse. But you wanted everything. You wanted me to take care of you, body and soul. It was an impossible job. So, I took some extra money to soothe my nerves. Some extra grew into a lot extra. Kind of like a drug habit.”

  “Didn’t you care you were stealing? And from someone who loved you?”

  “It wasn’t stealing to me. It was a game. You were so trusting. I took it all right under your nose. You believed anything I said. Besides, I kept you quiet with your credit card. As long as I paid that off and gave you free rein, you didn’t question anything.”

  “That’s right, asshole, I trusted you.”

  He grabbed her arm, twisted it, and held it behind her back. Then, he kissed her roughly. Fear coursed through her veins. Blitz barked and growled.

  “Don’t ever call me that again.”

  “Let go of me.” She wiggled around, but he only tightened his grip.

  “Stop struggling. I’ll keep squeezing you until you stop.”

  “You’ll break my arm.”

  Blitz charged, snarling.

  “So? Call off your mutt.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared at him. Who is he? I don’t know him anymore. “Blitz. Down, boy.”

  The pug backed up, but kept his gaze on Stash.

  “It was all about you. Always all about you. You were the famous one. I was the power behind the throne. I got tired of propping you up. Tired of you being a star and me being in the background.”

  “I wasn’t a diva.”

  “Sometimes you were. And it drove me crazy.”

  “If you wanted more of the spotlight, why didn’t you say so?”

  “You couldn’t share the spotlight. I realized that, right after the concert in Seattle, where the fans almost tore your clothes off. You weren’t in control. They were. You couldn’t give me anything. It had to come from them. And it was too late.”

  “So, you tried to ruin me? Took everything I had? I almost gave up singing.”