by Romi Hart
“Well, those jabronis are free to believe what they want,” I say to a smattering of laughter. But it just so happens that months after I decided to choose Amanda over the NFL, my doctor met with me and told me to retire anyway.”
The audience reacts with a hush.
“Oh I see,” the reporter replies.
"Because my injury was significant and the doctors didn't think I could take another nasty fall like that. So think about it…if I had chosen my ego and my love of football over something real…my relationship…I would have had to give it up anyway just a year later. But without the world's best girlfriend at my side."
The reporter waits till after the studio audience applauds. “So then, would you say that your relationship with your girlfriend was worth it? Worth giving up the whole world, the NFL and your money and partying ways?”
“Well…”
I stay quiet and reflective…definitely bringing an uncomfortable hush to the audience…and to Amanda at my side, who flinches in discomfort.
“Does this answer your question?”
I get up from the couch and do one final prance—down to one knee. I reach for my engagement ring in my pocket and look up to my goddess.
Her sniffing and huffing face tells the story. She covers her face in shock and in quivering joy.
I can barely mutter the opening sentence before the audience erupts into applause and catcalling.
I wait for minutes on end…just to hear myself think, let alone communicate the most important sentence of my life.
“Amanda…I owe you everything. I really didn’t know who I was before I met you. You saw through the act. You saw through my shallow life and saw me as I really am. Ever since I quit the NFL to be with you, I’ve never regretted any of it. I walked away a winner because I won your heart. You’re the only one I want to be with. You remind me of who I really am, behind the glitz and glamour. I’m just a man…and I want to leave the world a better place than how I found it. You saved my life.”
I kiss her hand and wipe my own tear from my eye, seeing only her in a roomful of people.
“Coming face to face with death, all I could think about was that I wanted just one more date with you. Everything about you is a rock star. The way you treat people, your loyalty to your family, your kindness, talent, and the way you inspire men to be better than what they are. I love you. And I’m asking you to marry me.”
The audience cheers again as Amanda holds my hand.
“I love you too. And yes I’ll marry you!”
We hugged and made TV and sports history!
That's the story of how one woman stole the heart of Nate Jiggur and turned the world's baddest man into the proud partner of Guitar World, along with Blake Shannon, my father in law. I may have made a lot of mistakes in my youth…but I always win. Sometimes a man just has to learn what games in life really need winning.
Dirty Play - Special Preview
1
Rey
There’s scoring…and then there’s winning. I’ve always been more concerned with winning than scoring. Scoring is temporary. It’s a temporary high, a self-congratulatory moment when you realize that you’re excellent at what you do, that you’re everyone’s hero.
But winning is something different. Winning is a team effort. The cooperative effort of colleagues, professionals and brothers in spirit. What friends do together. One person fighting for his own selfish pursuits can’t “win”…it doesn’t benefit him or anyone else in the long run.
It’s almost like a marriage, if I can use such an abstract term. Both sides are equal, both sides maintain trust. Their united determination is what makes winning possible. Not just winning…surviving. Becoming stronger. Almost like love deepening.
Yeah, I like that. The love between ballplayers, the love of the game. In many ways, what I, homerun hitter Rey Ramirez, feel towards baseball and my teammates is a form of love. It’s a bond. It’s something special that I can’t define.
But of course…it’s all a metaphor.
Because I’m sure as hell not talking about women!
Nothing personal to the fairer sex. I get along great with women. Being a rising sports star does get your foot in the door when it comes to dating beautiful girls. I’m also what women call a “cute guy”, being 31, tall and muscular with wild, wavy black hair.
Women like to say they don’t have numbers like we do. I say she’s a 10 or she’s a 9. Women don’t have that, women have categories. As in, he’s cute and I might fuck him if he’s got a personality.
Or he’s a “sweet guy”, or a “such a nice friend, reminds me of my brother” – in other words, the kind of man she would never date.
So what’s worse? Numbers or being thrown into a category?
Well, I’m in category number two. I’m not sweet. And I’m damned good looking, which is why I assume I’m on the cover of Sports Illustrated this month.
But hey, we all got out cross to bear. I was cursed with good looks and an asshole personality. Now women throw themselves at me. Somehow…I’ll manage to bear this great pain!
Ohhh what a bad attitude, man. Yeah, that’s all my family members want to talk about is when I’m going to “settle down” and get married. Here’s what I understand about love, sex, and the whole world series of dating.
Women only love you when you’re winning. When you lose, the romance is gone. Maybe that’s all people, not just women. I don’t know…but if life has taught me anything it’s that I’m only good for six months. When the thrill of sex and romance wears off, that’s when the season ends.
I’m happy about it. And all of my ex-girlfriends are happy about it. Isn’t that what matters?
Ballplayers are like rock stars but without the danger. Just the thrill, the fame-chasing, the money and the mad fucking. And the relationship works when we naturally go our separate ways.
On the field, I'm an outfielder and a slugger, the best home run hitter in the league right now. All the women who follow baseball know my name…because I’m single and I’m a notorious milf-hunter. Even the ones who don’t recognize my name from television, they recognize me as the cute one, the caramel-skinned player who has the biggest ear-to-ear smile you’ve ever seen—especially during those World Series games. How can I not smile? Every baseball mom out there is thinking of scoring with me and their kid wants to grow up and become just like me. That leaves angry dad…the men who hate me. They hate my life. My success. My easy luck with easy women.
And that’s what really makes me smile. That strong, passive-aggressive handshake. That fuck-you look that sends a message. Stay away from my wife. Stay away from my daughter. Hey, don’t worry pal…I don’t go after anybody. They come after me.
A lot of guys wonder why I’m especially attracted to older women. They think it’s a mother thing.
But I’ll let you in a little hint.
It’s because older women know what they want. They want sex without commitment. And that’s the only game I’ve ever learned how to play.
“But don’t you think that someday you’re going to want to settle down?”
“Why?” I ask the surprisingly only twenty-something-year-old blond girl at the bar. Fresh on a win in Game 6, I decided to come to hit the town and soak in some nightlife. I’m on my eighth drink and just barely getting tipsy.
“I don’t want kids,” I say defiantly, hardly even noticing how sweet this girl’s eyes look. Not too young for me, very attractive. But I love to make little comments about how young she is, and why I date older women. Makes young girl crazy with jealousy!
“Really?” Britney says.
“Most of the women I date are in their 30s and 40s. I just find we have more fun. There’s no future. There’s no weird anxiety about commitment. We live in the moment. We enjoy each other’s bodies. We throw caution to the wind and live out fantasies.”
“Uh huh,” she says with a mischievous and disbelieving face. “Or maybe you’re both just in de
nial of the fact that you’re heading into your golden years.”
“Wow!” I laugh. “See what I mean? Younger women, such a bad attitude.”
“Well I actually agree with you,” she says sipping up her cosmopolitan. “At least for the moment. I don’t want any commitment either. Who the hell wants to get married and have kids in their twenties?”
“Exactly. You’re surprisingly mature for your age,” I say, gulping down another drink and making love to her eyes. I love her hair, the way it tumbles down when she laughs. She knows she’s going to fuck me. But she wants to feel the power of saying no to a celebrity. The whole fake “I would never do that!” bullshit women pull is hilarious. I kind of get off on them rejecting me, just so it’ll feel hotter later on when I make the score.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” I whisper to her, boldly, taking her mind to where I want to go.
She hesitates…thinks about it. Then she backs away, in the face only, giving me a suspicious sideways glance. “I don’t think so. I hardly know you.”
“Of course you know me. I’m Rey. Everything you see on TV is the real me. You can’t fake athletic ability.”
“Yeah right but…” she giggles, already undressing me with her eyes. “I don’t know the real you. Besides all the baseball. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong. But who are you underneath all of that?”
“I am what you see,” I say firmly…not sure if I’m being cocky or just unsure of the question. Who am I if not the best homerun hitter in the world? Just a man?
“Or maybe…I’m whatever you want me to be,” I say with a long grin. “Maybe I can fill the void in your life.”
“You really are determined, aren’t you?”
“Nah,” I say, losing her eyes and going back to my drink. “You’re young. You have the world ahead of you. I don’t want to fuck up your optimism. Young people should have hope about the future.”
“Ah, and one night with you will make me cynical?”
“Yeah. We’ll spend one night together and we’ll reach such a high peak, you’re never going to be happy again.”
She guffaws and slaps me on the shoulder. Good sign. By now, a milf would be raping me on the floor. But she's young. She could have any man she wanted. Including me. Now's the moment of truth. Will she reject me to prove a point? Or will she surrender to what feels good? To score with a star. The biggest. A story to tell all her friends for the rest of her life.
“Come on, let’s go for a ride.”
“A ride?”
“Nothing sexual,” I assure you. Not yet anyway…but I am going to ride you hard later tonight.
“Ride in what?”
“Why of course, a limo. I believe in safety. I party hard. But I always take a limo home. Because I believe in being a good and ethical person.”
"Uh huh. And if you're such a good person, why not take an Uber?”
“I don’t Uber.”
“Why, is Uber for losers or something?”
“I don’t trust people I don’t know. I trust a driver.”
“Oh! And so why do you trust me then? Since this is the first time we met?”
“Who said I trust you?” I ignore her laughter and press on. “I know you can’t kill me. And I know exactly what you need to make you very happy.”
“Exactly?”
“Oh yeah. Exactly.”
“So you know me better than myself.”
“I don’t know you inside and out. But I know what you need.”
“You’re very full of yourself.”
“Of course. And if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be attracted to me. Admit it. I am what every woman wants. Physically intimidating. Emotionally unavailable. And easy to forget.”
“Well, Rey,” she says bobbing her head in sarcasm. Yeah, keep pretending like you’re not going to show me everything about you in just two hours. “I think you’re in denial. Guys that talk like you are always running from something. I think deep down your darkest fantasy of all, besides all the ‘milfs’ you love to talk about, and all the head games you play with girls younger than you…”
She smiles and strikes for the heart. “I think you’re just dying to fall in love.”
I laugh at the thought. “I’m sure I will. About a year before I retire and a year before I die from natural causes at eighty-five-years-old. But for now…I’m going to exploit everything I have. My talent, my loads of free time, my killer good looks…”
“Questionable.”
“Yeah right. I caught you gazing at me. I already know you’re attracted to me. The only question left is, will you surrender to what you feel? Or will you resist for some mysterious and altruistic reason?”
She shakes her head back at me, giving stink face but knowing I’m going to ram into her stink in just a little while. “But yeah eventually I’ll fall in love. When my life is over and when I run out of cash.”
“Well hey, what do you know, Rey,” she says in sarcasm. “I think we actually agree on something.”
“Imagine that…” I can’t wipe the smile off my face. She is really cute. It’s so fun when women resist me. For some reason, the younger ones seem to enjoy the experience more than the milfs. Maybe it’s human nature to resist what we really want. Or maybe it’s just a matter of throwing a few screwballs to strike out the player, in this case, Britney who thinks much too highly of herself.
And yeah, it takes an arrogant smart ass to recognize another arrogant smart ass.
But what Britney doesn’t know is that I have an ace up my sleeve. It’s not just the hottie population vs. Rey Ramirez. It’s Rey and Nate vs. the world. And together with my boy, we are unstoppable.
* * *
“So did you smack that ass?” my best friend for life Nate Jiggur asks me as we burn the night away on dumbbells.
“What do you think?”
“Yes or no.”
“You know what?” I say with a sideways tilt. “Use your imagination.”
“The fact that you’re not saying you did it and singing a little rhyme makes me think she said no.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it could be that I’m just getting too mature for details. I’m at that age where it’s more…you know, fun, if I keep details to myself.”
“Whatever,” Nate says, pumping another ten reps. “I’m still an immature jackass and want to talk about titties.”
“I know you do, bud. But you’re a dumb quarterback. No one expects you to have the brains of a baseball player.”
“Fuck you, bro. Hey seriously though. Reagan wants us all to attend a charity shindig she’s having this weekend. She wanted me to formally invite you.
“Oh yeah?”
“There will be girls there.”
“There are girls everywhere,” I say with a grin.
“Come on…you know I hate these charity events. But we got to do them anyway.”
“You don’t even give money to the poor, why do you care?”
“I do too!” he replies. “I do give money to the needy but I like to do it privately. Not surrounded by fifty men in a tuxedo.”
“So you agree with me that this party sounds lame.”
“Come on, do me a solid. I want you there.”
“Awww, you’re such a sweet guy,” I say snidely. “I feel like friend-zoning you myself, bro.”
“Asshole. You know for what it’s worth, Reagan wants you there too.”
“Yeah…”
Bet she does. Bet she would love to see me all dressed up and profiling. Bet she’d also love it if I just took her into the public restroom too and made mad love to her like I’ve been wanting to do for ten years. A finer milf I’ve never known besides Reagan Copate…beautiful dark hair. Sexy curvy body and diamond sparkling eyes.
But…she’s also my best friend’s stepsister.
And that’s the one golden rule that keeps our friendship strong. I can talk about any woman in the world, even his mom. But whenever Reagan’s name pops up he gives me a death-to-you
stare. As in, don’t go there.
Maybe it’s the one thing I’m afraid of, the one forbidden fruit that’s off limits—and not just to me, but to Nate too. The truth is I’m not afraid of Nate physically. Ask anyone in the know, and a baseball slugger could beat the shit out of a quarterback any day of the week. That’s just a fact.
But the truth is I fear hurting my one true friend. And that’s why I got to be a pussy about it and say…
“Okay, Nate,” I sigh. “If it means that much to Reagan.”
“Yeah it does,” he says quickly. “You know she doesn’t ask us for much. But the truth is, we’ve lived very fortunate lives. It’s good to give back to the community.”
“Yeah right. You’re just trying to suck up to your sister. You know she’s got the big inheritance coming.”
“Please,” he grunts. “I got enough money to last three lifetimes. I happen to agree with her thought. If you have much in life, you give much. Feel me?”
I’d like to feel something. Maybe Reagan’s nice busty…nah, can’t say it.
“You’re right, man. Reagan’s heart is in the right place. I’ll do it.”
My eyes avoid his. Reagan is always the end of our juvenile discussions. She’s the ‘adult’ between the three of us. If I didn't know better I'd almost say it.
I pump away, doing twenty, thirty, going on forty reps, eager to work off the stress this conversation has already caused me. God, I hate these charity gatherings. I know I’m an asshole for not being a philanthropist. Although I am a damn good philanderer.
I guess there’s a time and season for everything. I can play ball for six months. Womanize, drink and get stoned for a good five months. And then take one month off to do good shit for the world. The story of my life, right?
* * *
Dear God, it was worse than I thought. I’ve only been here twenty minutes and it already feels like I’m starting quarterback on Nate Jiggur’s team. Where the hell am I and what am I supposed to be doing?
