Sometimes, I thought to myself, she looked so damn beautiful that I wanted to slug her, give her a bruise so that I wouldn't look quite so much like a short little troll standing next to her.
And yet, despite all odds, this woman had been my best friend for at least the last decade, ever since we were both awkward teenagers in middle school. Miranda had been the new student to arrive at my school partway through the year, and I ended up being the first girl to go sit next to her at lunch and invite her to join my little group.
Of course, before long, Miranda became the most popular girl in the entire school. She was always perfect at everything she did - but even though I always felt as though I should hate her for it, I could never quite bring myself to feel anything more than slight twinges of envy towards her. Even as she did every task perfectly, made instant connections with everyone she met, she managed to keep a smile on her face, and never point out just how much better than me she was at everything.
After college, Miranda headed off to the finance world, where she immediately landed a job doing some sort of incredibly complex financial trading thingy, making scads of money. I still don't understand it, even after she's explained it to me multiple times. What matters, however, is that she's always willing to pick up the tab when we go out for an after-work gripe session.
"So the problem," Miranda commented after another minute, "is that no one really believes that you'll accomplish anything as the social media manager for the team. They can't see you making any dent in the bad press."
"Yeah, that's pretty much it," I nodded, comparing the level of my beer to Miranda's martini. I wanted to drink more, but I also didn't want to get more than a drink ahead of my friend.
She shrugged. "Well, I think that's a good thing!"
"How is that a good thing?"
She tapped the gray slate bar in front of us with one perfectly manicured fingernail. "Essentially, they expect to see zero change from you. So any improvement, no matter how small, means that you're exceeding expectations! They've set the bar much lower than they probably anticipated!"
Damn it, how did my best friend always make my problems suddenly seem so reasonable? I took another drink while I tried to figure out how to respond. Miranda, meanwhile, leaned back - and then suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm.
"Hey, there they are!" she exclaimed, pointing up at the television mounted on the wall behind the bar.
I looked up, and sure enough, an old game of the Hawks was on (the same game from the previous afternoon). "Yep, that's the team," I agreed. "Amazing on the field, total shitshows when they're off of it."
Miranda stared up at the screen, looking entranced, as if she'd never watched a football game before. For all I knew, that might actually be the case, even though I remembered her dating several guys from the football team back in high school and college. Miranda's tastes ran towards big, blocky, and bulging with muscle.
"So wait, you get to go see the inside of their locker room and stuff, right?" Miranda piped up a minute or two later.
"Yeah, why?" I replied, glancing over at her in surprise and wondering where this was going.
"So, do you think that you'll get to see..." Miranda's voice trailed off, but I didn't need to look at how she was biting her lip to read her thoughts.
I rolled my eyes at her, making sure that she saw the gesture. "Look, just because I'm single, I'm not planning on chasing some dude from a football team," I pointed out. "And given that I'm trying to cover up all their naughty extracurricular activities, I'm pretty sure that this will turn me off from wanting to go within ten feet of any of their diseased dicks."
It wasn't until I'd finished my sentence that I realized that I'd spoken a bit too loudly, and a couple other people in the bar were casting surreptitious looks over in my direction. Miranda, however, just laughed.
"I don't know," she said, her eyes drifting back up to the television's screen. "They are pretty cute - especially Seth Chase! Did you see those latest pictures of him in the Enquirer? They had to put a big huge black bar to cover him up, but even the visible parts were pretty sexy! I wouldn't kick him out of my bed, if you know what I mean!"
Of course I knew what she meant. People sitting at the other end of the bar probably heard enough to know what Miranda meant.
I thought back to my brief encounter with the man himself, in the locker room. Sure, he hadn't been naked, or even partially naked, but that didn't mean that I didn'g et a good look at his handsome features, those sparkling blue eyes. Those were the kind of eyes, I remembered, that could very easily make a girl lose control and decide to do some profoundly stupid things.
"Declaration," I announced instead, reaching out and holding my beer glass aloft. "Listen up - I'm making a declaration, right now."
Miranda's perfectly manicured eyebrows rose, but she picked up her martini glass and held it up a couple of inches, waiting for me to make my declaration.
We'd started making declarations like this back in high school, after Jimmy Parsons had broken up with me for the third time in as many months. After spending several hours weeping over my loss, while Miranda held out a box of tissues for me to steadily drain in an attempt to staunch the flow out my nose and eyes, I eventually struggled to my feet and announced that I was making a declaration - a promise to myself that I couldn't break.
Since that time, we'd made dozens of declarations to each other, and most of the time they worked out pretty well. Some of them, of course (Miranda's weekly declaration, every Sunday morning, that she was "never drinking another sip of alcohol again"), flopped and failed. But by and large, we stuck to our declarations.
"Declaration," I announced again, holding my half-empty glass of beer aloft. "All of the football players on the Hawks are off limits. No dating, no hookups, not even flirting if I can help it. It just seems too dangerous, especially considering how challenging my job feels already to me."
"No flirting, even?" Miranda questioned. "Are you sure? That seems pretty extreme. And besides, isn't one of the perks of this job that you get to socialize and get to meet these big, strong, sexy, very rich men a bit better than anyone else might?"
I stubbornly shook my head. "I'm here for my job, not to find a hot guy to get me out of my dating slump," I answered. "No dating! No letting any of these men interfere in my personal life. And that's my declaration."
And before Miranda could poke some more holes in my argument, I lifted my beer glass up a little more, and then downed it in a single motion.
"Another!" I called out, setting the glass down on the bar with a solid thump, making a little puddle of suds.
Next to me, Miranda shook her head. "I still think you're missing out on a great opportunity," she commented, but she wisely didn't try to argue.
Instead, with a grimace, she tossed back the rest of her martini, setting down the empty glass next to mine on the bar.
"Barkeep!" Miranda called out, twirling one long and elegant finger in the air. Somehow, her casual tone caught the attention of the man, and he headed over to us.
"Another for you two ladies?" he asked, his eyes solely on Miranda.
"Yes, another of the same, thank you!" she replied, giving him a little smile that probably set his blood close to boiling. He hurried off to get my friend her martini, not even bothering to ask me if I wanted a different beer.
I didn't let the lack of attention bother me. After all, for as long as I could remember, Miranda had been upstaging me - but she was always so nice about it, so accommodating to me, that I could never sustain any anger towards her. Over the years, I'd grown used to it, had come to enjoy the advantages of just standing next to the brightest star in the room.
The declaration was a good idea, I insisted to myself. My job was to be involved in the Hawks' activities off the field, but to try and steer them away from their bad decisions, to try and keep the reporters from splashing candid photos of them across the tabloids. And if I was going to stand any chance of succeedin
g at that lofty goal, I needed to make sure that I had the authority to command them to do what I needed, without hesitation.
If I wanted that authority, I'd need to find some way to impress upon them that I was looking out for their best interests. I didn't know how I was going to accomplish that.
I did know, however, that I couldn't let them see me as a woman, as someone that they could flirt with to get out of trouble.
I looked up at the television, watching the previous weekend's football game. Just as I looked up, however, the view cut away, instead showing one of the most recent pictures of Chase. This one showed him standing, fully exposed, on a hotel balcony. The sports station editor had done his best to blur out any details, but the overall picture was clear enough.
"Any improvement is a good one," I muttered as I buried my head in my hands.
Seeing me drop my head down, Miranda looked over in sympathy. "Maybe we should take you out tonight, try and find you someone else so that you'll forget all about those sexy football players," she suggested.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Yeah, whatever. Can't hurt."
Chapter five
"Hey, man, what's going on?"
Chase started as he realized that the voice was addressing him. "Yeah, what?" he asked, blinking as he looked up from the laces of the football in his hands.
DeShaun was a few paces away, looking curiously at him. "Come on, man, I can tell that something's bothering you," he said, taking a step closer. "Your practice today's been all kinds of off. So talk to me - what's going on?"
"It's nothing," Chase said, tightening his fingers on the football. He turned, sighting in on the target downfield, and threw the ball in a single, swift overhand motion.
Next to him, DeShaun held his tongue for a moment, watching as the football sailed perfectly through the hole in the middle of the downfield target. "There's something, man," he said, once the ball hit the ground. "Don't think that a single throw is gonna tell me that you're not a million miles away in that head of yours."
Chase sighed, but he knew that the man wasn't going to let up on him. Sometimes, DeShaun could be annoying, but he was also just about the closest friend that Chase had, and he was one of the few people who truly understood the pressures on him, why he acted out and blew wads of cash on booze and strippers.
Hell, most of the time, DeShaun was right there alongside him - although the paparazzi cameras always seemed to crop him out. What he'd done to get that deal, Chase had no idea, but he kind of wished that he could secure a similar deal.
"You remember that girl in the locker room this morning? Benson's new hire to try and fix our image?" he asked, as he bent over to pick up the next football from the row on the ground in front of him.
"Yeah, Katy," DeShaun recalled. Chase turned and looked at him in surprise, and the wiry wide receiver shrugged his shoulders. "I'm good with names," he said diffidently. "But what about her?"
For a moment, Chase didn't answer, focusing on the ball in his hands. DeShaun's mouth pressed together into a thin line.
"God, man, you're not gonna fuck her, are you?" he groaned. "Look, I know that you can't ever seem to quench that thirst of yours, but at least stick with the strippers and fans at the clubs! Don't go stirring up team business with your dirty-ass dick."
"That's not it!" Chase snapped, turning and hurtling the ball downfield. This throw, however, had too much spin, and the ball went wide of the target. "Come on, why do you assume that I'm trying to fuck every woman I meet?"
"Because usually, it's true," DeShaun grinned. Chase threw a half-hearted punch towards him, but he easily danced back, evading the attack. "Now tell me what's on your mind, will ya? I gotta get back to running drills."
Chase nodded, collecting his thoughts. His wide receiver bounced on his feet, but waited.
"It's not her - it's why she's here," Chase finally said. "I know that we've got a rough reputation in the papers, but why does that matter if it doesn't affect our game performance?"
"Yeah, but it affects ticket sales," DeShaun answered.
"I'd think that it would boost them, though. People wanting to come see me - I might not always have my name in the headlines for good things, but at least they know my name! That's better than half the quarterbacks in the league."
His observation was answered with a shrug. "Maybe it's not the right kind of attention - but I don't know," DeShaun answered. "Man, there's a reason why I'm out here running and catching footballs, not wearing a suit and tie somewhere and looking at numbers on a spreadsheet or some shit."
Most people wouldn't have caught the faint note of irritation in the wide receiver's voice, but Chase had learned how to listen for it. "Listen, I'm probably just running around in circles inside my head," he said, looking over. "Why don't you go run your drills, and I'll see if I can work things out on my own?"
"Long as you get through this, man," DeShaun answered, turning to head off towards the other end of the field. "Maybe, you want to help this girl out, you keep your pants on for a couple nights, whaddaya say?"
"No promises," Chase immediately answered, getting a grin. "And hell, maybe she'll start flirting with me - and then what can I do?"
DeShaun leveled a finger at him. "Seriously, don't fuck her," he warned. "That's the kind of shit that gets you in real trouble with the managers, and probably Benson himself as well, if he finds out."
"I won't, I won't," Chase said, holding out his hands, but DeShaun didn't look convinced.
"That's the same thing you said about Loeb's wife," he pointed out. "And then, what happened at the next team party?"
"Hey, not my fault! She came onto me, practically dragged me off into that broom closet! My pants were off and she had her ass backed up to me before I even realized that someone hadn't just turned off all the lights!" Chase retorted.
DeShaun just shook his head. "I don't believe a word of it. But listen, you got plans for tonight yet?"
"Nothing yet. Why?"
"Well, I heard good things about the Kitty Kat Club, downtown," he said, shrugging. "Hot new place, just opened, gonna be a lot of fun - and the owner said that we'd get the VIP treatment for free, to boost turnout. You up for blowing off some steam after dinner tonight?"
He didn't even need to stop to think about the question. "Hell yeah, I am," Chase grinned. "Now, go long, and get ready!"
DeShaun threw his body forward and sprinted downfield, his cleats digging deeply into the turf. Chase watched his running pattern for a moment, and then cocked his arm back and let fly.
The ball flew straight and true, a perfect spiral. A couple of the other team members turned, watching it fly through the air. At first, it looked as though it would miss DeShaun by a dozen feet, but the wide receiver put on an extra burst of speed and juked unexpectedly to one side - right into the ball's path!
With a powerful leap, DeShaun hopped three feet in the air, his arms coming up to wrap securely around the football as it descended. He tucked it under his arm and ran the last half dozen yards into the end zone. Upon crossing the line, he spiked the ball down into the ground and threw up his hands in the air, eliciting a cheer from the other watching Hawks players.
"And he thought that my throwing was off today," Chase grunted to himself, turning to pick up another ball. "Hah!"
The rest of practice flew by in a rush of exertion. By the time that Chase had changed out of his uniform, showered, and pulled on street clothes, he felt more than ready for a good party, something to take his mind off of the rigors of practice.
DeShaun met him in the lobby of their hotel. "Got a cab waiting for us," he grinned, flashing white teeth that stood out in sharp contrast against his dark skin.
"Perfect," Chase replied, following him out to the street. The usual crowd of paparazzi snapped their flashbulbs at him, but he ignored them. Most of them didn't bother snapping more than a picture or two, anyways; they knew that they'd get much better shots later on, later in the evening, when the party at t
he Kitty Kat Club let out.
The cabbie drove them straight to the club, dropping them off right in front of the club after Chase passed him a twenty to illegally double-park. They climbed out, gave a wave to the cheering crowd of clubbers waiting outside the building to get inside, and strolled up the red carpet entrance.
"Nice place, huh?" DeShaun shouted to Chase, who just shrugged. Sure, it looked alright, but it wasn't anything he hadn't seen at a dozen clubs already.
Inside, the club's floor manager met them and showed them over to a large circular booth, with gauzy curtains hanging around the sides and back to block other clubbers from crashing their party. "We'll get bottles out to you right away, guys," the man shouted over the thumping music. "And just point out anyone you want to party with to the security guys, and they'll get them in here! No limits, eh?" He raised his eyebrows in a thoroughly suggestive expression.
"Yeah, thanks," DeShaun told the man, making him disappear, as Chase sank down into the wraparound couch in the VIP booth. He spread his arms out across the back of the couch, giving his eyes and ears a moment to adjust to the club's interior scene.
It was barely eight in the evening, but the club already looked decently full. The guy at the DJ's station looked like an average white boy, but he was at least managing to keep a thumping rhythm pounding out through the speakers, and the young men and women on the dance floor happily shook their mostly exposed bodies and grooved along with the bass beat.
Chase watched one particularly tall woman shake a pair of tits that had to be real, nearly tumbling them out of her skin-tight top. She glanced up, saw him looking at her, and stuck her tongue out as she lifted her hands up to give her breasts a squeeze.
Chase grinned back, although he let his eyes keep on moving over the crowd. This early, he was just window shopping, taking the opportunity to drink in the sights before he got too smashed on alcohol. For as long as he could remember, he'd always had eyes bigger than his stomach, so to speak, but he never got tired of the mesmerizing sight of a young woman, totally confident in her sexy body, working what she had on the dance floor for everyone else to see and admire.
SACK: A Football Bad Boy Romance Page 3
