Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  Immediately after my workout, I drained another protein shake before showering and heading out. Because it’d been a short day, there was only one walk-through practice and no live competition, so my body felt good for a change. It was when I walked back into the dressing room, lifted my head and dropped the towel, that I noticed it. There must’ve been at least twenty magazines used, because there were pictures pinned everywhere. The floor, the benches, stalls. Fucking everywhere. And my head had been torn-out from every one.

  Laughter ripped from my chest. This team were feral as fuck.

  “Sorry, dudebro, you had to go.” A yellow Livestrong band catapulted through the air and landed at my feet, courtesy of Carlion. “Forget bring your kid to work day. How about bring your chick to work day? This one’s my favorite.” Carlion’s thumb swiped over Angels bare leg in one of the pictures.

  “You can shut the hell up now.”

  “When she decides she’s ready for real dick and not some pansy-ass pretty boy, send her my way.”

  “Carlion, you just keep catching my balls. You don’t need to worry about anything else.” I ripped down the picture from my stall and balled it up. Dried and dressed, I picked up my equipment bag and slung it over my shoulder. “C, I’ll tell Angel you said what’s up.”

  “You do that. Give her my number while you’re at it!”

  The apartment didn’t smell like roast turkey or stuffing or gravy, or any of that good stuff. It smelled like perfume and fruity bodywash.

  Angel stood at the top of the staircase, fastening in a silver hoop earring, freshly washed hair spilling over one shoulder in sleek waves. A strapless yellow dress formed her curves to below her knees. Eighty percent covered, yet might as well be naked, she looked so tempting. The neckline curved around her breasts, pushing them upward, and soon, if this night went my way, into my mouth. Like a piece of ripe, juicy fruit, and she was all mine.

  My reaction to things as simple as her smoothing her hands over the dress and smiling at me was visceral. The world could fucking stop and I wouldn’t notice.

  I thought back to when her hair had been dyed an ugly shade of blonde, and I made a bet to get her underneath me in the most depraved way imaginable. This woman, standing in front of me, who looked like a queen. The most interesting and genuine person I knew. She was exactly where she should be: standing over me, because I still didn’t deserve her and probably never would.

  But I thanked my lucky stars every damn day. Not deserving her didn’t mean I had plans to give her up. I was grateful, not stupid.

  “You look beautiful.” I got down on my haunches, rubbing behind Dog’s ears while staring up at Angel. “You cook a turkey in that dress?” I lifted an eyebrow alongside a smile.

  Her smile spread wider. “I thought we’d go out… to Little Havana. Is that okay with you? I know it isn’t very turkey-like, but I’d love to go and see it. Since I’m here.”

  “Sure. Let me change out of these shorts first.”

  “We’ll Uber?”

  “If that’s what you want.” Friday’s were our lightest practices, since it was so near to game day and we couldn’t burnout. I’d have a drink or two tonight, but I wouldn’t get drunk. My body could do without the added toxins.

  After I changed into a pale blue t-shirt and black jeans, I laced up a new pair of Nikes—a gift direct from the endorsement brand—and ordered an Uber to take us to the Latin Quarters. Angel was quiet for most of the journey, her eyes trained on the view and the passing neighborhoods as we drove along I-95 express. In the rearview, I met the eyes of the middle-aged uber driver, Joseph, who’d lived in Little Havana since he was a teenager and told us all the spots to visit.

  “I’m sorry to impose on you like this, Mr. Lawson, sir, but my son would be thrilled if I could take a picture with you. When we stop, of course. If you wouldn’t mind. No pressure.”

  Angel turned away from the window to smile at the driver. “How old’s your son?”

  “Seven today. And he’s a huge Dolphin’s fan.”

  I read Angel’s facial expression, effectively reading her mind. She side-eyed me, a kink in her carefree mood. It took everything in me not to shake my head and talk her down before she could start.

  “And you’re working on his birthday?” she asked. “Won’t he miss you?”

  “Ah…his mother and tia are with him to celebrate. His sisters and friends. He’s having a fun day with or without me there. His tia Nola made him a three-layer chocolate cake, and he was given a new bike. Blue, just like he wanted. It’s more than I got in my day.”

  “That sucks.” All traces of Angel’s smile fluttered to nothing. Joseph appeared fine with his decision to work on his son’s birthday. I mean, the bills had to get paid one way or another. But Angel would fix the world if she could, one wounded casualty at a time.

  Or she’d make me do it.

  “We could drop by your son’s party.” I leaned forward in my seat. “We’re in the neighborhood anyway, one quick stop won’t matter. It’s still early.”

  Joseph’s head whipped around, realizing too late for my comfort that he was the one controlling this moving vehicle. He set his eyes back on the road, readjusting his rearview. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Mr. Lawson. It’s too much, and you have plans—”

  “I want to,” I said. “You aren’t putting me out.”

  “Gracias, Mr. Lawson. Jorge will be muy sorprendido.”

  Either Joseph played me, or his attention to detail was seriously lacking. He pulled his silver Toyota Camry onto 10th Avenue North West and parked in a cluttered alley alongside a one-story home painted in three different shades of pink, the yard overflowing with kids and adults, but mostly, over-the-top party decorations.

  “So much for his tia and his sisters. Looks like the whole of Miami-Dade County’s turned up.”

  “Don’t be rude. Children’s birthdays are a big deal in Latin America.” Angel undone her seatbelt, the warning in her eyes telling me to watch my mouth. “You offered to come here.”

  “When I thought the kid was Oliver Twist. There was no mention of a Dora the Explorer convention.”

  Joseph opened Angel’s door and I was gifted a second scowl before she shuffled out and I followed behind from the other side. A retro-looking boombox set up on a plastic sheet-covered table blasted Chris Brown, a group of young girls nearby dancing in sync, a legit routine and everything. They had their own private audience of women, and behind them, a clutter of boys mimicking their dance actions and just being general assholes.

  I ducked under the biggest Diego piñata in existence, following Joseph across the yard, weaving around adults and children.

  Joseph cupped a hand around his mouth. “Jorge!” He stepped through an open side door to the house, the spicy aroma of meat cooking hitting me at the back of my nose, jolting my hunger to the surface with an internal rumble.

  A woman stood over a cramped stove covered in skillets, plates and utensils. Next to her, a boy turned at the sound of his name. An orange t-shirt with a birthday badge pinned to the front, Jorge written under the yellow number seven. His mouth dropped open, his face gaining an extra inch in length. “Holy fuck.”

  “Jorge!” The woman standing beside him ripped a dishtowel from her shoulder, slapping Jorge over the head with it, black hair fluttering across his brow. “Modales.”

  “But look, Mamá. Papi brought home Julian Lawson from the Miami Dolphins. The real one.”

  Jorge’s mother dealt me and her husband a wide-eyed look. “Joseph?”

  “I was giving Mr. Lawson a ride to Little Havana and he wanted to stop by and wish Jorge happy birthday in person. Mr. Lawson is busy, though. So one quick picture and we’ll let him be on his way.”

  “Oh, he’s not that busy,” Angel butted in. I thought we’d lost her somewhere at the piñata but seemed my luck didn’t stretch that far. She hovered on my left side, a defiant smile on her face,

  “How are you doing, Jorge?” I st
epped forward, offering the stunned kid my hand and engulfing his palm in mine. “This is some party you’ve got going on.” And the kid was in here cooking with his mother. My guess was to distance himself from the crazy train that was parked outside, blasting chart music and spewing streamers and balloon characters.

  “Are you staying ’til the end? Can I take you outside and show my friends?”

  I avoided the first question. “I’ll come outside.”

  Jorge’s mom stuck out her hand. “I’m Cecilia, Jorge’s mother. I don’t know what to say that you came here. You’ve put our new blue bike to shame, I’m sure.”

  I rubbed sweat from the back of my neck. “Ah, that wasn’t my intention.”

  “Don’t be offended. That’s a good thing. Jorge adores you and the rest of the Dolphins. Imagine seeing you here in my pequeña kitchen.” Like a light had been switched, Cecilia motioned to the filled pots and bowls covering the stove and bench. “Can I get you some food?”

  I’d be ruining my appetite for later, but everything smelled so good. “Sure, thank you.” I turned to Jorge. “You got a football around here?”

  Jorge’s eyes morphed into saucers, and in the next sixty seconds we were out in the street, because the yard was so congested, throwing a football with Jorge’s friends and cousins. Angel stayed with some of the women and Cecilia, watching from the metal fence around the yard. Forming two teams, I made up an offensive strategy on the fly and we played a fifteen-minute game. Sweaty and hungry, the kids traipsed back to the party.

  “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?” I said to Angel. She sat in a child’s blue plastic chair at the face-painting station, a young girl who didn’t even look to be a teenager applying glitter to her face and stick-on crystals around her eyes.

  What the hell happened to one quick picture?

  I gratefully took the plate of food Cecilia brought out to me, drowned out by the over-excited women that flanked her, the Latin they spoke in sailing straight over my head. When picture time finally rolled around, cameras snapped from parents, aunts and uncles, and I ended up in pictures with most everyone at the party. Joseph requested one last picture with me, Angel, Jorge, Jorge’s two sisters Camilla and Daylin, and Cecilia.

  Cecilia kissed us good-bye, insisting on filling a canvas bag with food for us to take. The braver females followed suit, showering me with too much affection and hands-on action, like Angel wasn’t there. Or just wasn’t important.

  Ditching his own party, Jorge rode in his dad’s Camry with us as Joseph took us to 8th Street, and I made a mental note of Jorge’s home address for later.

  Jorge tugged on the sleeve of my t-shirt. What he should’ve done was taken a breath. “What’s it like inside the Hard Rock Stadium? Can you get lost in there? Is Masters as big as he looks? My dad says he could crush a guy with one hand. Is that true?”

  In the front seat, Angel’s lips pressed together while Joseph failed at calming his son down.

  “It’s cool,” I reassured Joseph. “I’m sure Masters could crush a guy, but he’s a softie really. He’s gonna be bummed he missed this party today, so I’ll remember to tell him about you.”

  “Wow. My last name and everything?”

  “What is your last name?”

  “Navarre. Will you tell Masters? You can tell him it’s fine to come to my house, too. Mamá won’t care. She’s always got food, and he can play Xbox with me. I bet Masters eats a lot.”

  “Heard he ate an entire heard of sheep once. In one sitting.”

  Jorge’s mouth shaped a slow O, and then he giggled when I grinned.

  Joseph let us out on the corner of 8th and Jorge waved from the rolled-down window, his upper body hanging out. “Adios,” he yelled as the car drove off, his hand whipping through the air.

  Angel plucked a mint green crystal from the outer corner of her eye. “You just tipped him too much, didn’t you?”

  “Two-hundred, but it’s Jorge’s birthday. He can buy himself a new Xbox game for when Masters comes around.”

  “Don’t you care his family might misconstrue the gesture as you insinuating they’re poor and need your money?”

  Only Angel would ask that.

  “No. I can’t control what goes on in other people’s minds, but that wasn’t what the money was about. And did they look poor to you? All that food and party shit? My birthday parties didn’t look anything like that. I got a pound cake from Kmart with one candle and told to go play outside. Angel, I know poor, and that ain’t it. You can live in the ugliest, most run-down house on the block and still be rich. Money isn’t everything. I didn’t have much, but even when my dad was around, I was happy with what I did have. We made the most of it.”

  Angel walked beside me, her hand in mine, silver glitter sparkling in her hair and on her skin under the sunlight. “Oh yeah? Then why’d you leave the large tip?”

  “I don’t know. So Joseph can take the rest of the day off to spend with his son and not worry about pissing away money? You plan on grilling me about this all day?”

  “Maybe.” Angel observed me from the corners of her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

  Most stores and malls wouldn’t open until later, but in the middle of the afternoon during a national holiday, Little Havana was bustling with life. We walked along the colorful Colle Ocho, passing a bench where four teenage boys sat smoking what smelled strongly like weed. Angel’s nose scrunched and she glanced down at the foursome, earning the attention of the one without a shirt. As we walked farther along the sidewalk, a voice called out. “Hey! ¡Espera!”

  Pausing on the sidewalk, I looked over my shoulder.

  The shirtless teenager stood and jogged up to us, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Sign my jeans? he asked, and then ducked into a nearby fruit store and came out with a black marker pen. He passed his half-smoked cigarette to Angel who, horrified, held it loosely between two fingers while I signed the kid’s faded jeans. “Unbelievable season so far, man. Keep up the quality work, the Dolphins have been waiting a long fucking time for a QB like you.”

  I capped the pen and handed it back to him. “Thanks.”

  He wandering gaze tracked Angel, staring at her for longer than I was happy with. I chose to clear my throat instead of wrapping my hand around his, and he licked his lips, eyes lowering to Angel’s chest as he took back his cigarette. “Muy linda.”

  This fucking kid, straight up to my face, who had the muscles and face of a fifteen-year-old.

  “What’s that mean?” I asked Angel, when he’d gone back to his friends.

  Angel’s chin dipped, but I caught the roll of her eyes and the shadow of a grin. “He said I was pretty.”

  Glancing behind me, the cocky shit in the low-riding jeans was still looking, hunched over his knees, eyes firmly on something that didn’t belong to him. “You sure that’s all he said?”

  “I’m sure.”

  We strolled around Little Havana until after sunset, when we got in another Uber to Ocean Drive, a scene I was more familiar with.

  “There’s more people wandering around the streets than in the bars. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”

  “It does now you’ve pointed it out.” I led Angel into one of the neon-lit bars, choosing a table under the canopy on the sidewalk. Flames ripped from heaters at the entrance and women danced on tables, shaking skin, feathers, and a lot of ass. The waitress took our drinks order and I took out my phone to show Angel the online magazine. “You see this yet?” I handed her the phone across the table.

  She took it, lips parting in a smile as she looked at the images. Her fingertip slid across the screen. “How strange seeing myself like this. I’m not sure if I like it.”

  “What’s not to like? You look hot, you nailed the question interview. Sports Illustrated is huge, and you’re on this month’s cover. You should be proud of yourself. I am.”

  The light in her smile dimmed and she handed me back my phone. “I am proud,” she said, convincing no one
. “Don’t think I’d like to make a habit of it, though. I admire how well you handle the fame and constantly having to put yourself out there. You make it look easy. I’d never have guessed how much work goes into one airbrushed picture. I’m exhausted just looking at these.”

  “People are naturally going to be interested in you. Sooner or later, you’re going to be under this spotlight with me. You get that, right?”

  “Of course I do, and I’d never publicly do anything to embarrass you or bring a bad name to the team. However, I’m drawing the line at reality TV. This is your gig, I’m happy watching from the stands.”

  That wouldn’t last long. She’d get drawn into the football life whether she wanted it or not. I reigned in a smile and said, “But we can still release a song together?”

  Angel’s gaze flew to mine, her lips twitching. Right then the drinks arrived, my beer and Angel’s martini. “I’m super disappointed Taj isn’t here. Kinda surprised, too. I mean, Miami isn’t the hockey capital or anything, but I could’ve really seen him on his skateboard out here on the beach.”

  I wasn’t surprised Angel was disappointed. I shared the same feeling. “If they wanted to be here, they’d have been here. She wants me to like Gary, but what does she expect when she pulls shit like this? I paid for flights, brought home a puppy that was meant for my brother, and neither of them can be bothered to show.”

  “I didn’t realize that was how you felt.”

  I studied the rim of my beer. “I hate being that big brother who only exists in the distance. This shit will just get worse as more time passes, and I signed up for this life, I know that, but I skimmed over the part where I’d have to sacrifice a relationship with my little brother. I don’t believe for one second Taj chose Gary’s place over mine. It’s got to be something else, and it can’t be cleared up with a phone call because he refuses to fucking talk or listen.”

  I picked up my beer and finished it before Angel had taken one sip of her Martini.

  “Sorry,” I said, relaxing in my chair. “It’s just frustrating, living out here while he’s in Boston.”