by Lindsay Becs
“Are his hands supposed to be that close to the guy in front of him? It looks like he’s trying to grab the wrong ball there. Oh, wait, no, he has the right one. Good job, baby! Throw it far!” I cheer.
The game continues, and I’m pitting out with nerves for Troy the whole time. Jumping excitedly in my seat and on my feet when his team scores. Cringing when he gets pushed to the ground; but he gets up each time, shaking it off. He’s a beast. My beast.
When halftime hits, my heart is hammering in my chest. I’ve never been this worked up over a game before. I know why, but I didn’t think it’d be this different. I’m loving watching this game and being here for Troy. I’ve never been prouder to be connected to another person in my life.
The game resumes, and I’m happy to report about my view of my favorite player’s ass again. I always knew it was a good one but damn. Something about those leggings and the angle have me crossing my legs to quell the ache between them.
“Troy throws the ball, and it’s caught by another blue player way on the other side by the ‘Y’ thingy. It’s not a basket, it’s a… a… goal! He gets a goal! Good job, baby!”
The players line up again, and I’m clapping happily for the team and for Troy. He throws again, but this time a player from the other team hits him hard, and he falls. This hit is harder than the others have been. He’s fallen and gotten pushed down throughout the game, but this time his helmet flies off.
“Get up, baby. Please be okay,” I chant. I’m shocked when he gets up right away. He’s out for a play but goes back in for the next, and I’m not sure I’m okay with this after all.
I’m on pins and needles for the rest of the game and anxious to get to him and make sure he’s alright. But I have to finish my job first, and so does he. I try to stay positive and cheerful.
They win, and Troy even looks into the camera and blows a kiss, and I know it’s for me. “You see that, ladies? That was for me. So, back off, bitches,” I laugh.
I give my goodbyes and thanks for tuning into Go Sports! before signing off and packing up. Pulling my phone out, I let Troy know I’m headed toward the changing rooms, where he told me to meet him. Putting my heavy backpack on and carrying my other bag at my side, I make my way there.
Troy sent me a quick text letting me know he was going to be longer than usual and I could leave and he’d meet me at home, but I responded with, Fuck off. I’m not leaving without you. That was thirty minutes ago, and most of the commotion and people have thinned out. Standing here waiting for Troy has me thinking about things I hadn’t before. Seeing him in his element, doing his thing—his job—I see why he’s so popular. I might not understand everything, but even I can see how important he is to his team.
And don’t even get me started on his fans. There were girls and guys and little kids all wearing shirts like mine with his name and number on them. People were holding signs trying to get his attention all around the stadium.
After the game is even more eye-opening as I wait for him by the changing rooms. Fans pushing in to get a glimpse of him and the other guys. Press trying to get answers from all of them—both personal and about the game. It’s a shock to see how much they’re treated like celebrities. I felt more like I was backstage at a rock concert for LP-45 than a football game.
But it also made me think if this is really what I want. Could I be okay with living a life like this? It seems like a lot and so much more exposure to the public than I’m used to. Everything about your life is just out there for everyone to give their opinions or make up lies. Could I do this? Could I live like that with Troy?
I was beginning to get scared, but when he turns the corner exiting the team locker room, his smile takes over his face when he sees me.
“OMG! It’s Mister Dimples!” I yell as I run to him but stop short, not sure how sore he is. He’s usually pretty black and blue for the next couple days after a game.
“Shut up,” he chuckles, dipping for a kiss.
Pulling back to put a hand on his cheek, I ask, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m alright. That’s what took so long. Doc was checking me out. But he doesn’t see any signs of a concussion, surprisingly.”
“That scared me,” I admit.
He runs a finger across my cheek. “I’m sorry you were scared. But I promise I’m okay. I have the start of a killer headache, but I’m okay.”
Taking his hand in mine, I tell him, “Let’s get you home then.” As we walk to the car, I ask, “Hey, do you have those leggings with you?”
“Leggings?” he asks, looking amused.
“You know, the stretchy pants you wear for games,” I explain.
“Not the ones I wore today but I have some at home. Why?” he asks slowly.
“Just liked them on you is all.”
“Oh shit, what did you say on-air about my leggings?” he asks, looking concerned.
Sliding inside the car, I lift a shoulder. “Just how much I liked the view of your ass in them.”
“Juniper,” he groans.
“What? You can talk about my ass all the time, but I can’t talk about yours?”
Chuckling, he leans over to kiss me. “I’m going to get so much shit from the guys at practice, aren’t I?”
“Maybe I little,” I say honestly.
14
You never realize how long a minute is until you exercise.
TROY
The season has been a great one so far. It’s tough and grueling and exhausting but some of the best days of my life. It’s only made sweeter by the little mouthy woman that’s taken over my home.
Juniper moved in just before the season officially kicked off, and it was the best decision I’ve ever made, second to signing my contract with the Giants. I know if she hadn’t moved in, we’d hardly ever see each other. Some weeks we barely catch sight of one another awake as it is.
This week we have an away game—not the first we’ve had—but it’s in Philadelphia against our biggest rivals, the Eagles. Coach has been riding all of our asses harder than usual, and I’m fucking exhausted.
The team leaves for Philly in the morning and comes back in a couple days. I’m staying an extra day to spend more time with my family and friends afterward. I wish Juniper could come with me, but she’s scheduled to do another football game and a hockey game. They aren’t live, but she has to record them from her office.
I’m packing my bag when I hear her come in. Brutus, who doesn’t move when I walk in the door—ever—goes running for her. I hear her talk and coo to him. Shaking my head, I scoff at them. Traitors, the pair of them.
“Hey, baby,” she says as she walks up behind me. Turning, I meet her mouth for a kiss, then go back to packing.
“Hey, glad to know I’m second place,” I tell her, sounding more hurt than I really am.
“Please, you knew when you adopted him that I’d love him more than you,” she says easily without missing a beat.
Turning quickly, I crowd her until she’s up against the wall. I get a breath away from her, my lips ghosting hers, and whisper, “Say you love me more.”
A wicked smile curves her lips as her eyes drop to my mouth. “I love you.”
“More than him?”
She flicks her tongue out, nipping at my bottom lip and making my semi turn into a full erection. I press it against her, and her eyes hood. “Maybe,” she says, her voice turning husky.
“That’s too bad,” I tell her and step away.
I’ve barely turned around to give her my back when she yells, “I love you more. Brutus who? I love only you.”
Facing her again, I crash my mouth against hers and swallow her moan when I lift her up. I put off packing a little longer to make sure she remembers who she loves more while I’m gone.
We lost to the Eagles yesterday. It was a bad loss. The game had been ours the first half, and then everything went downhill in the second. Coach was pissed.
I was glad I had already asked to stay in Phil
ly for an extra day so I didn’t have to fly back with them. I needed the couple days to have a break. I was feeling the pressure from not only Coach but my teammates, the fans, the team owner, everyone, including the one who got us further than we’d gotten in years.
Sure, for any NFL team the Superbowl was the ultimate goal, but that didn’t mean some teams were unrealistic to those chances. For us, we’d been there, but it’d been a while. With Dante and me instantly showing the world how in sync we were last year, there was a lot of pressure on both of us to go further this year than the team had in recent years.
That pressure was starting to get to me in ways I didn’t expect. This short break away, no matter how small, was needed.
Tonight, I’m going out with a few of my old buddies from school who are still in the area. We’re meeting up a local sports bar, which probably isn’t the smartest of places for me to go but whatever.
Pulling my hat down, I exit my rental car and head inside. I instantly find a couple of my buddies already there at a table in the back. Within the next hour, our group of three turns into five, and then before long, there are a dozen of us taking up several tables. A few brought their girls with them.
It’s nice to be back home with friends I grew up with who have no pretenses about me or who I am. I can just be me, and I know I can trust them. Except one.
“It’s been a minute, Troy,” Tiffany, my ex-girlfriend, says as she slides up beside me and presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Tiff,” I greet. Grabbing a napkin, I wipe off the lipstick that I know she left there. After three years together through high school and into college, I know for a fact that her lips are painted thickly with lipstick and she’s trying to leave her mark.
“Mind if I sit next to you?” she asks as she sits in the seat before I even answer.
“Sure,” I deadpan.
It doesn’t take long for me to tell she’s already been drinking and crossing over from tipsy to drunk. She’s getting handsy and brazen and I know soon I’m going to have to put her in a cab, just like I did hundreds of times in the past. One of the many reasons we broke up several years ago.
I try to ignore her and focus back on my friend Dean in front of me, but she keeps interrupting me, and when her hand slides to my crotch and cups my dick, I shoot to my feet.
“Why are you here?” I grit.
“Cal said you were going to be in town and that everyone was hanging out like old times. Don’t you miss the old times, Troy?” she asks with a lazy smile.
Clenching my fists at my sides, I tell myself not to get mad at my best friend Calvin for telling her about me being in town or hanging out tonight.
“No, Tiff, I don’t miss old times. We broke up for many, many reasons. I’m dating someone else; I don’t live here anymore. I’m happy, and I moved on. So should you,” I tell her as gently as I can through my frustration.
“Guess I’ll go find someone who wants to have a good time tonight since you sure don’t,” she says, grabbing her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. “You used to be so much fun. What the hell happened to you?”
“I grew up, Tiff. Maybe it’s time you did too.”
She stumbles, drunk on her feet, and I catch her around the waist to keep her from falling. With glossy liquor eyes, she looks up at me. “If you’re so grown up, why do you still wear this same hat from high school?” she asks as she flicks it off my head.
“Luck doesn’t end when you grow up,” I respond, defending my lucky hat.
She throws her head back in laughter, and I use the moment to pull out my phone to call a car for her. I help her outside and wait with her for her ride to arrive. “Thanks, Troy. You’ve always taken such good care of me,” she says. Then, before I know what’s happening, she kisses me. She tries to push her tongue into my mouth, but I have it locked and closed tight. I gently push her away, not wanting her to fall but wanting to get her off of me. I put her into the car and close the door before she can say anything else and walk back inside.
Fucking Tiffany… I order another beer and chug down half of it in seconds before walking away from the bar. Dean is at the table I left earlier, holding out my hat for me when I return. “Just like old times, huh?” he laughs.
“Yeah, fucking awesome,” I grumble, taking my hat and placing it back on my head.
“Morning,” I say to my mom as I walk into the kitchen the next morning. I give her a kiss on the cheek before filling a mug with coffee.
After Tiffany left the bar last night, I definitely drowned the memories of her with too much beer before I said goodbye to my old friends and headed back to my childhood home.
“You have fun last night? You got in late,” she states, pouring cream into her own cup of coffee.
I take a drink from my mug, needing the jolt of caffeine before answering her. “I did. Except for the part where Tiffany showed up, drunk, and trying to kiss me.”
“Well, it looked like she was successful,” my mom says, making me choke on the sip I just took.
“What?” I blurt out through coughs.
She throws the morning paper on the table, a picture on the front page of Tiffany kissing me before I put her in the car last night. Fuck. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“You better hope they don’t sell this to any other larger magazine or paper, Troy.”
“Who even… Why would… Agh!” I stammer and yell in frustration. “You know how she gets,” I say to my mom, feeling deflated in this moment.
She nods, pulling out a chair at the round table in the kitchen. “I do. But that doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
Pulling out the chair across from her, I sit down and lower my head into my hands. “I have to tell Ip before someone else does.”
“That’d probably be best, yes.”
I go to my room for my cell and call Juniper, but she doesn’t answer. I try several more times before I board my plane for New York, but she never answers or responds to my texts.
This is bad. Really bad.
I just hope she’ll believe me and not listen to how the media is spinning this or what it looks like. Because it is the opposite of what it looks like.
15
I could simmer down but I like myself better when I’m all feisty and shit.
JUNIPER
I broke the rules. I watched Troy’s game on TV and not for work. I watched because I knew it was a big game, and I hate not being able to be there for him. I don’t like that he has to come home after a game and not tell me much about it other than if they won or lost.
I want him to be able to talk to me, and I want to be able to talk to him. That’s part of being in a relationship with someone. And I’m tired of my job dictating that and telling me I can’t.
Do I want to quit? No, I don’t. But there has to be a middle ground somewhere so it doesn’t affect my life in this way either. I’m thankful Troy puts up with my job like he does.
I talked to him for a little bit the other night after his game, and he told me about the loss. I didn’t let him know I watched, wondering if he’d tell me more. I could hear in his voice that he was down. He didn’t want to talk about it, which was fine, so we talked about other things and I was happy to help take his mind off of his rough day.
He’s staying in Philadelphia a little longer to spend time with his family and went out last night with friends, so I didn’t get to talk to him. But he comes home later today, and I miss that big guy more than I should. It’s only been a couple days. Guess I’m turning into a kept woman.
I smile to myself as I walk into work. The thought doesn’t scare me, and I’m not opposed to being Troy’s anything, if I’m being honest.
Making my way to my office, I get weird looks from a few other people who have offices here with me. Thinking I have food on my face, I look in the mirror I keep in my desk and see nothing. Shrugging, I put it away and start up my laptop to get to work.
Opening my email, I scan through t
he various subject lines to see which need my attention first, but one catches my eye and I click on it. I gasp when it opens with several pictures of Troy with a woman. Smiling, touching, holding each other, kissing.
Snapping the top closed, I take in a deep breath and pull my phone out to call Bianca. She answers right away.
“Are you calling for the reason I think you are?” she asks instead of a regular greeting.
“Why do you think I’m calling?” I counter, on the verge of losing it.
“Did you see any magazines this morning?” she questions slowly.
“Fuck…they’re on magazine covers?” I practically yell into the phone.
“Shit,” she mutters. “How did you know?”
“I received a random email with pictures of him with some woman.”
“You want me to come to your office or do you want to meet me somewhere else?”
What did I want? Well, I didn’t want my boyfriend to cheat on me, that’s for damn sure. And I definitely didn’t want it plastered everywhere for the world to see.
“I can’t work today. Not now. I’m going to head home and bury my head in shame for, like, fifty-seven years.”
“Hold up. Stop right there,” she states sternly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing.” I sniff, trying my hardest not to cry until I get home and out of sight. “I’ll meet you at your place in half an hour.”
“You mean, Troy’s,” I mumble.
I hang up and make my way as fast as I can back home—or to Troy’s home. Tears are already falling down my cheeks when I step off the elevator, and when I close the door, a sob rips through me.
How did I become this girl? How did I become the girl who’s cheated on? And I can’t even hide from it because he’s a fucking celebrity.
