by M. E. Carter
Soccer has a huge international following. It’s arguably bigger than football is in the States.
Ryan Flanigan, Rowen’s dad, is a legend in the European Premier League. Think David Beckham on a larger scale. Thus anything to do with Ryan is a big deal. And Rowen is his son. Therefore, he’s a big, big deal in Europe.
Me: Okay. Just wanted to make sure.
Mom: No problem. I’ve gotten more compliments about how beautiful that picture is.
Me: Me too, Ma. I’ll call you when I have more time.
Mom: Okay, sweetie. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I look up and over at Quincy’s station. The older woman no longer has a hoodie and sunglasses on. And it’s easy to tell neither of them is happy about the situation. Even from here I can see those bangs are going to be really hard to fix. This is why I’m okay with not having kids for a while. Later, when I’m older and have the time and desire to monitor their every move, sure. But not now. I’m too selfish right now and not too proud to admit that.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down to see a text from Rowen.
Rowen: Babe. Apparently one of the pics from the wedding is out there. Don’t freak out. I’ve googled everything I can think of and it’s only one.
Me: I know. I was just about to text you. Apparently my mother thought it was nice for the families to have a wedding announcement in each of our hometowns.
Rowen: Thank god. I was afraid I was going to have to raise hell with the photographer or the hotel.
Me: Nope. Good ol’ mom still hasn’t figured out what the word “privacy” means.
Rowen: I’m sorry, babe. You okay with all this?
Me: I’m fine. Not thrilled but nothing I can do about it.
Rowen: I can do something to take your mind off it when you get home. ;)
I chuckle to myself. He’s insatiable. I love it.
Me: I bet you can. I’ll see you when I get done.
I spend the next several minutes scrolling through sports scores and seeing if there’s anything major I missed while we were gone and make a mental note to remind Steve that the Cowboys are coming to town in a couple weeks. Before I know it, Quincy’s ready for me again, has me shampooed, and is leading me back at her station.
“How’d it go with the bangs?”
She shoots me a glare as she picks up her scissors. “I told her to stand in the back row for all the pictures.”
“It’s not an outdoor wedding, it is?”
“Nope. And I already suggested a hat.”
I smirk and watch as she combs through my hair.
“I have a favor to ask,” she says, switching gears.
“Hit me.”
“Do you want to come over tonight and help me pack? That one over there”—she gestures towards Geni, who holds her hands up like she’s innocent—“just sits around and watches while I do everything, and I have to be out of the apartment by the end of next week.”
“I keep an eye on the baby for you, and then we watch Outlander,” Geni challenges.
“That’s a load of crap and you know it.” Quincy points her scissors Geni’s direction. “Well, maybe not the Outlander part. I can’t help my love for Jamie Fraser.”
“Why does Tiffany need to watch Outlander with us when she has her own hot dude with a brogue at home?”
I open my mouth to speak but realize she’s right.
Quincy freezes mid cut. “Rowen doesn’t happen to have a kilt, does he?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. Do Irish men wear kilts or is it just a Scottish thing?”
“There’s a lot of debate about when Ireland adopted the tradition of wearing kilts, but it could have been several hundred years ago,” Geni spits out, as she runs the clippers over her client’s neck.
Quincy and I just stare at her.
“What?” Geni shrugs. “I know things.”
We keep staring.
“Plus, kilts are hot, so I looked it up.”
Quincy and I nod like that answer makes more sense. And I make a mental note to ask Rowen about this. Geni’s right. My husband in a kilt could be seriously hot.
“Anyway,” Quincy says, breaking me away from the visual images running through my brain. “I know it’s short notice, but I figured with the poker game tonight, you might not have anything to do.”
So much for staying in and letting my new husband ravish me all over again. “Poker night is tonight?”
“Yeah, Christian made this big deal about Daniel never having another one once the baby and I move in, so they’re doing it tonight.”
“I’ll double check with Rowen, but I’m guessing I can come over.”
“Yay! Maybe I’ll actually get something done now.”
“I heard that,” Geni complains.
“I wasn’t hiding it from you,” Quincy retorts.
I unravel my arms from behind the cape and text Rowen.
Me: Apparently poker night is tonight.
Rowen: I just heard.
Me: I take it you’re going?
Rowen: Under duress.
Me: Okay. I’ll hang out at Quincy’s while you’re there.
Rowen: Sounds like a plan. Not a fun one, but a plan, anyway.
I snigger. I’m really happy with the friends we’ve ended up with. But I wish we could have stayed in that newlywed bubble for a little longer.
I glance over at my wife as we drive down the highway to Daniel’s apartment. A glow passes over her face every time a street light goes by and I catch glimpses of her lips. Those lips were wrapped around my cock a couple hours ago. The thought of her on her knees, the round of her naked ass visible every time I looked down, while she gave me head makes me shift in my seat to relieve the pressure off my dick.
“Eyes on the road, Rookie,” she says without looking up from her phone.
I chuckle. “Sorry.” She tosses her cell on the floor when she’s done, and I grab her hand, entwining our fingers and laying them on her thigh. My thumb makes lazy circles on the soft skin of her leg. When she shivers, I have to shift again.
“You’re making it really hard for me to enjoy tonight when you touch me like that.”
“Who’s trying to be happy? I’m still pissed I got suckered into going.”
“Oh, come on,” she says with a grin as I turn into the parking lot of Daniel’s complex. “It’ll be fun to get together with your friends. Plus, after spending all that money on a vacation, I need you to clean them out.”
“I plan to.” By nature, I’m a people-watcher. Sometimes, it makes me have more insight than I want into other people’s lives. But on poker night, I can take advantage of it by figuring out everyone’s tells. “It’ll serve them right for taking me away from my wife.”
“I love it when you call me that.”
Pulling into the indicated space and shifting the car into park, I lean over and cup Tiffany’s face, bringing her mouth to mine. She immediately parts her lips to allow me entrance, and my tongue dives in, taking what I want and reminding her of what she’s got all to herself.
A few heavy make-out minutes later, we break apart.
“What was that for?” She’s breathing heavily, and it makes me happy knowing I made her breathless.
“Just a quick reminder of what you have waiting for you. You know. Just so you don’t stay too long at Quincy’s watching Starz.”
Climbing out of the car, we immediately reach for each other as we head for the stairs to Daniel’s second-story apartment.
“Speaking of Starz, do you have a kilt?”
I look at her quizzically. “What does one have to do with the other?”
She smirks. “Oh, just something Geni was saying today about that show Outlander and some argument over Irish versus Scottish kilts.”
I groan. “That dumb show has gotten all the women riled up about what we wear underneath.”
“So, you do have one?” Her eyes light up, and she gets a little bounce in h
er step as she tugs on my arm. “Is it at home?”
“I’m sure there’s one at my parents’ house, if they still have it.” Tiffany deflates a little, which makes me chuckle. “We almost never wear them. My grandfather did, but that was actually in Ireland. Not Detroit. But if you’re into role playing or something”—I pop her on the ass as she climbs the stairs in front of me, making her squeal—“I’ll find one and wear it just for you.”
She turns around and puts her hands on my shoulders. Leaning in, she kisses me slowly. “But will you tell me what you’re wearing underneath?” I can feel her smiling against my lips.
“A man has to have some secrets,” I banter then kiss her again. “You’ll just have to find out for yerself.” She has me worked up enough now, my accent bleeds through.
“Poker night cannot be over soon enough,” she grumbles, grabbing my hand and pulling me the rest of the way to the apartment.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket as I knock. Before she can unlock the screen, Christian flings the door wide open.
“It’s the Flanigans!” He hauls Tiffany in for a hug, a huge grin on his face, then yanks me in for one as well. “She did it, Rookie. She finally made an honest man out of you,” he razzes, wrapping his arm around my neck and dragging me into the other room. I try to turn around for Tiffany, but she calls out behind me.
“I’m coming. Just texting Quincy back.”
“Speak of the devil,” Christian continues to joke, and I know we’ve been the topic of conversation. “Look who finally got his cherry popped. Does he look different to you?”
I know I turn beet red as he pretends to look me over. It happens every time I’m embarrassed or upset. I respond like any man would, I start throwing fake punches, which, as always, leads to a wrestling match between the two of us.
“Hey! No WAGs allowed tonight,” Luca exclaims as he makes his way into the room. I break away from Christian, fake fighting forgotten, when I hear Tiffany respond.
“Don’t mind me, guys. I’m just here to pick up some boxes for Quincy.”
“Oh yeah. Let me get those.” Daniel jumps up from his seat and heads down the hall.
Everyone else is opening bags of chips and lighting up cigars… your basic poker night shit. They all seem relaxed and carefree. Except Santos. Santos is radiating anger. I ignore him, hoping Tiffany doesn’t notice. The guy still blames everyone else and their mother for his problems.
Randall leans back in his chair, oblivious to the boiling pot sitting next to him. “Seriously guys, congratulations. Rebecca was jealous you guys got hitched in Fiji. Says I need to take her there to get our vows renewed, or something.”
I kiss Tiffany on the top of the head as she puts her arm around my waist. “You should,” she says with a smile. “Fiji is just beautiful. And not just the way they do a wedding. I could live there. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
Suddenly, Santos shoves his chair away from the table and stomps into the kitchen. The room goes silent. I vaguely notice Tiffany look at her phone again, too busy gauging the reactions of the rest of my teammates.
“Don’t worry about him,” Sammy asserts as he pours some Scotch in a glass. “He’s just having a rough go of it.”
“Um,” Tiffany flashes her phone to me. “I’ll be right back. I have to get something out of the kitchen for Quincy.” I cock my head at her in question. She smiles and puts her hand on my forearm. “It’s okay. I just have to get some red washcloth or something.”
“Did she forget that?” Daniel questions as he walks back in the room, holding some boxes. “Chance won’t go to sleep without that thing. It’s weird what babies get attached to.”
“You mean like that baby doll you used to carry around as a kid?” Christian chides while everyone laughs.
“First of all, quit getting my mama to show you all my baby pictures. She’s a sucker for that shit and you know it.” Daniel tosses the boxes on the couch and sits down at the table. “Second, it wasn’t a doll. It was a Munchichi. And he was cool.”
I reach for my chair, but before I can sit, there’s yelling in the kitchen and words like “fucking groupie whore” are being tossed out.
“What the fuck?” I hear behind me as I bolt for the door. Swinging it open, I see Tiffany standing wide-eyed, Santos yelling in her face.
“You don’t belong here. Do you hear me? She deserves to be here. You don’t.”
“Back. The fuck off. My wife. Before this gets any uglier.”
“Oh shit,” someone says behind me as I move into the room and the door closes. Santos’s eyes snap over to mine, and Tiffany immediately moves to my side. I have never been this angry in my life. It is taking everything in me to hold back. “Babe, I think you need go to the other room.”
“Rowen,” Tiffany argues, “it’s okay. I get why he’s angry.”
I take my eyes off Santos’s to look at her. We’ve had this conversation before. We’re a team. We have each other’s backs no matter what. “Don’t fight me on this, Tiff. This is what we do, remember?”
I know she gets it when she gives me a small smile and nods. When she finally walks out of the room, I turn back to glare and Santos. I hope he can feel the anger radiating from me. I feel like it’s coming off of me in waves.
“Is there a reason you think it’s okay to tear into my wife like that? WAGs are off-limits.”
Santos snorts a laugh, which infuriates me even more. “Just because you’ve been married for like three minutes doesn’t make her a WAG in my book.” He takes a swig of his beer and leans against the counter, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like I won’t do anything about this. But he’s wrong.
I told my dad and my coach months ago, if it comes down to Tiffany or soccer, Tiffany will always be my choice. The moment I realized the truth of that statement, I felt free. Free to care for my wife and always put her first, no matter the consequence.
“I don’t give a shit what your book says. You ever disrespect my wife like that again, and it’ll come out of your face.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Damn right I am. I don’t give a shit if you feel guilty about your marriage going south. That had nothing to do with her, and you’re not going to try to project your feelings onto her, got it?”
He scoffs again. “Nothing to do with her? You realize she was there, right? You realize I was fucking your wife,” he sneers, “on a regular basis, right?”
I step forward, and he immediately straightens. Finally, he understands that I have no concerns about defending her. None at all. Consequences be damned. And it’s time I set him straight. “I know exactly what she used to do. I also know, instead of trying to throw all the blame for her actions onto other people, she tried to make amends. She didn’t go to Mariana to give her all the details. Mariana went to her. Mariana already knew, Santos. She fucking knew you were cheating on her. She needed confirmation, so she could leave your sorry ass.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but I’m not done.
“Let me ask you a question… the night Mariana left you, who were you fucking that night? It wasn’t Tiffany, was it?”
He keeps getting more and more angry. His face is brighter red than I’ve seen, even after an hour of sprints. But this shit needs to end, and it needs to end now.
“I know because Tiffany was already done with that life by then,” I remind him. “She did nothing wrong by answering Mariana’s questions. In fact, those were the first honest answers Mariana actually got, because you sure as hell weren’t telling her the truth. You need to take a good look at the role you played in your marriage before you spout shit in anyone else’s direction. While you’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, Tiffany has been trying to make things right and gave Mariana the one thing in that conversation you hadn’t given her… respect.”
I turn to leave, my piece having been said. When I reach the door, though, I realize I have to make one more thing clear.
I storm into the living area and all eyes swing to mine. “Let’s go.” I grab Tiffany’s hand, but she resists.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, pulling out of grasp. “Are you not staying for poker night?”
“No way in hell can I be in the same room with that man right now,” I spit out. “Sorry, Daniel. I know this is your last hurrah.”
He waves me off as he passes out chips. “I get it, man. I’m just glad you didn’t get blood in my kitchen. It’s a bitch to disinfect.”
“We still need to take these boxes to Quincy,” Tiffany reminds me. “Even if I don’t stay, she still needs them, and the baby needs this thingy.” She waves the washcloth in my face.
I close my eyes and take a calming breath. “Fine. We’ll drop them off.”
She gives me a smile and whispers a quiet, “Thank you.” I just nod and grab everything we’re taking with us.
“Daniel,” Tiffany calls out. She doesn’t say anything until he looks up at her. “Don’t say anything to Santos, okay? Let it go. I’m fine. He’s just hurting.”
Daniel considers for a few second, then nods once, and turns back to the game. As we walk out the door, I barely hear someone say, “See Christian? If you pulled your head out of your ass, you wouldn’t have missed out on snatching up a good woman like her.”
Tiffany chuckles at the exchange, but I’m still too riled up to find any humor in it. “Rowen,” she calls out. I’m several feet ahead of her. “Rowen, stop,” she calls again when I don’t respond.
I ignore her, instead taking the time to situate the boxes in the back of the car and slamming the trunk. When I’m finally done, she’s leaning against the car door, arms and legs crossed. I stalk over and stand in front of her, hands on my hips.
