by Eden Butler
“That’s not gonna happen.”
She wanted to push him away, even moved her palms over the hands that rested against her waist but didn’t follow through. Joe’s body was warm against hers as he held her, his arms strong, touch comforting and because it would be the last time she saw him, she didn’t mind so much his complaining or how tightly he held her as the image on the Polaroid paper became clearer.
Joe left a soft, warm kiss against her cheek. “It’ll happen, love, trust me. And when it does, when it’s the right fella that makes you count every second, every look, every deep, sweet touch, then you’ll be in a right mess.”
“What kind of mess?” she asked, curious what ridiculous cliché he had ready for her.
But Joe paused for one final kiss. It lingered, that kiss, his searing mouth, melting against hers, the demand of his tongue working something old and sweet and blistering deep inside her as he kissed her.
He took all that heat from her as quickly as he’d set it blazing. “The kind of mess you never want to be out of.”
She watched him dress, the slow movements he made reminded Gia just what had drawn Joe to her. He was feline in his gestures, strong and powerful even as he slipped his jeans over his hips and fastened his casual button-up. A mock salute and wink and Joe left Gia’s room.
She felt…relieved? Melancholy? A little disappointed? She wasn’t sure what to make of the jumble of thoughts and the burn of emotions that ran through her head just then. She did know it was good he’d left without much fanfare. Any passionate arguing or fruitless efforts to convince her to stay in New York would have been out of character for Joe; it would have been out of character for them.
On the dresser, the picture had dried completely, and Gia held it by the white edge, sitting on the bed to look it over, brushing her thumb against the stretch of glorious muscle and dips that made up his torso. He was beautiful. He was kind and good and would make a mess of someone’s life, but not like he’d predicted, Gia’s.
No one would do that to her again.
Gia closed her eyes and his face surfaced. Not the strong, angular edges of Joe’s bones, but ones that were rounded, softer, and much more appealing. Ones that had been seared into her memory like a brand she’d never be rid of.
“Enough,” she told herself, leaving the bed to kneel in front of the open suitcase near the bathroom door. It was the smallest but held the things Gia couldn’t part with; the things she’d keep close on the plane. Important things. Necessary things.
In the farthest corner of the bag, under a neatly folded pair of jeans and cotton Blue Devils t-shirt—the ‘in case we get stuck in an airport’ emergency outfit—Gia pulled free a small cigar box. It was the same kind of box she’d carried to elementary school as a kid, full of pencils and pens and pink erasers that left marks and smudges on the page after use. The top creaked a bit when she opened it to pull out a wrinkled, well-worn Ziploc bag. This was where Gia would keep Joe. This was where they all lived—those men she’d loved. Dark skin and eyes. Wide mouths and full lips. Names like Joe and Arturo and Rua. Jose and Ricky, Randel and Nelson. All lived in this bag, hidden beneath the top of the cigar box that still smelled like Mrs. Howard’s fifth grade classroom.
Men she’d let have her, but never keep for long.
Joe’s picture slipped on top of the others and Gia meant to zip it up, forget the night they’d had and the months before it. She meant to forget his warning like she planned to do the recall of his touch and the strength of his tongue. But that promise he made wasn’t the first she’d heard of it. Joe wasn’t the first to swear this bitterness inside Gia wouldn’t serve her forever. But he was the first to promise her she’d want something she’d had before: the mess love always made.
The kind you never want to be out of.
The last picture in the bunch was the oldest and the one Gia had held the most. There were more of them, too, five, ten maybe, with the same face, the same sweet, genuine smile, the same strong arms and the same faint cleft in his chin.
She’d loved him blindly.
She’d loved him without any hesitation.
But loving him had nearly killed her.
Luka Hale stared up at her from the Polaroid in Gia’s hand and she felt the same swift thrilling rumbling pulse inside her chest as she looked at him. He was beautiful and frustrating and very, very honest.
And once, Luka had made the biggest mess of Gia’s life. Twenty years later and she still hadn’t recovered.
She wondered if she ever would.
2.
GIA
CLAIBORNE PROSPER UNIVERSITY
NEW ORLEANS
1997
There was nothing Gia loved more than football.
Nothing.
It was the dirt and grit and battle to win that she loved most. It was the fight and athleticism and thrill that set on you when your team scored or stole or did miraculous things to win a game. It felt like life, real, honest life being lived out on that field and Gia had never felt anything that matched up to the sensation—not in church or in a classroom or at her mother’s large dining room table.
But what she really loved most, was the CPU Blue Devils, especially right there in that moment on that small, lush field. Kona Hale had just sacked Auburn’s wiry quarterback and the crowd had jumped to their feet; the roar of noise they made drowned out the loud rebukes of frustration coming from that wave of blue and orange on the other side of the field.
“Yes!” her uncle Mikey shouted when Hale made the sack. He hadn’t stopped yelling or slapping Hale’s back when he and his twin Luka made it back onto the sidelines. “Did you see that?” Mikey asked Gia, grinning like a fool when she nodded. “Here, Hale…here…” He pointed to the linebacker, waving Gia over so she could fill the guy’s mouth with water from the squeeze bottle she held. She hustled, seeming barely noticeable when Kona bent down to meet the plastic straw Gia offered him. He nodded a thanks and Gia went on to the next player, offering water and dry towels to each one she faced.
Uncle Mike had gotten Gia this job because she’d asked. She wanted in on the career he’d started at the small New Orleans university. She wanted away from New York and her mother’s expectations. Gia would never be content with the lives her brothers had made for themselves—college, marriage, kids. That was all. That was it. Being the youngest of five made things easier, she figured. Her parents had grandchildren, lots of them. But her mother still wanted Gia to stick close to home, marry a nice Italian boy, preferably one she’d known her entire life, one whose family her mother would approve of, and then hurry up with the job of getting married at St. Anthony’s and immediately start popping out babies.
But her mother didn’t understand Gia. No one did.
She wanted to break glass ceilings. She wanted to be around the game and if she couldn’t play it, she’d direct it. Getting there would start for Gia right on that field with the only man her parents thought could look after her: her father’s brother, Mikey.
But, she had to start at the bottom.
“Anymore in that bottle?” she heard, and immediately held her breath. Her nod was easy, quick and she turned to face Luka, avoiding the look he gave her when she offered him the water. He drank deep, went in for more and when Gia started to pull the bottle away, Luka held her wrist, keeping her and that bottle close to his open mouth.
Shit. Balls. Damn.
Luka Hale.
Gia wondered if he knew what he did to her with one look. She wondered if the looks that seemed to always get shifted her way were done on purpose. Did Luka plan them? Did he even realize they moved over his face?
She doubted he knew the impact he had on her. She doubted he even knew who she was.
She cleared her throat, taking half a step back when he released her hand. “You good?” she asked, not bothering to look at his face. She caught his nod and moved on to the next player, aware that he was just behind her.
Gia wasn’t some stup
id, simple girl horny for a player. She saw the work they did. She might not be on that field, but she understood the game. She saw the struggle and heart it took to make champions come alive. She wasn’t there as decoration or angling to attach herself to some player that might luck up and make it to the NFL.
But she damn sure wasn’t blind, and though she was barely eighteen, she wasn’t so innocent. Her body recognized what it liked, what it wanted and from the second Uncle Mikey led her onto the field to offer dry towels and cold water to his players, Gia had noticed Luka Hale.
“Yo, over here.” She heard, spotting a player whose name she didn’t know as he waved at her. The entire team was focused on the field, watching Mitchell Williams line up a second drive toward the field goal, but Gia only noticed Luka behind her and to her left, standing next to his twin as they watched the game.
The thirsty player, like Luka, like all the players, ignored Gia when she offered him a drink and she knew why. They were focused. The game was a close one. Besides, the hat Gia wore—dark blue and nearly covering her eyes and her black hair threaded through the opening in the back, along with the baggy shorts and team polo she wore, didn’t exactly flatter her figure. She was shapeless, sexless in this getup, exactly, she suspected, as her uncle had planned.
“Don’t bother the players. Do not get friendly,” he’d warned her, promising he’d arranged an internship the next semester with the Athletic Director. She wanted to learn the business of football, but Mikey wanted her to earn the opportunity first. She didn’t mind. Even his unnecessary lecture to keep away from the players didn’t bother her so much. Until, that is, she’d spotted Luka Hale on the practice field, calling her over for a shot of water at the beginning of the season.
She’d been unable to do much more than shoot a spray of water into his mouth and gawk at him. His eyes were slanted and black. The bridge of his nose was wider than his brother’s, broader at the tip. But Luka’s smile was easier than Kona’s and his lips were fuller—the bottom plumper than the top. He wore a short beard over his striking face and his body was lither than the other defensive linemen, though he was still large, his shoulders wide, his thighs heavy with muscle.
It was only someone clearing their throat behind her that had gotten her to step back from Luka that day on the practice field, something he seemed to only half notice. Luka had glanced over her head, then grinned down at Gia, nodding once before he walked onto the field.
“Forget about it, darling,” Kona had warned Gia as he took the water bottle from her hand while she blinked her focus away from Luka and up at his twin. “He’s alright, I guess, not as pretty as me, but he’s a pain in the ass.” Kona offered her the bottle and smiled. “Besides, your uncle threatened our lives if we so much as look at you.”
Gia had rolled her eyes, then glanced at Kona, eyebrows pushed together. “You’re talking to me.”
“I’m hella braver than these punks.”
Gia shared Kona’s laugh then watched the man run out on the field, joining his twin and their teammates as they ran drills. She hadn’t heeded Kona’s warning and as she stood on the sidelines, shifting glances over to where Luka stood next to his brother, then over the sweaty, tired faces of the CPU players, Gia couldn’t help but return her attention back to Luka.
“Get over it,” she told herself, blushing furiously when two defensive linemen turned toward her, both looking confused, as though they’d heard her but hadn’t caught her meaning. She recovered by offering them water which they both turned down.
One more glance at Luka as he ran out onto the field and Gia got back to her job, hustling over to Mitchell and the other offensive linemen when they ran off the field.
Luka and Kona worked side by side, blocking, shifting Auburn’s offense away from the goal and by the end of the game thoughts of Luka, and Kona’s teasing warning got lost in the hustle of the last whistle and the clean-up Gia and the other staff had to manage as the teams and fans cleared away from the stadium.
She got lost in her job, brushing back the half smirk on Luka’s face when he and Kona left the field, telling herself he hadn’t nodded at her, hadn’t looked her way at all. She knew for certain her name hadn’t left Kona’s mouth like a tease the same second Luka glanced toward her as she worked her way through the monotony of collecting the bottles and returning them to the equipment manager. It was all her imagination; she was sure of it. Gia had repeated that to herself with every step she made before she met her dormmate Claire and friend Mimi back at their room.
“Bout time,” Claire announced, hustling Gia into the bathroom. “If it weren’t for me, you’d keep that stupid hat on all the time.” She jerked the Blue Devils ball cap off Gia’s head and proceeded to fix the disaster Gia’s hair had become after her quick retreat from the stadium.
“I should just go to bed,” she told Claire, shaking her head when Mimi presented a thin, quarter sleeve crop top sweater and low-rise jeans, an outfit Gia guessed Mimi wanted her to wear. “No,” she tried, but was utterly ignored as they fluttered around her, managing to get her as far away from her water girl aesthetic as possible.
“There,” Claire announced a half an hour later when she and Mimi had managed to make Gia looked like a low-rent version of J-Lo aka her Jenny from the Block cover, hair back in a messy ponytail, makeup subtle but nice. “You’ll do.”
Forty-five minutes later, the girls were at the football team house, beers in hand as they circulated in the large backyard with the rest, it seemed, of the student population.
The weather was warm for November, particularly so close to Thanksgiving, but there was still enough of a breeze that the light jacket Gia insisted on wearing didn’t make her look half as silly as the crop top she’d been forced into. Still, she felt awkward, and a little on display with part of her flat stomach exposed and the tight fit of Mimi’s top stretching across her chest.
“I look stupid,” she whined to her friends, making Claire stop mid-way down the back-courtyard step.
Gia wasn’t being modest, mentioning how ridiculous she thought she looked to her friend. She knew she was no troll, even though she was nothing like most of the girls on CPU’s campus. She was athletic, with a curvy shape, decent face, and an olive complexion both Mimi and Claire had claimed to envy, particularly at the beginning of the semester when she maintained her tan longer than her two friends. She’d caught the attention of several classmates, guys and girls alike, but she dressed down most of the time only bothering with makeup and her hair when her roommates insisted she come along with them to social events she’d otherwise avoid.
But Gia wasn’t the skin-showing sort. She didn’t like being on display and suspected that was exactly why her friends had bullied her into the outfit. They wanted her to stretch her wings. They wanted her to live outside her comfort zone for once.
“Are you very high?” Claire asked Gia, looking her over as though she needed to confirm how very wrong Gia’s assertion was. Claire nodded to Mimi when she continued down onto the courtyard. “You look hot. See?” She nodded to a guy Gia knew from her Accounting 101 class, wondering why he was staring at her like that.
Claire led Gia down the steps, side eye attention on the Accounting guy. “He’s cute and keeps looking at you.”
“Because I look…”
“Because you’re hot, mama.” Claire fluffed her hair, giving Gia another once over. “Own that shit.”
Gia tried to play along. She tried her best to own whatever shit Claire suggested was hers, but as the night wore on, and the liquor flowed, all Gia felt was an increasing need to be out of the ridiculous outfit and in her too-big CPU tee reading over the latest issues of ESPN she could probably quote verbatim by now.
“That’s not water, is it?” She heard, turning to see Kona Hale next to her.
“Hey,” she offered, looking into her glass. “No. I think it’s beer.”
“You haven’t drunk any?”
“Nah, not this glass,” s
he admitted, putting the nearly full cup on the step at her feet. Accounting guy had grabbed it for her, but abandoned Gia when a group of cuter, less modestly dressed girls converged on the courtyard.
“Somebody gave it to me. I wasn’t thirsty.” She looked next to Kona, frowning when she didn’t spot his girl. Kona and Keira were always with each other and Gia found it weird that she wasn’t there now. “Where’s Keira?”
“Her dorm. I think she’s getting sick.” He downed what remained of his drink and tossed it in the trash to his left. “I’m about to go over there and bug her.”
“You played well tonight,” she told him, arms folded as she stood next to Kona, scanning the crowd. It was late, and the release of mid-term stress was in full effect. Drunk sorority girls, Mimi and Claire among them danced on top of picnic tables, flashing a little skin as they downed shots. Several groups of guys looked on with pleasure, chatting and occasionally cat-calling for one lewd thing or another Gia tried to ignore.
“Better than last week, that’s for sure,” Kona said, his voice cracking before he cleared his throat.
Gia winced, hoping Kona didn’t think that’s where she’d been trying to direct their conversation. The week before something had set Kona off. Something that had gotten him benched. She didn’t want to mention it again and then couldn’t mention anything at all when she spotted Luka sitting in the center of a crowd of players, a keg next to them as they sat around the small fire pit near the back gate. The light from the fire lit up his face and something belly deep in Gia twisted and coiled and must have made itself present on her features from the way Kona laughed at her.
“Damn. My twin always does that to you.”
