Fair Catch - A Football Romance (12 page)

“Next week, you will be doing a photo shoot with the San Francisco Sparks in Cavanaugh stadium. It’s for an article about you teaching ballet to the Sparks. It’ll be featured in the San Francisco Times—if you want to, of course. No pressure. It’s all up to you.”

The thrill I was riding plummets when suspicion strikes me. Why is he being so nice to me? What’s in it for him? Nobody’s ever done anything for me without wanting or expecting something in return.

I lean out of River’s happy bubble and look him square in the eyes, “Why are you doing all this?”

He reaches to caress my cheek, but I’ve moved just out of his reach.

“Why do you think?”

“You’re answering a question with a question.”

“I realize that. I’m trying to help you. I watched you dance yesterday, and you blew my socks off. I have a few connections, and I thought I’d use them to help a friend. I like you, Angel, a lot.”

I look down at my hands that are still clutching the sheet, and he scoots closer. I feel his finger lifting my chin, “You can trust me. I don’t want anything from you that you’re not willing to give.”

We stare at each other, and I search his face for signs of an ulterior motive, but there is nothing but warm adoration and reverence.

“I’m sorry,” I say and lean into his hand. “I’m not used to having people in my corner. It feels nice. Thank you.”

“No need for an apology, and you are most welcome.”

My stomach chooses this moment to rumble loudly. River and I both look down.

“You swallow a cub?”

I raise my eyebrows. “I guess I’m hungry.”

“I guess so. Come on, and I’ll make you breakfast.” He rolls off the bed and offers me his hand.

“I have an extra robe if you’re cold,” he says when I hesitate. I’m comfortable with my body, but I don’t want to traipse around in River’s mansion in the buff.

He switches on a tall floor lamp when we walk by it, revealing the décor I was wondering about earlier. The room is spacious, with dark hardwood flooring and a huge plush, white rug in the center under his California King bed. A TV the size of Texas covers the wall opposite the bed. A separate seating area that’s more like a living room is set up off to one side. Most surprising to me is the floor to ceiling built-in bookcases on either side of a window. He doesn’t strike me as the reading type, but what do I know? We’ve only been friends for a couple of days.

He drops my hand, and I turn to see his glorious bare ass climbing a staircase that leads up and splits off into two more sets of steps that then lead to an open balcony with a closet built for a king.

It looks more like Sac’s Fifth Avenue up there than a man’s closet. There are bars of meticulously organized clothes, built-in drawers, and an island big enough to spread out and sleep on.

A few seconds later, he returns into view wearing a pair of linen lounge pants that hang deliciously low on his trim hips. He descends the stairs holding a white robe with The Ritz stamped on the breast in gold.

“I like clothes. Sue me.”

“I cannot believe that closet. I don’t even think that constitutes as a closet. It looks more like a department store.”

“Yeah, I catch a lot of flack for being a clothes horse, but I used to model, and I’m interested in men’s fashion. These guns aren’t going to be able to support me forever. Gotta have another passion.” He holds up his arms, flexing his biceps.

“Smart man.”

He holds out the robe for me, and I slide my arms inside and snuggle it around me. He turns me around and ties the sash in a funny knot.

“What’s this?” I say and flick the fancy knot.

“It’s a quick-release knot so that I can get to you fast in case of an emergency.”

I laugh. “What kind of emergency might that be?”

“This kind,” he says, pulling me against him and thrusting his erect cock against the knot.

“You gonna untie me with that?” I tease.

“I’m pretty talented. You never know.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

My stomach interrupts what is sure to escalate into another meal delaying distraction with a roar.

“Man, you’re a noisy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”

He pauses dramatically to think. “Yes, you’re noisy in lots of ways, and I love it. Come on now, let me show you what I can do in the kitchen,” he says with a smirk.

“I can’t wait.”

R
iver

I open a text from my mother in the locker room and cringe at her bold font. She’s yelling at me for missing family dinner without calling last night, and she wants to talk about David and Misty.

I have a couple of things to do before I talk to her about that situation again. She’ll understand when I explain, and all will be forgiven when she meets Angel. The next text is from Kyle, inviting me to join him and his family in Malibu for a weekend vacation. That sounds like an opportunity to spend three days with Angel if I ever heard one. I’ll have to accept on the condition that I can bring a date.

Text number three is from my friend, Max, about the appointment for Angel with Cammie Onyx. Two o’clock sharp at Braden’s on Ninth Street tomorrow.

She is going to be so excited. Hell I’m excited for her. I’m crossing my fingers and toes that Cammie falls in love with her and agrees to be her manager. She will shoot to the top of super-stardom overnight with her talent and Cammie’s connections.

And she can leave that damn Miss Valentina in the dust where she belongs.

I’m about to call Angel when another text pops onto my list.

It’s Misty.

River, I need your help selling the house. David isn’t living there as far as I know, and we don’t plan on coming back. My real estate license isn’t valid where we are now, and we need the money. David never paid for any of it, and I can’t risk him selling it out from under me, claiming that I abandoned it.

This has gone far enough. It’s time to confront the black sheep. David has fucked up in the past, but whatever he’s done now is serious enough to chase his family from the country, and I’m not going to let him get away with it.

In the car, I dial Angel’s number, and she answers on the second ring.

“Hey there, Football Man, what’s up?”

“I have good news. My friend, Max, left me a message. She got ahold of Cammie, and you’ve got an appointment with her tomorrow at two o’clock.”

My hand jabs at the volume button on the steering wheel when she shrieks.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you did it! I mean, I thought it was a nice gesture and everything, but I never actually thought . . . holy crap, I can’t breathe.”

“I’m wounded. You have so little faith in me.”

“Not anymore. You’re my hero. I owe you big time!”

“Oh, and I plan on collecting. Don’t you worry.”

“I don’t think I’ll mind paying up.”

“What I really want is for you to come to family dinner next week.”

The car is quiet, and I worry she’s going to turn me down.

“I’d love to if you’re sure.”

“Sure as the sun is shining, Pretty Dancer.”

I hear a voice in the background calling her name.

“I have to go. My class is starting. Call you later?”

“You’d better. Oh hey, are you teaching the team’s class again?”

“Not officially, but I don’t have anything else going on during that time slot, so I’m going to help Sasha. I feel sorry for her.”

“Thanks, she was kind of frazzled yesterday. She asked me—no, more like begged me—to convince you to come back.”

“I kind of miss the guys. They were growing on me.”

“Well, don’t let any of them grow on you too much. You’re mine.”

“My eyes are on you, Football Man. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

The Bluetooth chick announces that my call is completed, and the car is silent.

I pass under a bridge a few blocks from the biggest hole in the wall bar within a fifty-mile radius and mentally prepare myself to talk to my brother.

The only thing consistent in David’s life is his presence at Mo’s. You can count on him to keep the third bar stool on the left of the big oak bar warm every afternoon. He’s a drunk, but he’s predictable, and today, I’m counting on that predictability to help me find him.

I pull into the parking lot and regret selling my old Blazer. I wasn’t thinking about the bikers and gang bangers who frequent this place when I took off from Cavanaugh Field in my Bentley.

I need to figure out how to get David to come outside instead of me going in, or I won’t have a car to drive home in.

Three wobbly, stick thin women stumble out the door, squinting in the midday sun as I pull up. Probably working girls. Probably meth heads too.

I hate to support drug use, but I don’t think one hit’s going to make a difference at this point in any of their lives.

I put my window down halfway, and moments later, when their eyes adjust to the sunlight, they flock to me like a moth to a flame.

I smile, and all three of them stoop down to have a closer look at me. Inwardly, I’m cringing when they return the smile with their broken gray teeth, but I have to play nice to get what I want.

“Hey, ladies,” I greet them, feeling guilty for insulting real ladies by using their title.

“Hey, you got a real pretty car. You needin’ somebody to help keep that front seat warm?” says the girl in the middle. Her hair swings in nasty clumps in the breeze, and I nearly retch at the thought of her keeping my seat warm.

“Aw honey, not today, but I do need a favor, if you’re interested in earning a few bucks.”

Three pairs of eyes just lit up like the sky on the fourth of July.

“What do ya need, baby?” says the girl with the chunky hair in the middle.

Meth head hooker on the right, who has especially gnarly teeth, shoves chunky hair, stealing her spot, and says, “I’ll do anything.”

“Me too,” mini meth head on the left says while she tries to vie for the lead position in the pack.

“No need to fight, ladies. I can use all of your help. I’ll give you each a hundred bucks if you go inside and get David Kelly to come out here.”

“We all get a hundred? Like I get one, she gets one, and she gets one too?” Chunky hair says, pointing at the other girls with disbelief.

“That’s what he said, stupid. God, you’re so dumb,” says Mini Meth.

“Shut up, wait, who’s David Kelly? Why you want him anyway?” says Chunky Hair.

“That’s none of your business, and he’s the white guy with a tattoo of a monkey on his arm. He sits on the third stool in there every day.”

“Oh,” Gnarly teeth says with recognition in her eyes. “Arson! He means Arson,” she shouts like she’s just won
Plinko
on
The Price Is Right
.

That douche would call himself Arson. He was always setting shit on fire when we were little. He burned down the garage once when Dad was out of town.

“That’s him. Bring him to me, and I’ll give you the money, but not before. I wanna see him first.”

“How we gonna get him out here?” says Clumpy Hair.

“Promise him something. He’ll come, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” all three of them murmur and shuffle back into the bar.

Three bikers are outside with monstrous machines between their legs, checking our what’s going on with the guy in the hot car. I salute them and put the window up.

One particularly hairy man chuckles. I know, because I can see his belly jiggle from here. Another one slides his sunglasses down on his nose to get a better look.

I think he recognizes me. Crap. Yes, he does. He just slung his heavy leg off his hog, and he’s walking this way. I don’t mind signing autographs, but right now, my focus is on getting my asshole brother to come out here and tell me what he did to his wife and kids.

“Hey, aren’t you River Kelly, quarterback for the Sparks?” he says when he reaches my door.

I’ve already put the window down for him. He leans in, crossing his tattooed arms on the sill, invading my personal space with his big head and his wild beard.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You guys were a little clumsy last season, don’t cha think?”

“We won the America Bowl. Can’t do any better than that.”

He grumbles and sniffs loudly, wiping his nose on his knuckle.

“Yeah, barely. You had me worried. I bet a lot of money on that game.”

“So you won big. Congratulations, that’s great,” I say and give him my best superstar quarterback smile. I’d give him a geeky two thumbs up, but there’s no space between us, and he’d probably take it as an insult.

“Yeah, you too, man. Hey, can I get your autograph for my nephew? Kid loves the damn Sparks.”

Thank God that’s all he wanted. I already have to kick my brother’s ass. I didn’t want to mess up my pretty face fighting with these guys.

“Sure, hold on. Let me get a pen.”

I reach up into my visor because what self-respecting football star is ever without a pen and paper to sign an autograph?

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Mitchel.”

I scribble,
Come see me anytime, Mitchel! This is a lifetime ticket to any Sparks game. Stay cool, River Kelly,
and hand it to the biker. He reads it, folds it up carefully, and slips it into the inside pocket of his weathered leather vest.

“Thanks, man, kid’s gonna love it. Tell your guys to take a dance class or something. Looked like somebody dumped a barrel of monkeys on the field,” he says, shaking his head and straightening up.

“Funny you say that. Coach has us in ballet class.”

He looks at me like I’m fucking with him. We must be really clumsy. First, David’s old neighbor, Millie, made a crack about our lack of grace, and now this guy.

“Seriously. I’m dating the teacher, and she’s hot.”

“Cool, man. Good luck with all that,” he says.

He strolls back to the other guys and shows them the autograph.

I’m beginning to think the hooker trio isn’t going to come through for me when Chunky Hair stumbles out of the bar with my loser brother draped all over her.

Arson
, I think and snort to myself. What an idiot.

“You wanna do it in my car, baby?” he says with a thick slur.

“Just a sec. We gotta say hi to somebody first.”

Oh, she’s good. She’s dragging him right to me. I open the door and step out, stretching my arms over my head.

“Hey, Bro, how ya been?” I say when he’s too close to escape.

He lifts his head and blinks, trying to focus with his glassy, drunk eyes.

“River?” he says and shields his eyes to see me better.

“The one and only.”

“Why are you here?”

“Psst, can we get our cash, baby? I got a guy inside who’s gonna give me a bump for a ride. The girls wanna go party with him and his friends.”

“What cash? Hey, you said you were gonna give me a free blow.”

“Nope, sorry, Arson. Maybe next time.”

I hand her the cash, and she snatches it and scurries back into the bar, leaving David stumbling and reaching for support.

“You dick, you paid those bitches to get me out here?”

“Yep, hop in. We need to talk.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder toward the passenger door.

“What do you want, man? I ain’t got nothing to say to you.”

“I want to know what the fuck you did to Misty and the kids to make them skip the country,” I say, infusing rage into my voice.

David doesn’t know this side of me. He’s used to the easygoing brother who plays with his nieces and nephews in the yard at Mom and Dad’s house. The guy who tells bad jokes, kisses Mom on the cheek and magically pulls quarters from behind kids’ ears.

“I didn’t do anything, River, swear to God. She left me and took the kids three months ago, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

It seems like a good dose of fear has sobered him up a little bit.

Good.

“Interesting, big brother, because that’s not what your sweet little neighbor says. She tells me you left first. Misty threw all your clothes out the second-story window because you had a piece on the side.”

I lean back against my car and cross my arms over my chest.

“That old bat doesn’t know what’s going on in my life. She’s senile, got her nose in everybody’s business. She needs to shut her damn trap.”

“What did you do, David?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he yells, throwing up his arms, which causes him to lose his balance and stumble backward.

“You’re a liar. Misty told me you left first.”

The news that I’ve spoken to his wife stuns him for a moment, and he stares at me, dumbfounded.

“She called you?”

“She sent me a text to let me know she’s safe.” I shove off the car and drop my arms to my sides.

“What the hell is she safe from, David?”

I poke my finger into his chest and back him up a step.

“You?” I poke him back another step.

“What’d you do to her?”

“She asked for it, always on me about getting a job and bitching about doing everything and me not helping with the kids.”

I step toward him, closing the inches between us until my chest is all David can see, and I wrap my hand around his scrawny neck.

David inherited my mother’s delicate frame, unlike my brothers and me, who are all at least six feet tall and muscular. I could snap his neck in two like it was nothing with no effort at all, but I want him to pay for what he did to his family.

“What did she ask for?”

He tries to look away, but I squeeze his neck so tightly he has to look me in the eyes.

“Why don’t you ask her?” he says. His voice is strained and his skin is ashy.

“Because I want to hear you say it, you piece of shit. Say it, or I’ll choke the life out of you right now, and you’ll die in the parking lot of a dirty bar.”

He is trying feebly to remove my hand from his neck when my eyeballs start to shake in my head. My brain is fading to white, and I’m about to murder my brother when I hear a voice in my ear telling me to loosen my grip. It’s the biker I gave an autograph to.

I’ve been so focused on David that I didn’t see him approach me.

“You’ll never get what you want if you kill him. Loosen up, man,” he says.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before letting David go.

He bends over, gasping and holding his neck with his hands.

I ball my hands into fists at my sides, ready to pulverize this man I’m ashamed to share the same blood with.

I look at the biker and notice the patch on his vest says that he is the president of his MC.