THE HARDEST YARDS (A BAD BOY FOOTBALL ROMANCE) Page 6

  Ariana’s cold hand brushed up to mine. “You can gracefully step out of the spotlight. I think that’s what you want to happen, at least. You wanna live the life you want without being scrutinized for it, whether that be visiting a brothel or a six-figure blow-out in Vegas. You deserve to have freedom like we all do.”

  “Deserve it, don’t think so. Want it? Sure.”

  “Make this short commitment to me then you’re free.”

  I pursed my lips.

  Ariana’s phone stole her attention back and she walked away. “Uh…One sec. Excuse me.”

  “Ty,” Chrissy mumbled at me. “I’m in love.”

  We both stared at Ariana pacing in front of the car.

  “I am going to court that woman,” she said flatly. “Marry her and use your sperm to make sexy Superbabies to take over the city if you don’t.” She looked back at me over her Hello-Kitty glasses. “Stop being so stubborn. Give this one a break.”

  “I have—” I violently jerked at Ariana’s presence back at my window. She gave me a look up-and-down at my reaction then returned to her screen. “—something urgent I need to attend to,” she said.

  She toyed at some hair, forehead creasing at the email that held her attention better than me.

  “Hate to cut this short,” she said, hands clawed over the door so she could look me in the eye. “Please, Tyler, meeting at twelve tomorrow. I need you. You know all that’s at stake for all of us, more than just you and me.”

  Martin made eye-contact with me in the rear-view. He and Chrissy, both people I valued and whom I couldn’t afford in my life should the value of Tyler King Inc. drop too low.

  The real Tyler King had to step up.

  “Ari! Where ya headed?”

  I surprised even me when I hung out the door to follow after her. This woman was far too young to be looking as stressed as she did, today more than ever.

  “Get back in the car before anyone sees you,” she said. “It’s Sunday. I’m going to…do…things.”

  “Things? I can do things. Gives us an excuse to get to know each other better.”

  “I’m busy. Always.”

  “Are you blowing me off right now? That’s never happened before.”

  “I’m not. I have plans. Go back to your car.”

  “Plans?”

  “Regular…Sunday activities…Like working out…Walking my dogs…Whatever people do to kill time outside work, I’ll be doing that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I caught her elbow gently. “Promise me you’re not heading home to work on my life right now. Take at least one day off. You can’t work longer hours on me than I do on myself.”

  “Fine.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I like to work. Sue me.” A pause. “Actually, please don’t. It’s exhausting. Anyway, I’ve mountains of paperwork I need to organize—nothing to do with you—before my meeting with your girlfriend at eight.”

  Fast-talking Ari bit at a fingernail. I inhaled her another time.

  She made a quick glance upward at me then back down.

  We were standing toe-to-toe when a message popped up on her screen. I didn’t mean to see it but it sat right below my nose.

  Fine, Princess. Have it your way. See you in court bitch.

  “Tyler,” she said, stealing up hand to shake. “It’s been a pleasure. Tell Chrissy I said goodbye.”

  She strode off, her fist bundling her hair in frustration. Ariana, the wide-eyed workaholic confirmed to me pressure gets to even the better of us.

  “Hey, needa ride!” I yelled as I backed away.

  “No. All I need from you if you at that meeting!”

  The girl sure looked fine swaying away in those jeans.

  “God she is amazing,” Chrissy scoffed under me.

  I watched on powerless as my assistant overruled me, confirming the meeting on tomorrow’s calendar.

  10

  Jasmine faintly lingered on the paper of the contract.

  Fearless Ariana proved herself plenty worthy for my consideration. Thing like her, I’d expected her to run off, tail between her legs once she’d discovered the beast she needed to tame.

  But the harder I fought, the harder she wrangled.

  She had my attention. Now came the harder challenge of keeping it.

  “Has Richard called?” I asked Chrissy on my way out to get in a workout.

  My body had been healing fast, especially now I’d laid off the pain meds that kept me drowsy and weak.

  I’d ditched them all together today to have the strength to workout and get my condition back. Plus, I needed to be on form at the meeting in a few hours.

  Chrissy handed me a note. “No messages.”

  A simple sentiment.

  A heavy one.

  An expected one.

  I slipped the chair from under me and skid it across the wood floor. Richard, my father whom I’d called my hero once, had faded into the shadows of my past for good. This proved it.

  Despite my attack, shooting and declaration of death for a few minutes, the bastard had yet to swallow his damn pride and call his son. He resented my success and that I lasted this shit out longer than he could.

  “Gimme a minute,” I asked Chrissy and she left me alone.

  Only so many months I could sit here, rapping my fingernails on the counter staring at the damn phone. Someone had to be the bigger man.

  A minute passed on the microwave oven clock, I dialed.

  He’d had enough time to prove he gave a shit about me, to confirm he wasn’t using again like he’d promised. Silence was telling.

  My breathing picked up in the receiver. The phone rang…

  …And rang…

  …And rang…

  I almost hung up when a tired voice came over the line.

  “…Dad?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Tyler, Dad. How’re you?”

  “I’m…I’m doin’ fine. What do you want?”

  I stared through the glass of my large picture window at Central Park.

  Temper fizzed.

  Dad’s breath sounded strained.

  “You, uh, been watching TV lately?”

  He groaned. “Sold the set months ago. I’ve gotta be somewhere. I better be off now.”

  “Wait up, Pop. You read the news?”

  “I don’t read news anymore, boy.” A hacking cough, a long wheeze and the sound of a door closing. “I have to go.”

  My fist pounded the counter.

  The hopeless bastard’d turned back to the downers. A doc kept prescribing them for old football injuries and the dude refused to change clinics.

  I’d wanted him out our old town, away from temptations, in pricey assisted living village by the shore—but King’s don’t take well to people telling them what they should be doing.

  “Dad?”

  “I’m off. You take care now.”

  I cursed the motherfucker before he could hang up on me first.

  Knuckles white, I smashed the handset on the marble counter until the plastic splayed across the kitchen.

  I flexed out my hand. Knuckles glowed red.

  “Tyler, careful of your hands,” Chrissy rested a hand on my arm and passed me a bag of frozen peas.

  “I’m cool.” I shooed her away again. “You don’t need to see this again.”

  I thought of how my old man might’ve felt in my situation, at the fork in his career. Part of me hoped this would be the one time he had fatherly advice to give me.

  Like his son, Richard King played football— a star quarterback in the 70’s. The entire country routed for the boy with the golden smile to get drafted into the League. Opportunities for a lifetime, if he could reject temptation.

  Twenty-two years young, my dad gets lost in the East Coast nightlife scene. He found a new friend in dope.

  Sure, he dropped the needle but he never picked up a football again.

  King men would alw
ays be cursed to letting their vices win. That’s some cosmic shit I couldn’t challenge.

  This fork: Fix my issues with Ariana’s guidance or accept the end of my career—I couldn’t feel the importance of it.

  The only thing I knew was I wanted to play football.

  Dad probably thought the same.

  My cell phone blinked with an email.

  Ariana.

  Even a scrappy thing like her stood no chance against a King. I’d been teasing her on the idea that perhaps I’d change, this relationship would work.

  I knew deep down I didn’t have it in me.

  I scanned her email with every intention to reply with my decision: I’m out.

  The email covered the basics of my new girlfriend, Phoebe Rose Kite:

  24, token London “It-Girl”,

  …soap actress,

  …indie films,

  …sights set on Hollywood,

  …she’ll be back and forth between coasts. With your game tour schedule, you’ll rarely see each other…

  - Ari

  Rarely?

  A perfect fit almost.

  Almost.

  I stared at Phoebe’s headshot and had to do a double-take at the blonde hair and the snaggletoothed grin. I pinched my nose bridge, finding words.

  …Shady, manipulative and sick…the first few that came to mind thinking about Ariana.

  I’m sure I could think of more once I got her on the phone.

  A single ring?

  “You like her?”

  “She’s perfect, Ariana,” I said dryly while shaking up a hard drink.

  “Phoebe?” She sounded pleasantly surprised.

  “Gorgeous. Knockout,” I said.

  “Not the reaction I was expecting. Are you on your way here yet?” she asked. “Traffic’s pretty bad again and Yuri’s already giving me her devil stare.”

  Bad idea to call the girl after Richard pulled me taut. My temper got the better of me. I gave into it.

  “You chose her on purpose when I didn’t have the choice to say no,” I said.

  “E—Excuse me?” Ariana stammered. “What are—?”

  “We’re in too deep now with this whole thing, though, aren’t we? How long do people think me and Phoebe’ve been friendly? Two months, you said? You’re twisted, Ari. You would’ve had catalog of a thousand girls to choose from.”

  “She fell into my lap. She’s an LA account.”

  “Samantha, Ari, Samantha.”

  “I’m…not following. Samantha, your ex-girlfriend Samantha? ”

  “I’m familiar with her. Glad to see you are too. My question—why set me up with her lookalike?”

  “I—I’ve never even seen a photo of Samantha before.”

  “Sure. Bettie Binder over here didn’t look even a little bit into Tyler King’s dating history in her study time? You wanted us to trust each other, be in this together and all that bullshit. Heck, I started falling for it.”

  “Tyler, I didn’t pick Phoebe because she looked like Samantha. I wouldn’t do something so cruel like that.”

  “I did it again, mistook you as genuine. You’ve proven me right—You’re all a little loose in the head. That’s the only way to make it in your world.”

  “Tyler, Tyler wait! What about the meeting—? Stop running away!”

  I threw my cellphone into the fruit bowl.

  I’d have a decision once I’d reached the bottom of the half-empty bottle of Jack in the cabinet.

  Chrissy sat watching TV in the sunken lounge and I moved in behind her when I heard my name spoken.

  “Switch it back,” I said when she caught my reflection in the screen.

  “Tyler, I don’t know if…”

  “Chrissy.”

  “No confirmation yet if the league’s bad boy will be returning to play this season. Despite his less-than-savory behavior, King fans young and old remain in high hopes for their fallen hero’s return to the field before his team contract expires in March.”

  “I have fans?”

  A man in my jersey replaced the reporter on screen.

  I took a bitter swig.

  “I’ve watched that kid since his college days. He’ll never comprehend what he’s done for us, for the fans, the pride he’s brought us. He messed up, sure, but he’s young. I’m sure that was his wake-up call. He’s got that girlfriend to keep him in line now, got his second chance at happiness… Coach needs to let him keep that position a few more months. That’s his Bowl to win. Josh can wait for next year.”

  “Things seem to be heating up between the league’s most precocious playboy and long-term friend and British beauty, Phoebe Kite.”

  “Long-term friend?” Chrissy asked and changed the station.

  “Ariana’s masterful work.”

  “Marry her.” She arched her neck back to look at me, chewing on popcorn. “This Ariana girl, you need her. Seriously. That’s one of the the nicer clips I’ve seen in a long time.”

  The city clouded over. I could see La Maison’s building from here.

  “No,” I said, wiping my mouth. “I need you to do something for me first.”

  “Depends.”

  “Get me in touch with this Phoebe girl.”

  “Tyler, go to the meeting first. It’s not that big a deal. You were just wound up from Richard’s—”

  “—Stop, Chrissy. If I’m doing this, it’s gonna be on my terms and that starts with seeing if I can even be in the same room.”

  “Whatever you think is best, boss.”

  My front door slammed when she left through it.

  11

  My white leather pencil dress pooled in sweat. I couldn’t keep down my morning coffee thanks to nerve-induced vomits. The gaping pit in my stomach became harder to ignore. But I didn’t want to miss Tyler because I took lunch.

  I could now, however, since no way in hell would he show after me messing up like that.

  I should’ve been more meticulous. I’d been lazy doing a mere Google search instead of delving deeper. I could’ve dug up some photos of Samantha—from an old yearbook or something—and this could’ve been avoided.

  I strode down the hall, taking some slower steps right by the empty office…

  My office, what would’ve been.

  I brushed my finger along the ergonomic office chair.

  I had hours to redeem myself and zero plan. I’d never had a client tell me no before.

  Someone pinched my ass. I leaped with a squeak.

  “Damn girl, who’re you trying to impress?” KK said.

  “Tyler King is supposed to be showing up for his meeting but I’m giving up hope.”

  We fell down at some chairs around the conference table. KK reached for a cream cheese bagel in the center which I slapped from her hand.

  “Not for us.”

  “I missed the breakfast cart this morning, babe. I’m starving. Eat with me.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nonsense. Not hungry over a boy?” Her voice turned sing-songy. “Ariiii, what would Yuri dooo?”

  My mantra everyday, in most professional decisions—‘What would Yuri Kissinger Do?’ KK never let me live my drunk confession down.

  My head cocked. “She’d eat the bagel.”

  “Then eat a damn bagel. Don’t let Tyler or Yuri intimidate you. They sniff it out. Besides, he’s only a boy…A rugged, talented, fit. rich boy but a boy.”

  “He’s better in person,” I said, enjoying the lighter mood a minute.

  I forced my hand to pick a bagel from the basket, if only to stop my hands ripping any more tiny chunks off my meeting notes.

  “Better?”

  “Mm-hm,” I said and chewed my bite. “Unfairly attractive.”

  “Got a little crush, babe?”

  “Shh. No. He’s way too…big…and not my type at all. You know that.”

  “Whatever. That man is literally everybody’s type, male or female.” KK inhaled a last bite of a bagel, eyes growing.r />
  “Tick-tock, Ari,” came the call of Yuri Kissinger in all her harsh glory.

  I hid my stolen bagel up my skirt.

  “Hey, Yuri,” KK waved sarcastically. Almighty Yuri Kissinger rarely paid mind to wardrobe assistants.

  “You failed with him this soon, Ariana?” Yuri sung with a bitchy purse of her lips.

  “He’s stuck in traffic,” I lied. “He’ll be here.” For all I knew, he could be back at Brommer House and I had no way to stop him.

  I wished to collapse into a pool of my own self-pity.

  “Get. Him. Here,” she barked. “Those bagels are for executives and guests, by the way, not to shoved up your fucking skirt. You’ve got until four.”

  Like a lightning flash, here and gone again with her overworked assistant, Annie, trailing after her.

  I sighed. I both hated and worshipped that woman. Everything I aspired to be one day: Strong, confident, take-no-bullshit—The personification of everything this military brat was raised to be.

  I slipped the bagel from my skirt to throw in the trash. KK scowled. “I don’t have an appetite anyway.”

  “So, Tyler’s got your seal of approval. Does he have Phoebe’s? I can only assume the pairing is your masterful work.”

  “They haven’t met yet.”

  “What? Yes, they have.”

  I shook my head.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Yes. I swear I’ve seen them snapped out together.”

  “You forget how good I am at this.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I’m good. Though, I do owe a lotta people a lotta favors.”

  “Won’t he, like, taint her good girl thing she has going? And ruin her opinion of men forever?”

  “He’s not that bad. He’s just a boy, KK. ”

  “Tyler King, not that bad? I’ve know some acquaintances of mine who’d say opposite. Stories of him kicking girls out his loft at four in the morning come to mind?”

  “He told me he sent them all home in limousines. My one-night stands have ended in worse.”

  Why bother defending him?

  “Limo or not, you or Phoebe need to teach him a thing or two about how to be a gentleman, that’s for damn sure. Those dude’s bounce around pussy like they’s don’t have an intelligent being attached to them with thoughts and feelings.”