Fair Game: A Football Romance (28 page)

“What time is it?” I ask. She lifts up her head a couple of inches off the pillow and squints at the clock on the table behind me.

“Eight thirty I think. Why do you have such an old clock anyway?”

“It was my adoptive mother’s. She had a thing about time, so I took it from her when I left home. Violet?”

“Yeah?”

“Your eyes are red. Do you wear contacts?”

She groans. “Yes, damn it, they hurt. I keep leaving them in. Now I’ll have to wear my glasses to the bridal shower.”

I push back the covers and slide out of her, still semi-hard. She makes a faint sound of disapproval in her throat when I leave her in the bed alone. But when I return with a bottle of saline solution and a new contact lens case, she is appreciative.

“You wear contacts too?” she asks.

“No, I used to. I had Lasik, but I had a new bottle of saline, and I always used new contact cases when I got a new pair.”

She sits up in bed, and I open one side of the cases and fill it with saline as she removes a contact. She slips it into the fluid and we repeat the process for the other eye.

“Better?” I ask.

“Well, my eyes feel better, but now I can’t see shit.”

I chuckle. “I think you’ve seen plenty for a one-morning stand.”

She wilts, and I realize my screw up.

“Until next time, of course.”

“I think we should have a next time one more time before you take me back to the hotel.”

“Hmm, so a two-morning stand?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“I suggest we continue in the shower so we will be ready to go when we’re done.”

“Excellent time management, Major Steele,” she says, playfully referring to my noisy ticking clock. I actually hate that fucking clock and what it represents, but I’m not telling Violet stories about my mother. I’d rather concentrate on taking her into the shower and bending her over to give her a second proper Good Morning.

“Ready to yell oorah?”

“Oorah, Marine,” she says, and I scoop her up and carry her to the shower where she did in fact yell Oorah . . . more than once.

Chapter Eight

Violet

Boring showers and pregnant dates.

Belle blushes bright red when she lifts the lid off the gift my mother gave her. God only knows what’s in that box. I’m so glad I chose not to go in on something with her. Belle’s ultra-conservative mother is hosting the shower today. She’s a stuffy, formal woman. She looks like a vintage Barbie doll in a 1950s pencil skirt and button-up jacket with a peplum—minus the big tits. It’s a ridiculous outfit on this eighty-five-degree day. I told Mom to save the risqué gifts for the bachelorette party, but she loves to stir up shit.

“I think I’ll save this one for later,” Belle says quickly, replacing the lid on the box. Her mother lifts one eyebrow at my mom but looks at the tag on the gift and clucks her tongue anyway before she removes it from Belle’s lap.

Mom has developed a bit of a wild, carefree reputation since my father died, and we all come from the same community. Belle’s mother, Marjorie, turns her nose up and twists in her chair to slide the box way in the back under the table behind her. She has been painstakingly logging each gift into a wedding book as they are being opened, but Mother’s is getting the shaft. There will be no entry that says
barely there, red see-through negligee set from Lilly Washington
on her gift list.

I’ll be sure to snatch it up and take it if they conveniently leave it there after the shower. I’m no prude, and I know my mother. It’s probably something kinky or over the top sexy. No sense in letting it go to waste. I’ll bet Major and I could find some trouble to get into together with a gift like that.

Major. Memories of last night and this morning have been replaying over and over in my mind ever since he dropped me off at the hotel. Flashes of his strong, weathered tan hands on my brown skin, his full lips on my breasts, the way his face exploded with pure bliss when he—

“Violet, Violet.”

“Oh, sorry.” Mom pats me on the leg when Belle calls out my name to thank me for my gift.

“Thank you. This is so awesome. I love it,” Belle says, holding up the Facebook photo album I made using all of the photos of her and Mattie posted during their relationship.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s a little different from the ones available online. I had them add a few special touches. Just one of the perks of working for Facebook, ya know?”

“Thank You, Mattie will love it too.” She hugs the album to her chest and hands it to her mother, who I’m sure has no idea what Facebook is. But she doesn’t scoot it under the table with Mom’s gift, so I take that as a compliment.

All of Belle’s friends start to buzz about what’s in the next package, and my mind wanders back to this morning again.

“Wow, Vie, you have stars in your eyes. What did that man do to you last night?” Mom asks.

“Nothing,” I answer honestly. He didn’t do anything to me last night. It was this morning that he rocked my world off its foundation.

“Oh, come on, Vie, tell me about it. He’s gorgeous, successful and he’s a Marine. He’s perfect for you,” she says, bouncing up and down in her seat and clapping her hands together quietly so as not to interrupt the gift opening.

“He’s nice.”

“Nice? You need to give me more than nice or I may disown you right here, right now.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “He’s polite, and clean—like crazy clean. He has a nice house, but it’s really cold and impersonal. He has good wine and granite countertops.”

“Wait, why did you mention granite countertops? Did something dirty happen on the kitchen counter?”

“No, he sat me on it but we just talked and drank wine.”

Her face wilts. She’s disappointed, but not for long.

“So did you have any sleepwalking episodes?”

I don’t answer her. I’m not crazy about discussing my sex life with my mom. We don’t live together and haven’t for years. I’m not accountable to anyone. Who I sleep with and why is my business.

“Oh come on, Violet, it’s been forever since you had a boyfriend. I’m excited for you, and I like this one.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. I just met him yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you should have seen the fireworks exploding above your heads at Target. There was chemistry, pure chemistry. And at the bar last night, I saw how he looked at you. He’s got it bad for you, honey. You realize that, right?”

No, I don’t, but this uncomfortable conversation isn’t going to end until I throw her a bone.

“All right, yeah, we like each other. I sleepwalked into his kitchen and slept on the floor, and we had mind-blowing sex in the morning before he brought me home. Satisfied?”

A broad smile spreads across her lips and she pulls me into a side hug without leaving her chair.

“There, that wasn’t so difficult now, was it? When are you seeing him again?”

I hadn’t even thought about that. I was in such a rush to get back to the hotel to make the shower on time, we never made solid plans.

“You got his phone number, didn’t you, Vie? Tell me you got his phone number or he has yours.”

“Well, no. I . . . there was never an appropriate time to exchange numbers,” I say, trying to think back to our time together to see if there had been.

Mom smacks her forehead with the heel of her hand and groans. “Violet, where’s your head? You just had mind-blowing sex with a great guy and you didn’t think about how to contact him?” She slumps back into the plush cream-colored chair, draping her arms over the arms of it dramatically.

“He’s a Major, Mom. I’m sure he’s not that hard to find.” I worry my lip a bit. “And I know where he lives,” I say, pointing my finger at her.

“Well yes, there’s that. Did you talk about the wedding anymore? He needs to know when and where it’s going to be.”

“Someone at the table last night mentioned that it was at the base and Taye told him Saturday, so . . .”

She’s shaking her head back and forth.

“Mother, stop. We found each other twice in twenty-four hours without trying. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

She shrugs and swipes her mimosa off the table, downing it in one swallow.

I hope I’m right. Major is the first man I’ve considered seeing more than once in a long time. I’d hate to let him slip away.

Mom elbows me gently, and I look to where she’s got her eyes trained down the table at Kimber. Her skin glows in her pretty pale pink empire dress that hides her baby bump well. I wonder what I would look like pregnant. Where the hell did that thought come from? I do not care what I would look like pregnant. I’ll never be pregnant. Well, not for a long time anyway. Kimber is so sad right now without Caleb. I hope when the baby comes, it will make her happy. He’s an idiot to leave her. No matter what happened between them, I know one thing for sure. Kimber is sweet and kind and she couldn’t hurt a fly, so I’m leaning toward Caleb being the fuck-up in that marriage.

Kimber has been sitting quietly, observing but not participating in conversation. She feels left out.

“Go down there. Talk to her,” Mom says.

Belle has just opened a ridiculously large Waterford crystal vase. Everyone is oohing and ahhing over it when I take the opportunity to move down to the end of the table, where Kimber has separated herself by a few empty chairs.

She sits up straighter in her chair when she sees me approaching.

“Hey, girlie, how’s it going?”

“Hi, Violet, oh you know. Pregnant, can’t drink or stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time, but other than that, peachy.”

She smiles and I grimace. I should have stayed with Mom. I’m no good at this sort of thing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to complain. Well yeah, I do, but I don’t want to be a party pooper. This is all just really hard,” she says, flicking her wrist down the long table of country club snobs.

“I get it. It’s okay, you can bitch to me all you want. This isn’t my kind of thing either. I’m more of a bachelorette party kind of girl.”

Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. She just got done complaining about not being able do drink.

“Sorry, that’s not what you want to hear either, is it?”

“It’s okay, I’m not a big drinker anyway. It’s just all the wedding stuff in general. It wasn’t that long ago when I was at the head of a table like this surrounded by all of my friends, dreaming of a future full of happiness and rainbows.”

I cover her hand with mine. I don’t know why. I suck at comforting people, but something tells me she needs the contact.

“What happened, Kimber? You and Caleb were so happy. You seemed perfect for each other.”

She bites her lip and looks at my hand covering hers before answering.

“We were so happy, and everything was going along just like it’s supposed to. We were together for two years, we both had good jobs, we bought a house, and then I got pregnant.” She rests her hand on her little bump and tears fill her eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No. I haven’t talked to many people about it, but my therapist says I should. It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Weren’t you and Caleb planning on having kids?”

“Yes, that’s just it. We talked about having a couple of kids when we were dating, no big, giant Brady Bunch family or anything, but one or two. We never said exactly when, though, and Caleb insists that I got pregnant on purpose without consulting him, but I swear I didn’t. I was on the pill. I took it on time every day, but somehow, I got pregnant anyway. He was angry, said I manipulated our marriage or something. I don’t even understand what he meant, but he wouldn’t forgive me. And then he met Chrissie and used her as a weapon to get back at me for making him a father earlier than he wanted to be. He cheated on me purposely, knowing I have serious trust issues. I didn’t even do anything wrong. I just slept with my husband like any wife would do and accidentally got pregnant. He went crazy though, swore there was no way that could happen unless I messed up. He wouldn’t even believe the doctors when they told him it happens all the time.”

A fat, round tear escapes one of her beautiful ocean blue eyes and rolls down her cheek onto her dress, making a wet spot where it lands.

“That’s insane, like really, it seems sort of mental. Has he ever seemed paranoid before? Did he think you were cheating when you weren’t?’

“No, never, I thought of that. I’ve wondered if he met Chrissie and used the pregnancy as an excuse to get out so he could be with her.”

“Are they still together?”

“Yeah, they’re here together for the wedding.”

“No fucking way,” I say on exhalation with my mouth hanging open. What a fucking bastard. I have the overwhelming urge to kick that baby-faced fucker’s ass.

“I’ve only seen them once in the hotel lobby. She’s my complete opposite in every way, like he’s trying to purge himself of me. She’s a brunette, brown eyed dingbat who dresses like a stripper. Oh my God, maybe she’s a stripper, Violet.”

I can’t see Caleb with a stripper, but then I couldn’t see him as a cheating bastard until now either.

“He probably feels like an ass about what he did, so he chose someone who wouldn’t remind him of you.”

Kimber sniffles, and I look around for something for her to blow her nose on. Mom thrusts a tissue over my shoulder to Kimber, and she looks up at her, accepting it and blowing her nose.

“Let’s get outta here, ladies. I’m bored to death watching Belle open cut glass and recipe boxes,” Mom says in a whisper.

I give Kimber a
what do you think
look and she nods yes.

“Belle, thank you, dear, for inviting us. Kimber isn’t feeling well and Violet and I are going to walk her back to her room,” Mom calls down the table.

Belle waves. “Thanks for coming, guys. Feel better, Kimber.”

Belle’s mother looks relieved to have us go, but not more relived than I feel.

Mom takes Kimber’s hand and helps her up like an invalid instead of a pregnant woman, and we exit the private room and giggle when we reach the front doors of the country club.

“Thank you so much. I couldn’t handle much more of that,” Kimber laughs.

“I’d rather watch a cactus grow in the dessert,” Mom says.

“So now what? We have all afternoon before tonight’s Karaoke wedding get together.” I say.

“I’ve been dying to go to the beach since we got here. Are you two up for some sand and sun?” Mom says.

I look at Kimber. It’s up to her. I’m always down for some beach time.

“Yeah, actually, that sounds good, but I don’t have a suit. I wasn’t planning on swimming this week.”

“No problem, we can stop and get you one on the way. I can always use another swimsuit,” Mom says.

So we’re off to swimsuit shop and spend time at the beach, and I couldn’t be happier for the distraction, because I was really beginning to worry about not having Major’s phone number.

Mom finds this cute shop that only sells swimwear, and we are all looking through racks and racks of swimsuits when I find the perfect one for Kimber.

“Look, this is so you,” I say, holding it up for Mom and Kimber to see. It’s a black one-piece with large circle cutouts on the sides. It’s sexy as hell, and it’ll accentuate her baby bump perfectly.