Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys) (27 page)

CHAPTER 21

The memory of Cory's body up against his, made Brett shift in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position. Early this morning he’d kissed her before taking off for Dallas. He wouldn’t let her make him coffee when she asked, and he refused to shower, choosing to spend the last second he could with her underneath him as he drove himself deep into her sweetness. Their parting kiss hovered in his thoughts as the miles sped by. Her laughter, the way her eyes captured the light, had kept him from taking a deep breath and made leaving her damn near impossible.

During the trip toward the training facility, the feel of her mouth swam in his mind as he twisted the steering wheel in his hand. He had not mentioned goodbye. The word never crossed his lips. Hell no. Everything that went into their kiss spelled out how he’d miss her and the promise of
I’ll see you soon
.

Now, back at the training facility, he had to get his head on straight. One week to prepare and then he’d be playing in San Diego. Not too far for Cory to travel. He’d have plane tickets waiting for her by the end of the day. And a hotel suite reserved. He sat in the trainer’s office, an ice pack on his shoulder, and humming under his breath.

“What the hell happened to you?” Paul asked with his customary clipboard in hand. He scribbled notes, rarely cracked a smile this go round, and then abruptly walked over to Brett. Ripping off several pieces of tape, Paul stuck them to the side of the padded exam table, then glanced up. “Thought you were quitting idiotic behavior.”

“Would it make a difference if I said this time I’m not guilty of losing my head?”

“Everyone says that. This ain’t court.”

“Brothers taking out their frustration. Nothing much to tell.”

“Oh, shit. Even better. Tack that on your list to avoid in the future. Flex your foot.” Paul began taping his ankle that had been twisted in the scuffle. The trainer shouted out orders for other trainers to follow as more and more players showed up for practice. “You’re on the radar of the people upstairs.”

“How do you know?”

“Doesn’t matter. I just do. And you’d better get with the program, walk the straight and narrow. You want to play ball here next year or not?”

“If we go to the Super Bowl, I’m hoping I’ll be invited back.”

“Of course you would. But you gamble with the stakes like this on some sort of one-horse race? If this team doesn’t win the playoffs, there’s going to be a rash of trades with New York. Even New Jersey is eager to get a couple of our guys. The owners are tired of the piss-poor whore-dog reputation this team has managed to acquire. The wild parties, arrests, and now the press has begun to focus on that nonsense instead of how well the team is playing. It's gotta stop. You’d better decide which side of the fence you’re on. You read me?”

“Loud and clear. Thanks, I’m not going to do something stupid.”

“Looks like you opened a can a whoop-ass stupidity over the weekend.”

Shit, he wasn’t going to defend himself. In part, he’d invited Cory’s brothers’ wrath. He’d fucked up, living a crazy as hell lifestyle. He was done shooting from the hip and wasn’t about to make excuses to the McLemores or his trainer. Just as he desired to teach Cory to curb her waywardness, he was ready to make some real changes and plan for a future. On the drive back, he had plenty of miles in which to get his head together. It was time to make his move where Cory was concerned. Game on.

“Can you look at my shoulder? It’s burning.”

“How much ibuprofen are you on?

“None.”

“Shit, Brett. You are playing a crooked game with your body.”

“Look, I’m serious this time around. Ice. Anti-inflammatories. Exercises.”

“You gotta do the exercises, not talk about doing them. And take the meds. Damn, you’re more stubborn than a bull.” Paul grabbed a bottle off the shelf, then set it down, picked up another and lobbed it over to Brett. “Merry Christmas.”

“I’ve got Raquel coming out.” Brett caught and opened the bottle, then shook out two tablets onto his palm. He tossed them to the back of his throat, chasing them with a gulp of water from his bottle. “Thanks.”

“You going against the contract?”

Brett’s NFL contract required he be seen by the official team physical therapists in Dallas. Lots of players went to private doctors and physical therapists, but no one discussed it outright. A few years ago, players seeking second opinions were rampant. All of sudden the team doctors were having to battle second and third opinions, and the players were in limbo, getting haphazard treatment and being benched. The team management required immediate care to be delivered and followed. Players could get other opinions as long as they were being treated and getting postgame care within that crucial twenty-four hour window.

“I’
m taking the fifth. I’ve been to the team doctors. I’m not going against their treatment.
Besides, I’ve known her for years and she’s helped out during training camp.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware of Raquel’s talents. She’s damn good. You say she’s going to be in town?” Paul asked, his fingers stopped kneading the area of Brett’s shoulder. “Where’s she staying?”

“Probably at my house. She did the last time.” Brett lowered his arm.

“At your place? Are the two of you hooking up?” Paul came around the table and stood in front of him. Instead of writing notes as he usually did, he continued to stare at Brett.

“Nah. She’s like a sister. I know her from school. We were in some classes together. We’ve had some similar issues. Not a thing more.” He wasn’t about to delve into the fact that Raquel had dyslexia and they’d both been in high school in Dallas and now traded war stories about what life had been like growing up. They understood each other and could discuss what they’d learned about resources and groups that helped versus those that were a waste of time and money. Same thing with a couple of the women the press liked to tag him with. It wasn’t up to him to discuss their issues. “Why are you asking? You want her to come work here?”

“I was just curious.”

“She’s got her own practice.” Brett watched his trainer become sullen as he ripped more strips of tape.

“Not news. She and I talked and yeah, she helped me out plenty during training in Oxnard.”

“Do you want me to tell her something?”

Paul glanced down, shifting his weight. “Hell, I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Raquel is seeing someone. I think.” Brett held up his hands. He didn’t know if he should tell Paul that Raquel had a new
wife.
And they were coming to his place straight from their Hawaiian honeymoon.

“Is it serious?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. From what she says it sounds serious. But talk to her if you want to find out more.”

“Might. When I see her. Thanks for the heads-up.”

During the offensive team meeting, Brett kept to himself. The usual player cliques were formed and he took a seat in the back corner, away from the party hogs. He plugged in his laptop and brought up the notes supplied by the offensive drill team’s assistant. During the layout of the schemes for plays, he typed key words to remember as the coaches broke apart the San Diego Knights’ defense and what to expect.

Brett fully intended to gain ground this game. Getting traded was not in the cards for this tight end. Not when he had a girl on the West Coast to keep tabs on. A trade to Chicago or worse, on the East Coast like New York or New Jersey would mean a long flight, not to mention that the spring training held up near Canada would be a nightmare.

Going into the full team meeting, Brett grabbed an icepack and two bottles of water. He sat in one of a few remaining seats. Mike was in back of him along with his crew of rowdy teammates.

“Good times last weekend?” Mike jabbed him in the side.

“The best,” he retorted. “Hear we’re supposed to be taking a stand against out of control happenings for a while.”

“I have no intention of toning down my style. I’ve got offers. This team doesn’t want me, then they, and whoever else has a problem, can kiss my ass.”

Brett exhaled. “Why not just reel it in for a couple of weeks? Things can change fast.”

“I appreciate where you’re coming from. But no. I don’t like being told what to do because it’s a PR thing. Who’s gonna be there for me if I get injured? Certainly not management. Short and simple: I do what I have to do to get by.”

“I guess we all do,” Brett said, and held the other man’s gaze.

“We’re cool. You want to come hang out, just let me know. Heard you scored this weekend. In the big leagues. Even had to call in the reinforcements. That girl is wild in the sack, took on three guys at a time.”

“You got the wrong story,” Brett growled, his chest growing tight.

“Don’t try and cover your tracks with me. I saw the pictures.”

“Seriously, I was with one girl. All weekend. Are you pulling my chain?”

“Hector, you’re into Facebook. Hook me up.” He swung his gaze back to Brett. “Every picture has a story to tell. What’s yours?”

The linebacker tossed his cell across and Mike caught it. Grunted at the image on the screen, then held it out in front of Brett’s face. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

A photograph of him in the lobby of the hotel when he’d said goodbye to Cory’s family and friends. Then another with Ashley and her hand on his arm. It made it look like they were intimately conversing. He wasn’t directly facing the camera of whoever shot the photograph. Then more of Ashley and other players. He scrolled down. Shit. A whole montage of her with several players. All naked and some of the men weren’t facing the camera. Just their bare asses and underneath a couple, he’d been tagged. Fuck.

He tossed the phone back across the table to Hector and met Mike’s eyes, “Hey man, only the ones with my clothes on,” he said in a strained voice.

“Sure thing, big dog.” Mike laughed.

“You two ladies want to take it outside, or shut your traps and look up here?” One of the assistant defense coaches shouted from the front.

Brett nodded, adjusting his laptop screen, and opened up the meeting notes. An hour and a half later, it was time to run through the first drill on the field. He ruminated over what he’d seen online. The page hadn’t even belonged to anyone he recognized, but he’d sent a text message to himself to remember the Facebook page of the girl who posted the photographs. On his way to the lockers, he phoned his agent.

“Max,” he barked. “How long does it take to get photographs taken down?”

“What are we talking about? Is this about copyright violation?”

“No. This is about posting pictures of me online.”

“Oh, you can’t do much about that.”

“Even when photos aren’t me? I’m talking tagged with my name and the photographs are of some naked dude.”

“And you’re sure they’re not you?” Max asked.

Brett couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “This isn’t a game, Max. I’d know if I was in some room with a girl and a bunch of other guys having sex. And I wasn’t!”

“Holy crap. You didn’t mention the group sex part. Send me all the info you’ve got and I’ll get right on it.”

“I’m sending it over right now. Let me know the next step. I want this taken care of by the end of the day.”

“Hey, I’m not promising I can work that fast.”

“On this one, you’d better.” Brett said in voice that meant total fucking business.

“I take it this one is causing backlash.”

“You got it. And if I get burned I’m not going to be happy. You get my meaning?”

“Shit yeah.”

They hung up and Brett went into the locker room to change. He avoided the usual trade of wisecracks and ribbing that went on and focused on running the plays through his mind. All the while, a firebomb of frustration built within him, twisting his gut. No matter how he focused on the plays, his mind kept returning to Cory. He kept telling himself, she’d know the photographs were fakes. But what about her family or friends? How could anyone else know? The backlash would sting; up close and uncomfortable with crude comments in Cory’s face. Or worse…from insidious gossip that ran like a wildfire and in ways he and she couldn’t defend, even if they wanted to. He needed to reach out to her and somehow prepare her, but doing it over the phone didn’t set right with him when he couldn’t see her reaction, gauge what to do next.

~~~

On the field, the coaching assistants marked out the plays, dishing out reminders to each player of what they were up against. The practice team lined up for the scrimmage. Brett was on his mark and at the snap from the quarterback, he caught the short pass and took off charging ahead. He ended up clipped and on his back with the wind knocked out of him in a rookie move of running without considering his options.

The rodman shook his head. First down and he’d actually lost ground behind the line of scrimmage. The cornerback who laid into him helped him up and he eyed the other player, grunting a thanks. Wasn’t about to tell the defense to lighten up. Brett walked back to the squad where the three team quarterbacks and offensive coach were waiting.

“That would work if your eyes were on the field, not daydreaming, darling.” Colin, the veteran quarterback, ribbed him. “Gotta love the first day back after a holiday.” He socked Brett in the arm as he walked by toward the line.

“Let’s do it again,” Brett growled. “I’m ready.” Hell, he was ready to plow through a wall after his last fool move, wanting to recover ground and his reputation.

Again, the play was called out, the countdown, and then the play went into action. Brett sprinted and changed tactics. Clenching his jaw, he careered through a pair of defensive players, turned and caught the ball in midstride, rotated and came down, sprinting until he was knocked to the turf. Not exactly what he wanted, but at least the ball had moved down the field. He looked over to the chain gang and the lineman marked a ten-yard gain. Hector reached out to him and pulled him up.

Cocking his head, Hector motioned with his chin toward the sideline. “The camera dude caught it. I’m betting you’ll get to see that one replayed when we get our heads handed to us. Lucky you.” If there was time before lunch the offense would regroup inside and watch the videos of the plays they’d just done. The coaches and assistants would dissect the moves, addressing what went right and what didn’t.