Huddle With Me Tonight (3 page)

“Luck?” Torrian’s head reared back. “Somebody needs to tell baby girl that’s not luck; it’s natural-born talent.”

“I don’t care what you call it, as long as you keep it up,” Theo said from the opposite side of the table. “My finger is tired of being naked. I’ve got to get me a Super Bowl ring before I retire.”

A fistful of popcorn went sailing past Theo’s head. “Aw, man, cut that out. You’re not going anywhere,” Cedric said.

“I think he’s bluffing, too,” Torrian said. He looked over at Cedric. “You better pick up that popcorn before you leave.”

“I will, Wood, damn,” Cedric grumbled. He nodded toward Theo. “Straight up, Theo, you really thinking about retiring?”

“Heck, yeah,” the twelve-year-veteran middle linebacker answered. “If I don’t hang my shoulder pads up soon, both my knees will be shot to hell. Remember, I’m not as young as you boys. My body’s been taking hits for a long time.”

Torrian sat back in his chair, toying with his dominoes. He and Theo had talked about his eventual retirement, and Torrian knew the real story. Theo had his sights set on a commentator job with a new cable sports network that was starting up next year.

“What’s happening on the entertainment scene, Karen?” came the news anchor’s overly excited voice.

Jared nodded to the screen. “Sports is over. Change it to the San Diego/Seattle game.”

Torrian grabbed the remote and was poised to flip the channel when he heard, “Speaking of the Sabers star wide receiver, it looks like Torrian Smallwood’s luck
did
run out, at least as far as his book is concerned.” The news anchor’s voice was saccharine sweet as she continued. “The lady with her finger on the pulse of New York’s entertainment scene, Paige Turner, had a less-than-favorable review of the Sabers player’s upcoming book. She found the writing elementary, and the recipes a joke. Viewers can read the rest of what Ms. Turner had to say by logging on to Big Apple Weekly dot com.”

The only sound in the room was the crunch of the potato chip Cedric had just stuffed in his mouth.

Torrian turned to face his teammates. “Who the hell is Paige Turner?”

Cedric looked at him as if he were from another planet. “You don’t know Paige Turner? Man, I hardly even read and I know who Paige Turner is.”

“
Hardly
read?” Jared asked.

“Shut up,” Cedric shot back.

“You want to stop the nonsense and tell me just who this Paige Turner is and why she’s important enough for the evening news to care what she thinks about my book?”

Theo waved him off. “Don’t sweat it, man. People are going to scoop up that book because of who you are, no matter what.”

“I don’t know, Wood.” Cedric shook his head. “Paige Turner holds some power when it comes to what’s happening around the city.”

A couple of the popcorn kernels that had hit Theo made their way back across the table as he flung them at Cedric’s head.

“Are you really going to listen to a man who probably hasn’t read a book since elementary school?” Theo asked.

Cedric came back with a reply, but Torrian had tuned out their bickering. He was more concerned with this Paige Turner person, and just how influential she was with New Yorkers.

Torrian had no doubt his book would sell. He had fans across the country. But his prime objective was making the restaurant a success for Deirdre, and he had purposely intertwined the restaurant and book. If the book garnered any negative attention, it could possibly spill over to the restaurant.

This was his sister’s dream. He wasn’t about to let some critic mess things up.

“I need to check out something upstairs,” Torrian said, dropping his dominoes and pushing away from the table.

“Oh, come
on
, man!”

“We’re in the middle of a game!”

“I’ll be right back,” Torrian called. “Order another pizza.”

He climbed the stairs that led from his professionally decorated basement/recreation room to the main floor of the four-story brownstone he owned in New York’s low-key Murray Hill neighborhood. His living space occupied the basement and first two floors. He’d had the third floor converted into a two-bedroom apartment for Deirdre and Dante, and the entire fourth floor held a state-of-the-art workout facility.

Torrian entered his office, logged on to the Internet and typed
Big Apple Weekly
into the search engine. It took him to the magazine’s home page. The cover of his book was front and center. Torrian clicked on it.

“Hey, Wood, what you up to?”

Torrian turned, finding Theo just inside the door. “Nothing,” he said.

“Yeah, right,” Theo laughed. His teammate hitched his head toward the computer. “That’s home girl? Dang, Cedric wasn’t lying.”

“What?” Torrian turned his attention back to the screen.

And froze.

It was
her
. Olivia.

And she looked even better than she had at the grocery store he and Theo had stepped into on their way to Theo’s apartment yesterday. She had light brown eyes, a short, Halle Berry-before-the-
X-Men
-movies haircut, and a smile like somebody with a secret to tell.

“That can’t be her,” Torrian whispered under his breath. But it was. The headshot smiling back at him was the same woman who’d occupied his mind for the past twenty-four hours. Other than today’s game, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything for longer than a few minutes before those thoughts were trampled out of his mind by images of her.

“What’d she say about the book?” Theo asked.

Torrian clicked on her picture. It opened up another page.
Page Turners with Paige Turner
ran across the top, in a flowing red script.

Hugging the left side of the screen was a full body shot of her in a self-assured pose, her arms crossed over her chest and a confident, yet soft, smile gracing her lips. Those light brown eyes were so vivid that they nearly popped off the screen. It was a big difference from the beauty in jeans and a baseball cap, though both had taken his breath away as effectively as a linebacker’s shoulder to his solar plexus.

Disbelief and disappointment pummeled his chest, then was instantly replaced by the kind of resentment he’d not felt toward a woman in a long time. Who’d given Olivia…Paige…whatever her name was, the right to trash his book?

“Ah, she’s got a blog,” Theo said.

Torrian flashed Theo a sardonic glare. “I don’t do blogs. The only thing I use the Internet for is answering fan e-mails and surfing ESPN.com.”

His teammate pushed Torrian’s hand away from the computer mouse. “You need to keep up with the times, Wood. I’m thinking about starting up a blog myself.” Theo scrolled down the page. Torrian caught a glimpse of his book cover.

“Hold on. Go back up.”

Theo slowly scrolled up the page.

The Fire Starter’s Book Leaves Me Cold,
was in bold letters.

Theo started reading the paragraph under the heading out loud. “Fans of the New York Sabers should be relieved that Torrian Smallwood plays ball better than he tells a story.”

“I can read,” Torrian shot at him. He continued reading to himself.

Being a huge Sabers fan, I wanted to love this book, but in deference to my promise to remain honest with my readers, the most I can give Torrian Smallwood’s book is two out of five coffee cups, and one of those cups is strictly for the drool factor of the wide receiver’s picture on the front cover. For those who enjoy a little beefcake in the kitchen, Mr. Smallwood’s book cover definitely delivers.

However, that’s all it delivers. If you’re expecting engaging writing, look elsewhere. While I feel for Torrian Smallwood’s plight, losing his parents at the age of fifteen and being raised by his older sister, I just don’t get what makes his story unique. Half the players in the National Football League defied the odds to land where they are now. Does Torrian Smallwood deserve a space on your coveted bookshelves because of his slightly interesting life? This reader doesn’t think so.

As for the cookbook aspect of this “literary doubleheader,” I was actually impressed with some of the recipes. When followed to the letter, there are a few very tasty dishes. Their titles, however, leave much to be desired. I can only assume the publisher’s goal was to charm readers with the footballesque theme, but whoever chose the unimaginative recipe names should be bused to the very end of the creative writing chain. The recipe titles managed to land Mr. Smallwood’s book in the ridiculous category.

Straightening from where he’d been leaning over Torrian’s shoulder, Theo let out a low whistle. “Dawg, she chewed you up and spit you out.”

Torrian sat back in his chair, torn between being hurt and being royally pissed off. He’d told his agent those recipe titles were stupid. But for her to call his life only
slightly
interesting?
That
chafed his skin like a bad rash.

“What difference does it make what she thinks about my book?” Torrian flicked a nonchalant wave at the screen. Although, to him, it
did
matter.

“Looks like it makes a difference to some people out there. There’s already a hundred sixty-eight responses.”

Torrian clicked where Theo pointed. Theo read the first three responses out loud, which all echoed the same thought: The review wouldn’t affect their decision to buy the book or eat at the Fire Starter Grille as soon as they were able to get a reservation. Torrian felt vindicated. He knew his fans wouldn’t let some book critic influence them.

“Told you,” Theo said. “For some crazy reason, people just like you.”

Torrian went back with his elbow, playfully catching his teammate in the gut. Torrian had to admit her review had affected him. Everything about her had.

A thought occurred to him, nearly knocking Torrian out of his chair. This review must be why she’d turned down his invitation for coffee. She knew she’d just ripped his book to shreds and posted it for the entire world to see. He hadn’t just imagined that spark that had ignited between them.

But did it even matter now? Looking back at the computer screen and the words Olivia—Paige, he reminded himself—had written about him, the spark had undeniably fizzled. Yet he couldn’t deny it was still there, smoldering like embers just waiting to catch fire. From the moment his eyes had connected with hers, Torrian had been seized by the instant attraction that had arced between them.

The doorbell rang.

“Probably the pizza,” Theo said. “Forget about this, Wood. We need to finish up the domino game. I’m meeting Latoya for dinner tonight, and I want to chill out at the crib before heading back out again.”

“She remembers I’m coming to see her later this week?” Torrian lowered his voice, even though the only other people in the house were still downstairs in the basement. Theo’s sister, Latoya Stokes, MD, was his personal ophthalmologist, and the soul of discretion, thank goodness.

“Yeah, she knows,” Theo said.

Satisfied after reading the first few responses to Paige Turner’s bogus review, Torrian shut down the Internet and followed Theo out of his office. He refused to even acknowledge the hurt that continued to tug at his chest.

He wouldn’t think about an insignificant chance encounter in the produce section when he thought of Paige Turner. She couldn’t be that woman to him. She was the woman who’d trashed him and publicized it to the world.

That’s
what he would remember when he thought of Paige Turner.

Chapter 3

“T
ell Dante I have that jersey he asked for,” Torrian said to his sister. He grinned as Deirdre went on another tirade about Dante being spoiled.

Hanging up the phone, he skimmed e-mails, answering a few but ignoring the haters who always found something to criticize, even after he had stellar games like the one he’d had today. His dropped pass in the third quarter only fueled their criticism, even though he’d made up for it with two fourth-quarter touchdowns.

He told himself not to do it, yet Torrian found himself typing the Web address for
Big Apple Weekly.
He clicked on the link to Paige Turner’s blog.

It was up to 347 comments.

“Damn, it’s only been a few hours.”

He skimmed over the comments he’d read earlier, smiling at the way his fans stuck up for him. As he scrolled down the page, Torrian’s smile, along with his stomach, started to drop. More and more people were agreeing with Paige, saying that pro athletes should stick to what they do best. One fan posted that she thought it was a joke that Torrian Smallwood would try to put out a book. That it was an even bigger joke that he would try opening a restaurant.

Torrian’s stomach bottomed out.

No.
No.

Talking about him or his book was one thing; bringing the Fire Starter Grille into the mix was an entirely different matter. There was too much riding on the restaurant’s performance—the realization of his sister’s lifelong dream.

And now, because of one woman’s opinion, hundreds of New Yorkers were starting to doubt its appeal.

Without thinking, Torrian clicked on the Add a Comment button and fired off a response to Paige Turner. He hit the submit button and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

Then his common sense kicked in.

“What in the hell did I just do?”

He searched frantically for a way to retract his response, his entire body sagging in relief when he saw the message in italics under his comment stating that he had five minutes to edit or delete his response before it would be permanently archived.

“Guess they put that in for stupid hotheads who react before they think,” Torrian murmured. He scrolled over the Edit button.

“Uncle T! Help!”

Torrian’s heart stopped at his nephew’s yelp. He hopped up from behind his desk and ran out of his office. Dante came charging around the corner.

“What’s going on?”

“Your sister. She’s gone crazy!” Dante ran past Torrian and slammed the office door closed.

Deirdre came stomping through the front door.