Preseason Love (24 page)

“Hello, I'm here to see William Reid,” I said to the tall brunette with piercing, blue eyes at the post behind the front desk.

“Sure, one moment,” she replied with a strong accent, possibly Russian.

“Mr. Reid will be down to greet you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

I walked over to the lounge area to take a seat. I figured I should save all of the feet time that I had left—unless I planned on having him carry me at some point. It felt odd asking for a fictitious name at the front desk, but I did as instructed. I knew the deal. He was a well-known athlete. Lucky for me, he wasn't the type that the paparazzi followed around regularly.

“Hey, sexy.”

My stomach dropped like I was going down the first major dip on the Goliath roller coaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain. I recognized the voice, so I stood and turned around to greet Byron. He looked good. Actually, damn good. Oh the wonders of what a little money and excellent grooming could do for a man.

I smiled. “Hi, Byron.”

He leaned down to embrace me and the whiff of his cologne was mesmerizing. I tried to play it cool, though.

“Ready?” Byron asked.

“Sure,” I quickly responded.

We headed outside to the awaiting car service. The doorman swiftly opened the door to the SUV and as I got in, he winked at me. I smiled back. I imagined that he was telling me “Get it, girl,” since I knew that the little old man with the white hair was not trying to be fresh. Once we were settled in the car, Byron put his hand on my knee and asked if I was hungry. I wasn't starving, but I knew that I could eat a little something so I said yes.

“My man, take us to the Waverly Inn, please.”

Oh hell no.
I looked at Byron and he was totally clueless.

“Byron,” I said in a soft tone, “We can't go there.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but since I work for The League…”

In an instant, it became clear. “My fault, I wasn't thinking. I don't want to put you in an awkward or compromising situation.”

“Thank you.”

“Give me a second. Where else can we go?”

“How about The Stanton Social on the Lower East Side? Have you been there before?” I asked. The paparazzi would not be staked out there.

“No, let's do it.”

We arrived at the restaurant with no reservation and no entourage, but the manager seemed to be quick on his toes. He politely interrupted the hostess and informed us that he would show us to our table. Maybe it was Byron's height or his familiar face. Either way, the special treatment we received was something I could get used to. The manager led us upstairs to a cozy booth just big enough for Byron to squeeze into.

“What type of food does this place have?”

“They serve a variety of tapas dishes. The food is really good. If you like seafood, I would recommend the red-snapper tacos.”

“So you brought a man of my size to a place that serves small plates?” Byron said.

I laughed. I hadn't even thought of it that way. He was a good sport about it, though.

“I guess I'll have to order ten of everything.”

“Okay, now you're being excessive.”

“I like being excessive sometimes,” he said with a smirk. “I thought you figured that out already.”

Staying true to form, when he ordered, Byron instructed the waitress to bring us four of everything off of the food menu. By the time she came over to offer us dessert, we had a table filled with half-eaten plates of food and had no room for dessert. Instead, we continued our conversation about our favorite albums.

“I rock with artists that are consistent, like Jay-Z and T.I.,” I said. “They never disappoint.”

Byron said as he looked around like he was scanning the room for someone, “I feel you.”

“Are you all right? Expecting someone?” I questioned.

“No, not at all,” he said with a stern confidence. “So, how do you feel about Mary J. Blige?”

“Love her. She's like a big sister in my head. I can remember
dressing like her and knowing the words to all of her songs when I was growing up.”

Byron laughed.

“Don't laugh at me! You run this game about wanting to know more about me, I tell you, and then you laugh!”

“I'm sorry, my bad. You're right,” Byron said as he grabbed my hand. “How about this? Are you still down to keep the night going after we finish up here?”

“That depends.”

“Well, if you decline, then I'll have to go see the Jay-Z and Mary J. concert solo.”

He let the comment hang in the air as if he expected me to beg him like a little child who wanted a piece of candy. What he didn't know was that I had already been to the show the other night with two of my friends. Of course I wanted to go again with him, though. Inside, I was geeked, but my response had to be cool and collected.

“That would be absolutely no fun going alone, and since I'd hate to set you up for a miserable night…I guess I can accompany you.”

“You're feisty. I like it.”

The driver was waiting outside of the restaurant as soon as we exited. We headed uptown riding along the Westside Highway listening to Jay to get us in the mood. I resisted every urge that I had to text Dev and tell her who I was with and where I was going. She knew nothing about Byron and now was not the time to let that cat out of the bag. So I sat back, bobbed my head to the beats and enjoyed what seemed like a fantasy ride.

We pulled up to Madison Square Garden in the heart of mid-town Manhattan where gobs of people, cars, cabs, bikes, and buses were moving at a rapid pace. There I was on a secret date in one
of the least discreet locations one could ever designate. This was one of the biggest hip-hop/R&B concerts to hit the Garden, so we knew that there would be paparazzi lurking around the VIP entrance. Byron told me to get out of the car first and he handed me my ticket. He said that he would have the driver circle the block before dropping him off and that he would meet me inside. As I went to grab the door handle, he called my name. I turned back to look at him. I blinked my long, black lashes and before I knew it, his lips were touching mine. It was one of the sweetest kisses ever.

Byron found me once he made it inside. We grabbed drinks backstage before heading to our floor seats where the view of the stage was amazing. The show was about to start so the house lights had begun to dim. The Dream was the opening act and he was good, but I was ready for my girl Mary to hit the stage.

“Are you okay?” Byron yelled into my right ear.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to keep it short and sweet since it was hard to hear.

When Mrs. Mary J. finally stepped on the stage, she looked as fierce as ever. All black everything like me. She had on her fly, trademark, thigh-high boots, hair was styled in a blonde bob, and she started hitting her signature Mary moves.

Jay and Mary on the stage together felt right. Byron and I both sang and rapped along like two teenagers at a B2K concert. I liked the fact that he did not zone out on me. He was into the music yet completely aware of the fact that I was by his side. I didn't want the show to end. I was having so much fun.

Before the finale song concluded, we made our way toward the backstage area. I wasn't used to this quasi-celebrity life, so I followed Byron's lead.

“I need to stop at the ladies room.”

“Okay, I'll wait right here,” Byron said.

I left Byron standing in the hallway, which was filled with tons of people. Everyone who was anyone was at that show. I tried to make my restroom stop as quick as possible, but apparently, I wasn't fast enough. By the time I walked out, there was a big-booty broad hanging all over Byron like they were old friends. I stood there and observed for a second because I didn't know what the situation was. For all I knew, she could have been his girl or his plaything. Either way, I did not have claims to him, and I could not afford to get mixed up in any drama.

The girl was smiling and rubbing up and down Byron's chest. He wasn't making enough of an effort to stop her either. Byron must have felt me staring at him because he looked in my direction and abruptly pushed the chick out of his way so that he could head toward me. I was annoyed as hell. I knew this was a bad idea, but I had to test the waters.

“Scottie, I can already tell what you're thinking. It wasn't what you think, though.”

I screwed up my face. “Oh really,” I said. “It doesn't matter anyway because you're not my man.”

“She was some whack-ass groupie.”

“I knew this was a bad idea. Let's go.”

As we were walking through the hallway toward the exit, I noticed what looked like a familiar face in the distance. It took me a second to process where I knew her from, but when it clicked, there was no mistaking. It was Britney, the stank-attitude-having bitch from work.

Fuck! I can't let her see me with Byron. She'll suspect something and she has a big-ass mouth.

We were about to pass the entrance to the side of the stage and
I had to think fast so I looked back at Byron and said, “Thanks. I gotta go.”

He looked puzzled, but I left him standing there because I didn't have time to explain. Britney was approaching quickly and it looked like she could have spotted me before I ducked off to the side. I click-clacked as fast as I could and went through a couple of black production curtains that I had no business being behind. I had to get away…from him and from her. I needed to get to an exit that would let me out with the general crowd; that way I could blend in and lose them both for sure.

Once I reached the street level, I hailed the first cab that I saw and hopped in as fast as I could. I didn't know why I was still paranoid, but I was. On top of everything else, it was late and I had to go to work in the morning. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. I hated dropping the cash on a cab to Jersey, but under the circumstances, I had to make an exception.

The whole ride home my phone kept buzzing in my purse. Byron was blowing up my line, but I didn't answer. He started texting me apologies and asking me to please pick up the phone. I decided that I would deal with him when I was ready. I had no real grounds to be pissed about the groupie situation, but it had rubbed me the wrong way.

I laid my head back on the seat, looked out the window, and wondered what Kari was up to. He loved Jay-Z and I knew that he would have had an amazing time at that concert had we gone together. I wouldn't have had to deal with groupie incidents or hiding from coworkers. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the right decision, especially every time my phone rang and Byron's number showed up. After a few more of his calls, I did the unthinkable. I turned my phone completely off for the night.

T
he following morning at work was miserable with a twist of torture on the top. Once I arrived, I wished that I had called in sick, but it was too late since a couple of people had already seen my face. I had a slight hangover. It felt like there was a little man with a hammer inside my head having temper-tantrums every few minutes. I wasn't in the mood for the friendly fake hellos and good mornings of office life.

My cell phone buzzed off the hook when I finally turned it on. I had three text messages and ten voicemail messages.

Really, Byron?

Almost every message started with, “Scottie, I'm really sorry.” He was profusely apologizing and to my surprise, there was also one long voicemail from Kari. He was stumbling over his words and pausing for extended amounts of time; apparently, he was checking up on me.

As far as I was concerned, all men could kiss my big toe at that moment. I needed a hearty sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich to shake the ills that I was feeling. I walked into the cafeteria with every intention of getting in and out fast. While I was waiting for Roberto with the rotten front tooth to finish up my breakfast sandwich, I heard my name being called from behind.

“Good morning, Scottie.”

It's definitely not a good morning if you're speaking to me.

I turned around to acknowledge the voice. I should not have been surprised to see that it was Britney the bitch.

She's up to something because she never speaks willingly. I really don't feel like dealing with her right now.

“What?”

“Wow, did someone wake up on the wrong side of someone else's bed this morning?”

This little trick is really trying to get under my skin.

She naturally thought that everyone was a whore as she was. I tossed her
thee
nastiest look that I could conjure up and rolled my eyes real stank-like to top it off. I wasn't in the mood for her bullshit.

“How did you enjoy the concert last night?”

“What?”

“I said…How. Did. YOU. Enjoy…the concert last night?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“That's strange. I could have sworn. Didn't I see you backstage?”

“Nope, wasn't me,” I responded, mustering up a bit more bitch-don't-fuck-with-me bass in my voice.

I strutted off in my turquoise-and-red Reebok exclusives, leaving her low-budget ass standing by the $2.99 bowls of cereal. I didn't have the time or the patience to continue an elementary exchange with such a simple-minded individual.

Britney was an insecure little girl portraying the role of a confident woman, but I could see straight through the facade. It usually took her family money and the promise of sexual favors or material items to get men to stomach her for an extended period of time from what I'd heard.

I plopped down at my desk and put my head down on my folded
arms. The old-school Dell computer mounted on my desk chirped with a new email message. But I couldn't care less who it was or what it was about. Concentrating on work was not an option. I needed to feed my belly first. While I was eating, I checked my Gmail to kill time and I almost choked on my breakfast sandwich. The email stood out like it was typed in big bold red letters. The subject line read “E-Ticket Confirmation” and it was from JetBlue Airways.