Preseason Love (27 page)

Byron didn't have conditioning training so he decided to pick me up from the airport himself. He was waiting in the loading zone, but apparently, the airport police started a starstruck fuss when they asked him to take a photo outside of the car in lieu of giving him a ticket.

Look at him. Relishing in the fanfare. He looks good doing it too.
Black Armani aviator sunglasses with a black fitted V-neck T-shirt hitting every chiseled indentation in his physique perfectly. Simple yet uber sexy.

Byron saw me heading toward the car with the Louis Vuitton Pegase roller bag that he sent to my office after our trip to Barbados. So like a gentleman he interrupted the photo spectacle to walk around to the passenger side and greet me. His burly arms enclosed me while his soft lips gently kissed my cheek.

“How was your flight, love?”

“It was good.”

Byron winked as he held the door open. “Get in. I hope you're ready.”

I got into the passenger side of his cocaine-white Bentley Continental GT and tried to contain my excitement. I was ecstatic. A few onlookers still lingered about, but I was relieved when I realized that the paparazzi hadn't received the heads-up on Byron's airport trip.

Byron sped off, tires screeching, with his hand gripping my thigh. He seemed confident that he would not be hassled by the police.

Our first stop was Michigan Avenue. Byron loved anything up-scale and designer. I adamantly disagreed with him about the purchase of a Burberry signature patterned button-down shirt. It was hideous and too flashy in my opinion, but he loved it.

I tried on a few sexy little dresses at a small posh boutique. The selection was quality yet minimal; code for expensive. I flipped over every tag while in the dressing room and they all spoke to me loud and clear. “You'll have to use your rent money to afford me.”

“Which one did you like best?” the busty saleswoman with too much collagen in her lips asked.

“All of them, Miss,” Byron chimed in on my behalf. “We'll take all of them.”

He tossed his black card on the counter and turned to me. “Did you see anything else that you liked?”

I tried to mask the shock that was brewing inside of me. This was all too easy. Normally, when things come too easy, there's a catch. I leaned in and whispered as close to his head as I possibly could, which was more like his upper bicep, “No, but you really don't have to buy these dresses for me.”

Before I could finish, he shot me a look.

“Thank you for shopping with us today,” the saleswoman offered. “I hope that you enjoy the dresses honey,” she said, as she walked smiling from around the register and handing me a huge pink shopping bag.

Like that, we were out of the store and back in the Bentley headed to Byron's place. We pulled up to a high-rise building along the lakefront. The valet greeted Byron by name and asked if he would be in need of his car later in the evening. I vaguely heard Byron mention dinner plans as I was trying to grab my bags. The doorman quickly came to my aid insisting that I let him handle it.

We rode the elevator hand in hand to the “PH” level. The elevator doors opened to his white marble foyer. His penthouse was gorgeous. It was laid, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge elegant, black sectional sofa, stark white walls, touches of sterling silver artwork throughout, and sunlight hitting every inch of the space down to the plush white fur area rug. This place definitely had a woman's touch, and I was certain that kids were not in the picture. Everything in me hoped that it was his mother's doing and not some crazy bitch due to bust in at any second.

I heard a noise coming from the kitchen and I looked at Byron. “Is someone else here?” I whispered.

“Yeah. My chef.”

“Chef?”

“Yes, chef. He's making us lunch. It should be ready soon. I called ahead.”

Byron kissed me on the shoulder and started walking toward what I could only guess was the master bedroom. “Make yourself at home and relax, love.”

I followed his lead and put my things down in his room. While I got myself situated, he left me alone to marvel at the room and its splendor.

Wow, now that's one hell of a bed.

The gigantic bed in the center was clearly the focal point of the bedroom. It had to have been custom-made.

“Babe, lunch is ready!” Byron called out from the distance.

“Coming!”

We sat down to a gourmet lunch complete with hand-rolled sushi as a starter. I felt like I was on an episode of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

“I made dinner reservations at a restaurant that I'm sure you'll love.”

“Is this one of your regular spots?” I asked.

“Not regular. I like to go when I'm in the company of someone special.”

“Don't try to make me blush.” I smiled.

After lunch, we explored every inch of his bed. I crossed my fingers that the chef made a quick exit and didn't hear my screams of passion. Although, the curtains were wide open—if the chef didn't hear me, surely the neighbors could see me, but I didn't care.

Movies watched us and we watched them on and off for the rest of the afternoon. Our dinner reservation was for eight o'clock, so we began getting ready about an hour prior—starting off with a dual steamy shower. Byron couldn't keep his hands from probing my body and that slowed down our progress. My sweet lover popped a bottle of Armand de Brignac champagne to start the night off right while we dressed.

I already knew that my new burgundy mini dress fit like a glove, so I snapped the tags and laid it out on the bed while I slathered cocoa butter on from head to toe. Byron, to no surprise, walked out of his dressing area the size of a studio apartment and was fitted in Dolce & Gabbana looking like he was about to walk a red carpet. The suit fit him well. He looked as sexy as the first day that we met.

“Somebody is looking pretty dapper.”

Byron dusted off the shoulders of his jacket. “Thanks, love. I put on a lil' somethin'-somethin'.”

“You are a mess!” I said with a giggle.

“But you like it,” he said, as he walked over, grabbing my naked body and pulling me to him for a soft kiss.

I slipped into my dress and took the last sip of my “Ace of Spades” before we headed downstairs hand-in-hand to the waiting chauffeured car. Byron thought it better to call up his driver since we had already been drinking. He didn't want any trouble with the law or The League. When behind the wheel, intoxicated athletes were like a magnet for police.

The driver pulled up to a luxurious steakhouse at the east end of the West Loop. He held the door open as we exited the SUV. Byron offered me his hand. I stepped out in my gold embellished stilettos with a six-inch heel.

The host showed us to our table immediately. The dining area
was filled with patrons. From my peripheral view, I noticed a few people take a second glance as we passed their tables.

“So, is this your first time?”

I looked at Byron with confusion written all over my face. “Excuse me? First time for what?”

I knew that he couldn't be talking about my first time at a restaurant, or a high-end restaurant, or a steakhouse, or on a date, or anything else of that nature so I needed him to tell me what the hell he was talking about. His vague question came off a tad strange.

“First time dating someone like me?” Byron replied, very matter-of-fact.

I wasn't expecting this. Now I felt a bit silly for my initial thoughts.

“Interesting question,” I noted. “Yes…this is my first time.”

“So…”

Byron was mid-sentence when I spotted a well-dressed black woman in what looked to be her mid-twenties entering the dining area. She entered alone, which I found odd. This restaurant was not the type of establishment where you readily dined alone.

Where is her date? Maybe he's not far behind. Sometimes I'm too nosey for my own good.

Byron was still talking, but he couldn't keep my attention. The well-dressed woman was headed directly toward our table and there was no mistaking her eyes, which were fixated on Byron. He seemed oblivious.

Fuck me! This has to be a joke! Is this his fucking woman? I will not participate in an embarrassing hoodrat scene in this restaurant. Oh HELL, I forgot my mace in New York.

This wasn't my first time at the hoodrat, baby momma rodeo. I looked to the right of Byron as the woman walked up and stood
next to him. His eyes rapidly shifted from mine as he looked over at her statuesque frame. I could tell that he knew her. I watched as he stood and greeted her. “Sava, I'm glad that you could make it, babe.”

Babe! What kind of babe is this? Babe like Hollywood-schmoozing babe, or like “I sleep with you on a regular basis” babe, or like “I want to sleep with you on a regular basis” type babe?

My face contorted into an obvious quizzical expression.

“Scottie, this is Sava. She's going to join us.”

“Join us?”

“Yes, join us. Don't be rude, love.”

This dude had me twisted. He had not seen rude. I was roughly two-point-five seconds away from overreacting in a major way, which would likely turn into a scene that this restaurant had never seen before.

Byron shifted to the middle of the booth while Sava, dressed in a scarlet-red, plunging neckline dress, took her spot at our table. Byron attempted to spark up small talk and Sava ate right out of his hand. Her squeaky voice responded to his every comment. I sat silently. I was overwhelmed.

“How do you two know each other?” I questioned.

Byron placed his hand over Sava's and she looked down. He turned to me and tried to use his free hand to grab my hand.

Who the hell is this dude? Money Mike the pimp?

“Scottie, don't…” Byron tilted his head and stared into my eyes as he calmly said, “Go with the flow.”

I got up abruptly from the table, grabbed my bag and excused myself. I needed two seconds alone to try to process this new reality that I was currently being tricked into. I walked outside of the dining area. “Where is the restroom?” I asked the host.

“First door on the left.”

As I rushed down the hallway, I held back tears of anger, which burned my eyelids and begged to be released.

How did I get myself caught up in this mess?! How could I have been so stupid and naive?

I walked into the last stall and sat down on the pristine white toilet seat. My head fell into my hands and my palms were wet with tears.

“Scottie?” I heard a squeaky voice call out.

No this broad did not follow me into the fucking restroom!

“Get the fuck out and leave me alone!” I yelled.

“But Byron told me to come and check on you.”

“Fuck you and fuck Byron, you sick and twisted freaks!” I screamed. “You can tell him to find another fool.”

I heard the doorknob click. I realized that I was truly an even bigger fool than I knew for sitting in the restroom crying like a baby. It was time to get the hell out of there.

I opened the bathroom stall and turned toward the door to leave, but to my shock Byron was blocking the door. My legs froze as a rush of fear came over me. I hadn't heard him come in. This shit was getting crazier by the moment.

“What the hell are you doing in here, you fucking sicko?” I played off my fear and projected my voice as loudly as I could.

“Lower your voice,” Byron demanded as he walked toward me.

With my right index finger extended in his direction and rage in my eyes, I walked right back at him. “Get the fuck out of this damn bathroom! Now! Who the hell do you think you are? What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Calm down and stop overreacting. Now, me and my girlfriend are going to sit down and finish our dinner and I suggest that you join us.”

Byron backed up against the door as a woman on the other side pushed the sturdy slab of wood into his back and attempted to walk in. “Hello? What's going on in there?”

“Don't make this worse than it already looks,” I said to Byron as I took my opportunity and pushed past him to walk out of the restroom door.

I bolted out of the restaurant like a woman fleeing for her life. My heels clicked across the pavement as fast as they could move. I scurried down the street, but I didn't get the feeling that Byron was behind me. I flagged down a cab and looked over my shoulder as I got in.

“Can you take me to…to…it's a huge condo building by the water. I'm sorry…I'm…”

“Miss, I can't understand where you want to go,” the little shriveled up old man said in a raspy, two-packs-a-day type of voice.

“I know…I know…just a second.”

Think, Scottie! How the hell do you not know where you're staying? Pull it together.

“I think it's on Lake Shore Drive.” My mind was scrambled. My vision was cloudy and I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.

“You know what? Can you take me to O'Hare airport?”

M
onday was a welcome thrust back into the reality that I was familiar with. I couldn't sit down at my desk and get situated before the phone rang. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, I answered.

“Scottie speaking.”

“Hi, Scottie, this is Caroline Stinger from HR. Do you have a moment to stop by my office?”

“Sure, when?” I asked.

“Now would be fine. Thanks, see you soon.”

I headed to the elevator unsure of what the meeting with HR could be about. My gut told me that something was up though. The elevator chimed. As the doors opened, Britney the bitch walked out.

“Good morning, Scottie!” she said.

I felt like I was being
Punked,
but I offered a dry, “Hey.”

I could hear her laughing in the distance. Shaking my head, I pressed the elevator button to close the door and proceeded to HR.