Romance: New Adult: One Game at a Time - A College Football Romance (Bad Boy Romance) (Sports Contemporary Short Stories) (46 page)

''The bag you tripped over is full of them. But I have got something for you.'' Nicki got out of bed and opened the bag. She'd filled it so full that a couple of elephants jumped out when she undid the zipper. She rummaged around and found a small box wrapped in pink paper with a thin ribbon tied around it.

''Thanks,'' Lela said as Nicki handed it to her. As Nicki jumped back into bed, Lela noticed how slim she'd become. She'd always thought Nicki to be the best looking woman on their course. In fact that was an understatement,
she
was the best looking woman she had seen at NYU. She lay next to Nicki and began to open her present. ''We all missed you terribly,'' she said as her fingers fiddled with the knot
on
the ribbon. ''The house hasn't been the same without out. We missed your
story telling
.'' She paused and laughed, ''but we didn't miss your garlic lasagna.''  Nicki gave her a playful thump. ''Oh wow, Nicki, it's too much,'' she said as she held a gold fountain pen up.

''You're going to be a journalist, so you'll need a good pen.'' Typical Nicki, generous and thoughtful.

''So what's the plan now, once you've unpacked all your elephants,'' Lela asked.

''Will you help me? I have so much to tell you about my experiences, and
of course,
I want to know what you've been
up to
. How many men have you brought back here while I've been away?'' she asked playfully.

''Only a handful,'' Lela lied, unable to count the actual number.

After an hour, Lela couldn't find
anymore
room for the last few two elephants. ''Where do you want me to put these? There's no room.''

''Leave them on the bed, I'll find somewhere.''

''Perhaps you could sell some of your Mills and Boon books. You don't need to keep all those trashy romance books, do you?''

''I love them, I don't want to part with them. I split up with Nathan last night.''

Nicki said it suddenly with no warning of any kind, and it shocked Lela. ''Why?'' she asked in a Sherlock Holmes kind of way.

''Because we aren't compatible. He's too different. He likes to be messy and casual, and I like to be neat and tidy and plan things. I felt sick when I got into his car yesterday. He hasn't cleaned it out for years.''

''But surely a messy car can't be the reason. I thought you guys were the real deal,'' Lela said as she picked up a book with a
half-naked
hero on it.

''No. It's more than that. I realized in Moscow that we aren't right together. I don't love him. I want to feel heat in my lower half when I think of my boyfriend.'' Lela nodded in agreement. She'd been out with so many men, and not one of
them
had set her alight. ''All I think of when I think of Nathan is chaos,'' Nicki added.

''How did he take it?''

''Badly. He called me some nasty things and
dumped me
at the door. I guess I deserved it. I said it so suddenly, it must have been a shock
for
him.''

''You're so intelligent and beautiful you'll find someone at the drop of a hat.'' Lela picked up another book, this
time,
the hero was holding a blonde woman who was looking at him as if he'd saved her from certain death. ''Look at you. You're tall and thin. Your waist is invisible and up
top,
you've got a
really
nice pair. Your ass is the envy of all the girls in the
class,
and your eyes are stunning. Don't worry you'll have men flocking to you once they know you're single again.'' Suddenly Lela's eyes lit up. ''Or have you already got some dark Russian prince?''

''No. I haven't and can you believe it? I was a
very good
girl in Russia. Not once did I entertain a man in my chamber.''

''You're chamber? You're
definitely
reading too many of those ridiculous historical romances. So what are you going to do now? Have you applied to any newspapers yet?''

Oh no not you as well. Why didn't people understand? She wanted to be a freelancer. ''No, don't you remember, I want to go freelance.''

''But.....''

''No buts. I had enough that from Nathan on the way home. He doesn't think I'll be able to make a go of it. He thinks editors won't buy my stories.'' Nicki pulled the trunk on her pink elephant and twisted it in frustration. ''I'm going to do it. It's
very important
to me. I want to work for myself, not some ego inflated editor. And as for them not wanting to buy my stories, I'm going to tackle such daring subjects that they'll be forced to buy from me.''

Lela cocked her head to one side. She had a habit of doing so when she didn't believe what she was
being told
. ''Okay.
If it's so important to you, I really hope it works.
But where are you going to start. I mean you need a story, you'll graduate
soon,
and your students loans will stop.''

''Maxim Sokolov.''

''What? He's a murderer. He killed the judge presiding over his trial. What was his name? '' Lela asked.

''Hudson. But he was acquitted. In the eyes of the
law,
he's not guilty. Simple. But after he came to  Brighton Beach, New York, back in
the nineties
, he set up a vast empire of extortion, drugs and trafficking. I'm going to write about it.''

''You'll get yourself killed,' Lela said without hesitation. ''Do you know how many journalists have been killed by Russians? They are masters
at
it. As soon as you go sniffing around he will put an end to you. Don't do it.''

*****

Nicki
pulled her collar up higher. She was glad she'd worn a scarf. The wind was blowing off the ocean and whistling between the restaurant buildings on the sea front. Only the gulls were enjoying themselves as they surfed the gusts high in the sky.

The Crab and Lobster seemed like a nice place to eat. On the sea front, it looked like a giant beach hut. The wooden boards in the facade painted yellow and the small cross bead windows, white. The door was maroon and contained a
ship’s
porthole. There was a balcony running the length of the building where clients could eat in summer, and
its
roof
was adorned
with lobster pots and pieces of fishing net.

Nicki climbed two steps to the front
door
and looked through the porthole. Inside, it was as cozy looking as outside. There were about twenty round tables, all with red and white checkered table clothes, and a long bar down the
left-hand
side with wooden stools in front. The ceiling
was covered
in sailing paraphernalia. Oars, lobster pots, fishing net, anchors, even a brass
ship’s
bell
that
hung down from the ceiling into the middle of the room.

She went inside. She noticed a couple sitting at a table in the far corner. They looked like they were making up after a fight. The woman had a blotched
face,
and the man a hurt look on his face and they were holding hands across the table. There were only two more people in the restaurant. The waitress was only about eighteen and pretty. Why such
a pretty
young woman should wear her hair in dreadlocks was beyond Nicki. The other person was a handsome blonde man of about
twenty-five
. He was
tall,
and his
T-shirt
clung to a physique he
obviously
spent a lot of time honing. Unusually for the
time
of
year,
he was wearing jeans shorts
that
showed off his long tanned legs. Nicki wondered what it would be like to
stroke
over the soft looking blonde hairs that covered them.

''Coffee please,'' she said, sitting on one of the bars stools. The waitress nodded. Nicki reached down to her bag and took out a notepad.

''You're a reporter then?'' the waitress inquired.

''Do I look like
a reporter
?'' she replied. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white blouse covered by a gray cardigan. Hardly a
giveaway
.

''The notepad,'' she said. ''Plus we get hundreds of journalists in here.'' She put a white cup and saucer down in front of Nicki.

''Why so many?''

''They're all after a mafia story.'' She picked up a tea towel and started to polish wine glasses.

''Doesn't the mafia own most of Brighton Beach? Sokolov owns this restaurant.''

''I have no idea. I just come and do my job and go home again. Andrey's my
boss,
and I'm sure he's not mafia.'' She pointed at the blonde man. When he heard his
name,
he looked up from his newspaper.

''Talking about me again Mel?'' he joked. He got up and wandered over to Nicki. ''I'm Andrey. It's a bit boring in here at this time of the day. Things don't usually get going until after seven pm.''

''That's okay, I only dropped in for a coffee. It's a lovely restaurant.'' He could have been a Californian surfer, she thought. His fresh face was tanned, and his blonde hair cradled his face in long waves.

''Yes, I love it. It's become part of me. There's always an opportunity to meet new people, like yourself.'' He leaned on the bar and put his foot on the brass foot rail. ''So are you?'' he asked.

''Am I what?'' she replied looking into his blue eyes.

''What Mel said. On the lookout for a mafia story?''

''Okay, I am a journalist. A freelancer. That's someone who works.....''

''I know what a freelancer is,'' he interrupted. ''If you're looking for a mafia story, you're fifteen years too late. All the shootings have
stopped,
and now it's
a respectable
area.'' He began to laugh, ''in fact the only bad thing that can happen to you around here, is a seagull messing on your head.''

''I don't know, there are secrets everywhere if you look for them. You for example. You sound Russian, so you have a story to tell. Why did you come here? Where are
you from
? How many girlfriends have you had? I bet a lot of female readers would enjoy reading about you.'' She put her hand on his arm as if she would be one of them.

''I'm afraid it would be
a disappointing
story. Tell you what, you tell me how many boyfriends you've had, and I'll tell you how many girlfriends I've had.'' He looked pleased with himself.

''One,'' she said without hesitation.

''I don't' believe you. A hot woman like you has only had one boyfriend. Get out of here.''

''What do you take me for?'' she jested. ''Are you suggesting that I may be loose?''

''Of course not. Sixteen.''

''You've had sixteen girlfriends?'' she exclaimed. ''I don't believe you. You're exaggerating, trying to be macho.''

''Sixteen not including the one night stands,'' he bragged. ''Not too bad for a simple boy from St Petersberg is it?''

''I guess not, but I still don't believe you. So why did you come here from that beautiful city?''

''Have you been there?''

''Last year. I studied for a year in Moscow and went to St Petersberg by train to have a look. It
really
is a very special place.''

''I came here to better myself,'' he said proudly. ''I had a bad start in life. My dad was killed in the Chechen war and my mother never got over it. I found her one day. Asleep in the kitchen, except she wasn't asleep. She'd taken an overdose.'' His eyes stared into the distance for a few seconds before focusing on her again.

Nicki was shocked. She'd had a relatively easy time of it in comparison. Her parents were both still alive and reasonably well off. ''Jesus that's horrible. Poor you,'' she put her hand on his. ''Does it pain you to talk about it?''

''No. Not nowadays
anyway
. It was nine years ago and time heals.''

''So have you got any relatives?''

''No, I'm all alone in the world,'' he said as if he liked it that way.

''Well, if you've had so many girlfriends, you probably haven't had time for relatives.''

''I guess not.'' He liked her. She was beautiful and had the same sense of humor. He liked the oval shape of her eyes and the way her hands moved when she talked.

''Andrey, it's almost five and where I'm from it's okay to have a  drink after five. Would you join me?'' She was beginning to enjoy herself and didn't want their conversation to end.
In addition
,  she was hopeful he could point her in the direction of Maxim Sokolov. She had it on good authority that this was one of Sokolov's restaurants.