Grid Iron Bad Boy: A Football Romance (8 page)

I don’t tell Chelsea the real reason I love to bring girls here. Is it a panty dropper? Sure. It drops those lacy, frilly things quicker than a bottle of lemon gin. That’s not the reason I bring them here though. Just an added bonus.

The real reason is this view. The millions of twinkling stars clustered in the sky. I love to study them and love to look at them. It brings me back to a simpler time, when more seemed possible. These stars, I realize, aren’t that different from the ladies Chelsea has been chewing me out about all day.

Most of them are indistinguishable points of light that blur together and whose names no one remembers. There’s only a few jewels in the sky that anyone readily recognizes. If those girls are the blur of stars in the background, then Chelsea is the diamond among them.

The North Star.

I tilt my chin to my chest and look at her. She has her eyes closed and her ear pressed to my chest, listening to my heart. My arms are blanketing her back, each covering her body, protecting it from the chill in the air.

Yes, she is my North Star. The brightest star in my sky. The one I need to guide me onto the path I should follow. The one that will lead me home.

“
I
s she down
?” I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t smile at the cartoonish exasperation on my sister’s face.

“For now,” she sighs, slumping down in the dining room chair across from me. “I can’t believe the fight she can put up at ten months. I’m in big trouble when she gets to Chris’s age.” Her eyes drift down to the steamy mug of coffee I poured for her. “Thanks,” she lifts the Christmas-themed cup to her lips and flutters her eyes closed as she takes a long sip.

“No problem,” I hold up my own mug in a clink-less cheers and take a mouthful of coffee. “Aren’t they all like that? Kids, I mean. Don’t they all fight nap time?”

“No, Chris was easy. I practically just laid him in his crib and he was out like that,” she snaps her fingers together loudly, then looks over her shoulder like she’s afraid the noise will wake Honor.

“She can’t hear you,” I smile.

“No, I know. You’re right,” the tension eases from my sister’s shoulders, “I just don’t have any fight left,” she sighs. “After how long she took to take her nap, I think I might need to lie down too,” she jokes. “Or at least have a few more of these,” she swirls the mug between her fingers and thumb before taking another long sip. “She’s just so stubborn,” Lauren looks into her mug for answers her coffee can’t give her.

“Gee, I wonder where she gets that from,” I tease her.

“Oh, I know where she gets it honestly. I mean, her aunt is the most stubborn woman I know,” she sticks her tongue out playfully at me.

“Me? Ha! You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, well I guess we both learned from the best, huh?”

“Mom,” we say in unison. A shared smile between us turns to giggles.

“Anyway, Honor will either grow out of it or get worse. Either way, I love her. And I love you,” she looks down.

‘Awww, thanks Lauren.”

“I was talking to my coffee,” she answers flatly.

“Well, thanks a lot!” I pretend to be hurt, holding my fingertips over my heart.

“No, you know I love you too. But, honestly, I feel like I can’t even function without coffee anymore. When I had Honor, I didn’t feel like thirty was too old to do the newborn thing again. Now, I’m wondering how women who have kids in their forties do it. It’s insane.”

“It must be exhausting.” I try to empathize, but my experiences teaching other people's kids in second grade don’t really stack up.

“It is,” she admits. “I’m so glad I cut back my hours at the hospital. I can’t imagine if I was still full-time,” the dark circles under my sister’s eyes confirm her story. “Besides,” her face perks up and she looks across the table at me, “now I have more time for things like having coffee with my favorite sister,” a smile finally touches her lips.

“Your only sister,” I stress.

“Right and by default, my favorite,” she grins.

“You’re too kind,” I smirk at her.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just full of love,” her smile grows behind her Santa cup.

“Full of something.”

Lauren laughs and it does my heart good to see her relax again.

“OK, enough about me and the baby, I want to hear about what’s going on with you and Mr. Football Star,” her eyes twinkle, “spill it,” she prods.

I take a huge mouthful of coffee as I gather my scattered thoughts. The wings of a thousand butterflies tickle my insides every time I think about him. Each of those butterflies must have one of my thoughts or emotions strapped to its back as they dance in the chaos of my mind. One second I feel like I may have met my soulmate and the next I’m chiding myself for ever buying into his smooth words.

My feelings about him keep swirling around, making me confused. Not to mention dizzy.

“Well,” I swallow hard, “first he showed up on his motorcycle and drove us up to Flagstaff to watch the sunset,” I begin.

“How many times has he pulled that one out of his hat, I wonder,” she muses. My sister is well aware of Cameron’s reputation. As one of her husband’s close friends and ex-platoon members, she’s seen him a lot more over the years than I have.

“That’s what I said to him!”

“I bet you did.”

“Yep, so then we went to see a concert on campus, but these girls were buzzing around him and wouldn’t back off,” I roll my eyes at the memory of their rudeness.

“No!”

“Yes. Anyway, we left and Cameron took me to the stadium. He knows the alarm code and we stayed there.” I look into my empty cup.

“Oh my God. I bet he does that move all the time too! Of course he knows the security code. He would! Sounds like you got a big slice of the Cameron special, huh?” She chuckles. “I would’ve loved to see his face when you called him on that,” her eyes scan my face, but I keep my head bowed.

“Well…” I can’t look at her.

“Wait,” she says the word slowly, as she turns the thoughts over in her mind, “you’re not saying? It didn’t work on you, did it?” Her lips are parted and her eyes are wide.

“It wasn’t like that. I mean, he was sweet and sexy,” I can hear the feeble excuses pouring from my mouth. “I don’t know. I probably won’t go out with him again, but it was nice to cut loose and have some fun for once,” I admit.

Lauren nods her head silently, the smirk melting from her face. “No, you should go out with him again,” she says it like she’s stating a fact.

“I don’t know. His life is university, football and parties. I’m past that phase, you know?” I peer up at her, secretly hoping she’ll help me build up a good case for it.

“More like you never had that phase,” she counters. “When did you ever really break loose and just party? That was never you.”

“No, not really,” I admit.

“I say go for it. I can see how your face lights up when we talk about him. Did you have fun on your cheesy date?” She presses.

“Yeah. More than fun. Parts of it were amazing.”

“Then, there ya go. You need to go out with him again. Find out if you can break the wild stallion,” she twists her lips into a wry smile. “Seriously though, what do you have to lose?”

Before I have a chance to search my mind for an answer, my cellphone interrupts us. Lauren practically jumps out of her skin and looks over her shoulder waiting to hear Honor protest angrily.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hey gorgeous. Glad I caught you!”

I mouth the words “It’s him,” to my sister.

“Hey Cameron, what’s up?”

“Not much, regular day. Can’t get you off my mind though. My coach is giving me hell for being distracted. I thought I’d give you a call.”

“Well, it’s nice to hear from you,” heat blossoms in my belly and spreads out through my body.

“I’m glad you said that,” he murmurs and I bite my lip. “I have a game this Friday evening. I got you a seat, well, season passes actually,” he explains. “I’d love if my good luck charm could be there to cheer me on.” He dances around directly asking me to go.

“This Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t,” my shoulders slouch in defeat. “I have parent teacher interviews until eight.”

“Oh, crap. Uh, OK. How about you come to the party afterward then? It’s at Sigma house on campus.”

“A frat party? Me?” My eyebrows shoot up toward the ceiling. I look over at Lauren as she’s frantically waving her hands and shaking her head yes.

“Why not you? I can’t really skip out on it. The whole team agreed we’d go, but I’d love if you’d go with me?”

I glance at my sister. She’s whispering “Do it! Go! This is what we’re talking about.”

“Um, sure. What time is it?” I finally answer.

“Great! It starts at nine, so I’ll text you the details, OK? I gotta go before my coach skins me.”

“See you then.” I hit the end button on the call and my eyes trace the broad smile on Lauren’s face.

“A frat party?” I say weakly.

“It’ll be fun, remember? Just see where this all goes and have a good time for once.”

A good time. I hope that’s what this is. Not a humiliating time. The memory of the girls that were glued to Cameron’s heels last night crosses my mind and I scrunch up my nose, pushing the thought away.

Lauren’s right. I deserve to have as much fun as anyone else. It’ll be a good time.

I hope.

P
ressing
the button on my phone again, I turn on the screen.

7:55

I sigh heavily. I’m not surprised that I’m waiting for Jeffery Stewart’s father to arrive. He was scheduled for his parent-teacher interview ten minutes ago. I purposely slotted him into the last spot so I would be able to discuss the issues his son has been having this year. I didn’t want our meeting to be rushed because of other waiting parents. After all the trouble Jeffery has brought to my classroom, I knew there would be a lot to go over.

“Knock, knock,” the principal, Kathleen Gibbons pops her head in my door.

“Hiya,” I paste a broad smile on my face. I don’t want her to see the frustration radiating through me.

I don’t want her to pick up on the fact that I’m itching to get out of here, so I can go see my boyfriend, at a frat party of all places. I feel a twinge of disgust with myself at the last thought. Why did I let myself get caught up in Lauren’s little speech and Cameron’s offer of a good time? A frat party? I’m thirty-two, not a college kid fresh out of mom and dad’s basement. Hell, Cameron is thirty! It amazes me that he doesn’t feel too old to be going to these things. Although, I’m guessing when you’re the star quarterback of the university team, you don’t feel the same weight of adult responsibilities like an albatross around your neck.

“You all finished up here?” Mrs. Gibbons interrupts my thoughts, not to mention my unwavering and quite possibly creepy over-smile.

“No, I still have one more interview,” I watch as her eyebrows scrunch together in disapproval.

“Well, I’m getting ready to close up shop here,” She looks at her dainty wrist watch. A relic from a time before cellphones. Mrs. Gibbons sweeps a stray silver hair behind her ear that escaped from her polished bun.

“I know. Can we just wait another ten minutes? I want to make sure he’s not just stuck in traffic or something.”

She presses her already thin lips flat and pushes her wire-rimmed glasses up her narrow nose. “Oh, all right. Ten minutes and then the front doors will be getting locked. Almost all of the other teachers have already cleared out, you know,” she gives me a curt nod of her head before disappearing down the hallway. I can hear her chunky heels clopping away.

I hit the button on my phone again and it tells me that only a couple of minutes have passed. Why am I waiting for this joker? He’s not gonna show.

I stand up at my desk and start to shuffle my papers together to get ready to go. To hell with waiting around all night while Ms. Prim and Proper gets huffy with me. If there was ever a perfect model of why I need to inject some fun into my life every once and a while, it’s Mrs. Gibbons. With her over buttoned blouses and overzealous love of schedules, she’s a reminder of how you can turn out if you don’t let your hair down every so often.

“Ahem.”

I nearly jump from my skin as a man clearing his throat steps in through my doorway.

“Oh, Mr. Stewart,” I try not to look surprised. “I didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“Yeah, well, you know.” He shuffles over to the chair across from my desk with his hands stuffed in his tattered jeans. I wait for him to finish his sentence. Surely he has more to say?

Nope.

Instead, I put my folders back on the desk and sit down. Jeffery’s father slumps in his seat with the same crooked posture of his son. Just glancing at his face, it’s clear to see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Stewart boys share the same squinty eyes and sharp nose. Their pale skin looks like it’s been pulled a bit too tight over their faces.

“Well anyway, thank you for joining me. As you know, I’m Ms. Taylor, Jeffery’s second grade teacher.” I begin.

“Of course I know that,” he practically spits the words. I’m not quite sure, but I think the faint smell of alcohol is wafting from him.

“Yes,” I fold my hands in front of me and try to level him with my stare. The same tactic I often need to use on his belligerent boy. No surprise why Jeffery ended up being the most difficult student I’ve had in a long time.

“Listen Mr. Stewart, we’re already running late here, so I’m going to cut to the chase. Jeffery is a very bright boy. I can see that his vocabulary skills surpass most of his classmates and that his math is on par with the expectations of the second grade curriculum.”

“Yep,” he interrupts.

“However, he has been having some issues with following the rules of the classroom that often cause disruption in the other student’s routines.” I continue, undeterred by his rudeness.

“Ok, so?”

Seriously?

I inhale sharply through my nose and count to five in my head. It’s never hard to see why any of these children are the way they are and Jeffery is no exception. At this age, the parents are still the biggest influence in their lives. It’s always such a damned shame when you can see a spark of potential in a student that you know can either grow into a bonfire with the right tools or be extinguished. I don’t want that for Jeffery. He’s only seven-years-old and far too young to give up on. Especially because his father is an asshole.

“The problem is that when Jeffery disrupts the class, talks back or refuses to follow the rules, he’s putting everyone at a learning disadvantage, Mr. Stewart. Including himself. There’s only so much time in a period to teach a subject and I don’t have time to waste on trying to teach children the manners they should already have learned at home,” I clench my jaw shut.

“Well, from what I’m hearing, my boy is doing just fine with the learning part. If you can’t keep your classroom under control, then that sounds like a you problem. Part of being a teacher is knowing how to control the kids, right? Jeffery is just a normal boy. Boys act up. If you don’t know how to deal with that then maybe you didn’t do too hot in school yourself?” His lip curls as he sneers at me. His contempt is overwhelming. I’ve never dealt with such a hostile parent before. I just blink in response, like I’m telling him to fuck off in Morse code.

“Mr. Stewart! It’s not my job to cater to or discipline your child. That’s something he should know by now. Unfortunately, if Jeffery continues disrupting the class every day, I’ll need to escalate this to the principal. So far, that’s something I’ve been trying to avoid.”

“You go ahead and take it to your principal then. I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing. Learn to control your class.” He shrugs.

“Sir, I don’t think you understand. Jeffery is a bright child and he has so much potential. If I have to continually send him to the principal, eventually he’ll be suspended or even expelled. There’s no reason we can’t work together to make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s still so early in the school year and…”

“You listen here,” Mr. Stewart stands up abruptly, his finger pointed in my face like a gun, “don’t you sit here and threaten me. I’ll have you fired if you want to play that game; just try me. There’s nothing wrong with my boy. He’s a normal kid and if you don’t know how to keep kids under control in your class then maybe you should find another job!” I watch in disbelief as he storms out of my classroom, his dirty sneakers squeaking with every step.

What the hell just happened? I don’t even know how to process someone so unreasonable. I shake my head in disbelief. No wonder Jeffery is so impossible to deal with. With a father like that as his role model, I’m lucky he isn’t worse. I pity the teachers that will have to deal with him in his teen years.

I try to push it away. I don’t want this asshat to ruin my whole night. Man, I can’t wait to get out of here and go enjoy a couple of drinks with Cameron. I’ve done enough adulting for one day. Some down time at a frat party might be fun after all this bullshit.

I stuff the folders in my desk and grab my bag. After I dry erase the whiteboard, I turn off the lights and try to shrug off the interview I just had as I head out for the night.

I stop by Mrs. Gibbon’s office to let her know that I’m finally finished, but she’s already gone. Figures.

Whatever. I’m done. I make my way out the double doors to the almost empty parking lot. Making my way to my car, I grab my keys and hit the button to unlock the doors.

Beep-beep!

I reach the driver’s side door and yank it open, just as my eye is drawn down to my tire.

Are you fucking serious?

I look over my shoulder to see if there’s anyone around me. Anyone like Mr. Stewart. It’s just me though.

I crouch down to my flat tire and run my hand over the rubber the ugly slash gaping like an open wound. That son of a bitch! I know exactly who did this, but I have less than zero proof.

Sighing, I pull my cellphone out and call AAA. I glance at the time. It’s almost eight-thirty. I told Cameron I’d meet him at nine. Great.

Could this night get any worse?