“If that’s the worst you ever do, I think we’ll make it as a couple.”
— 19 —
Then
BRYANT’S FOOTBALL SEASON BEGINS in mid-July as a rookie. He starts training before the veterans come back at the end of the month. He’s tired when he comes home each day as he’s beginning to feel the difference between college football and professional football. But he’s still attentive in all the ways he’s always been.
When graduate school starts in August, I’m relieved. Sitting at the house all day without Bryant grew boring quickly. My mind needs stimulation, and trashy television doesn’t do it for me. I haven’t ventured out enough to meet anyone, so I’m looking forward to hopefully meeting a friend or two at school. Bryant talks about his new teammates all the time, and it makes me miss Ben and Zina even more than I already do. Zina is attending her senior year back in Louisiana, and Ben was drafted to Detroit. The two of them broke up, so we haven’t seen either of them since we moved to California. If they were still together, we’d likely be flying back and forth between Michigan and Los Angeles at least once a month. I miss them both, and I miss them being together. They were a great couple. Too bad Zina doesn’t want to do long distance. I think she made a really big mistake letting Ben go, but dating a professional football player isn’t easy without the distance.
“Coach!” Bryant yells as soon as he walks in through the garage.
“In here!” I say from our master bathroom. Tonight, we’re going to a party thrown by one of his teammates. I’m excited to meet the other women who have experience with the fame and fortune that goes along with having a husband or boyfriend in the league.
“Wow,” he says as he comes to a stop just inside the bathroom. “You look…”
I smirk. “Yes?”
“I better stay on this side of the room before I ruin your hair and makeup. You look good enough to eat.”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I tease.
He licks his lips, takes two strides across the room to me, and goes down on his knees. And then he pulls my long, sleeveless dress up and sticks his head underneath. I can’t help but giggle as his facial scruff tickling the inside of my thighs.
“What in the world are you doing?” I ask.
“Showing you I mean what I say.”
“You’re going to stretch out my dress.”
He pokes his head out from under my skirt and looks up at me with those kind green eyes. “I can’t wait to show you off tonight. I have the hottest wife on the team.”
“How do you know? Have you met the others?”
He shrugs. “I’ve met a few of them in passing. They seem nice enough, but you are definitely hotter than any of them.”
I’m grateful and lucky to have a husband who often reminds me that he thinks I’m beautiful. I lean down and kiss him, covering his lips in red lipstick. “I love you to the moon and back, Quarterback.”
After a few more kisses, we leave and head for his teammate’s home. I haven’t met many of the guys yet but know who most of them are through watching them play on television. I’m nervous to meet other players and their significant others. It’s never easy to be the new kid, even as an adult.
When we arrive at Devon and Kirstyn Douglas’ home, Bryant reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “You’re going to do fine. Everyone will love you as much as I do.”
“I doubt that,” I reply, but I appreciate the sentiment just the same.
As the wide red front door opens to the home, a tall blonde comes into view. Her long hair is pulled back in a ponytail that might be working as a facial lift as well. She’s wearing a hot pink bikini top and a black sarong around her waist. She’s a knockout. “Bryant! We were wondering where you were. The girls were just saying how we need our quarterback.”
Not once does she look at me as she invites my husband inside. “Am I invisible?” I ask him.
He blinks at me, not understanding the situation. “Of course, you’re not.”
The Amazonian woman in front of us sways her hips, and it’s blatant enough to make me want to gag and punch her in the face at the same time. She leads us outside where five other couples congregate around a long outdoor table with drinks and plates in front of them.
“That is not your wife,” one of the men says. “She’s entirely too hot for you, Hudson.”
Bryant places a finger to his lips and shushes the man. “I’m grateful she hasn’t figured it out yet. Zhanna, this is Devon Manchester, left tackle.”
I reach out to shake Devon’s hand and am instead pulled into a hug by the gargantuan man. “Come here, girl. I’m stealing you away from the rookie.”
“I’d have to fight you over her,” my husband says. “I barely convinced her to marry me.”
