As I waited in line at the reception desk, I was given a fruity frozen mocktail and a quick overview of the hotel’s lobby level by a helpful staff member. The reservationist that checked me in gave me an itinerary of the week’s events, along with my room key. The bellman who transported my bags regaled me with tales of things I shouldn’t miss seeing on the island. By the time I made it to my room, all of the tension had left my body, and I was genuinely smiling.
My room was gorgeous. Five hundred and fifty square feet of neutrally colored elegance with a sliding glass door led to a cute balcony with a view of the beach. I squealed happily once thebellman left, and I was alone. Then I stretched out on the rattan bench at the foot of the oversized king-sized bed and opened the brochure that detailed the week’s offerings.
There was an event that started shortly—a player meet and greet. Different players would do meet and greets all day long, timed to coordinate with the guests’ arrivals. The first one was happening in a little less than one hour. The players in attendance at the first meet and greet were Stuart Robinski, Preston Wilcox, Connor Haag, and Spencer Charles.
I’d never heard the name Stuart Robinski before, so I couldn’t put a name to a position, but I knew the others. Connor Haag was on special teams, and Spencer Charles was either a cornerback or a safety. I knew his name, but I couldn’t remember his position. Preston Wilcox was a running back. Since Preston was my favorite player, not based on his skill, but based on his fineness, I stood from the bench. I needed to shower and make my way to Conference Room B, so I could meet and greet Preston.
I cracked open my luggage and pulled out the essentials: the outfit of choice, head wrap, toiletries, makeup, perfume, and shower shoes. The bathroom was just as opulent as everything else, but I didn’t linger. I showered quickly, did a natural makeup beat on my face, and stepped into my strategically purchased sundress. Next, it was off with my head wrap and on to finger-combing my silk-pressed strands into a bouncy bob.
After slipping into my strappy sandals and grabbing my purse, I left my room and headed for the elevators. My ride down from the seventh floor was quiet, as I managed to have it to myself. I took a few deep breaths. Not that I was nervous about meeting the players. I wasn’t nervous about fangirling, either. In my position for the Bison, I often came into contact with players. I was more-so nervous about walking into a room filled with people by myself. After taking another deep breath,I decided that it was what it was. There were the promises I made to myself—I would be open to new things and to make new memories—that I recited under my breath. By the time the elevator doors slid open on the lobby floor, I was composed.
I followed the signage to Conference Room B where the meet and greet was being held. The room was tastefully decorated. It didn’t look like a children’s party with the team colors saturating every space. The only nods to the team were the backdrop behind where the players stood, a few signs that thanked the donors, and a few big, beautiful flower arrangements that featured flowers in deep blues and shocking oranges. The room wasn’t packed out, but there were definitely people waiting for their opportunity to meet and greet the players.
I spotted Preston Wilcox right away. He was talking to the man standing in front of him, but his eyes were on the ass of the woman speaking to the player next to him. As the man moved away, a pretty blonde wearing a short, summery cocktail dress stepped up. She and Preston exchanged a few words and a few smiles. She moved beside him to take a picture, and he bent to whisper something into her ear that made her smile. As she moved closer to him, his hand drifted down and cuffed her ass. Both were grinning big as the photographer snapped the picture.
I shook my head to myself. Not because I was mortified or anything. I never expected him to be a perfect gentleman, just because it was so stereotypical. Still, I got in the line designated for Preston Wilcox.
As I stepped up, there was no way for me to miss the quick up-down perusal he gave me. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Hey. It’s nice to meet you.” I extended my hand for a shake.
He grabbed it, still not looking me in the face. “What’s your name, sweetheart? ’Cause I’m tempted to call you thigh meat. All that dark-brown leg peeking outta your dress is making me wonder what it would feel like draped across my shoulder.”
I gave a chuckle that held no humor. “Were those really the first words outta your mouth? Okay.” I shook my head. This was why I didn’t date in real life. Too many men only saw women as the object of their sexual desires. “If I wanted to have sex with an athlete, trust, I wouldn’t have had to travel a thousand miles to make it happen.”
He smirked before leaning down close to me. “What would your talking-ass mouth look like filled with my dick, Thigh Meat?”
Before I could respond, the photographer yelled out, “Smile!”
The picture was snapped, and I didn’t even want to see it. I knew I looked crazy; my expression would either be a grimace or a frown. I backed away from Preston Wilcox so fast that my feet got tangled up, causing me to stumble. It wasn’t Preston who reached out to make sure I stayed on my feet. It was the player standing next to him.
“You cool?” he asked, making sure I was steady on my feet before releasing me.
I gave him a quick glance. “I am. Thank you.” I didn’t linger. I made my way through the crowd, headed toward the back of the room. “This was a complete waste of time,” I mumbled to myself as I made my way back to the elevator. My plan had immediately changed. Instead of “meet the players,” it became go to my room, exchange the strappy heels I was wearing for my more comfortable gym shoes, and figure out another way to spend the hours before lunch.
Fuck trying to impress these players, I thought to myself.They ain’t trying to impress me. That asshole wasn’t even trying to be polite. He was trying to set up some coochie to fall into.
On the way back to my room, I checked my phone where I’d downloaded the itinerary from a QR code. At 2:00 p.m. the resort offered a wine and cheese tasting. I wasn’t particularlyfond of wine, but I liked cheese. I would make sure to have my face in the place for that experience.
2
SPENCER CHARLES
Day One
Being on a trip where the entire intention was to entice and cajole millionaires and billionaires into donating money was not on my Bingo card for ways I wanted to spend my summer. Not that I was against charitable giving. I wasn’t. I was against bullshit. Spending millions to entice people to give millions was counterproductive in my opinion. Beckenbracken could’ve just donated the millions he spent to entice the people he brought to this resort.
Whatever. I was only present as a favor to my godmother, Micole, who was married to the GM. She’d begged me to come when a player dropped out, and they couldn’t get anyone to agree to replace him. I hated to fold, because I didn’t really do crowds. People thought, as an athlete, I was boisterous and outgoing. That was some other athlete. I was more introspective and observant. I hadn’t always been that way. When I picked up a ball for the first time in Pop Warner, I was both boisterous and rowdy. I was loud, energetic, outspoken, and outgoing. But then I got good. My skills improved, and I started to experience success. That was when I realized that people were often fakeand had their own motivations. I learned first-hand what the term, “fair weather fans” truly meant.
I closed myself off right after middle school. That was when the walls went up, and it became difficult to get close to me on more than a surface level. That was when I stopped allowing access to people whose agendas I wasn’t certain of.
When the morning meet and greet finally ended, I was happy as hell. I’d spent two hours standing next to Preston Wilcox, the running back. He was also one of my least favorite players on the team. I’d never had any real run-ins with him. His attitude just sucked ass. He was arrogant, insecure, mouthy, and inconsistent. He also had an ego as big as the conference room we were in. All morning long, I’d watched him inappropriately touch prospective donors’ wives and girlfriends. I listened to him say things to women he didn’t know that I wouldn’t say to a sexual partner.
I spent a lot of time shaking my head at his antics, but the women didn’t seem to mind. A lot of them giggled and responded in kind. Right up until he tried it with the beautiful woman in the floral dress. Wilcox said something about her thigh meat, and I saw her eyes go wide. I wanted to step in, but before I could, the flash of the photographer’s camera went off, and she was backing away from him, right into me. When our eyes met, I felt a fucking chill go down my spine. She was too damn pretty. Her skin was a deep, rich chocolate brown that was creamy and flawless. It was the dimples and the brown eyes that did me in, though. The girl was gorgeous. I could see why Wilcox tried to shoot his shot, but I couldn’t understand why he was so damn bad at it. She had practically bolted from the room.
Back in my suite, I changed out of the clothes I wore to the meet and greet. Ownership had actually been bold enough to give us what they called adress protocol. While they weren’t requiring us to wear suits to every event, they definitely wereagainst us wearing streetwear and sneakers, which was what most of us wore during our downtime.
Next up for me was a wine and cheese tasting.I hope they got something to eat besides cheese,I thought to myself as I exchanged the light-colored slacks I’d worn to the meet and greet for black linen pants and a matching color-blocked polo. I slid into my loafers and left my room, wondering both about food and about whether or not I’d get a chance to see old girl from the meet and greet again. She was bad as hell.
