Groupie (Juked Book 2) Page 10

  Tiffany smirks. “But does your two-hundred-page paperback have fur, like this touchy-feely book with a tiger on the front?”

  “It has fur?” I snatch it out of her hands and go through it, touching all the different pictures as I turn the pages.

  “They’re addicting, aren’t they?” she asks me.

  “I get it. This book is definitely worth….” I flip it over and look at the price. “Eight-fifty. I could probably play with this soft sheep for a while.” She searches for another one, but a bright red book catches my eye. I have found exactly what we’re looking for. “The ABCs of Soccer Board Book,” I say.

  “Are you serious?” Tiffany looks over my shoulder as I read out loud.

  “C is for Corner Kick,” I say. “D is for David Beckham. I wonder what M stands for?” I fast forward a few pages. “M is for mark. Damn. I was hoping it would stand for Mutiny.”

  “I’m sure it will someday,” she says condescendingly, patting my head.

  “You’re funny,” I deadpan.

  “And you’re cute, with all your team spirit.” She leans up and gives me a quick kiss on my lips, making me smile. I’m glad she feels comfortable enough with me to kiss me when she wants to, not just when I want to. “Hey, look. The 123s of Soccer Board Book. Looks like they’re a matching set.”

  “I think we’re finished with our search for the perfect gift.”

  We check out and return to the car, with no plans and no timeline on when to be home. Now that our season is over, I need to keep up with my off-season training, but the craziness has died down for a while.

  “What time do you work tomorrow?” I ask her.

  “I don’t go in until one thirty.”

  “Really?”

  “We don’t get done with the last show until ten thirty and then have a meeting until about eleven, so I go in late.”

  “That actually sounds like a great schedule.”

  “For a night owl like me, it’s perfect.”

  “So then you don’t have to go home any time soon?”

  “Is that your way of asking if we can spend more time together?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have an idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

  “Try me.” I pull out of the parking lot and onto the feeder road of the highway. Because that’ll all Houston is—highways.

  “I have a ton of laundry to do before my week starts tomorrow. If you want, we can get some takeout and hang out at my place. It’s not the excitement of downtown or anything—”

  “Let’s do it. Do you know any good places around here to get food?”

  She navigates us to a place I’ve never tried before called Christian’s Tailgate. It’s a bar and grill she swears has the best country-fried bacon burger in all of Houston.

  After we get our food, which includes the largest fried burger I’ve ever seen (hers) with the best-looking bacon burger I’ve ever seen (mine) and an appetizer platter (ours), we go to her place.

  She lives in a modest apartment complex in the Heights area. With several stories of brightly colored exterior paint, and balconies on almost every apartment, I have to wonder if the cost of living in Houston isn’t as expensive as everyone seems to believe.

  “Do you live alone?”

  She nods. “I was lucky. A friend of mine got a job in Dallas and was moving out, so the management let me take over the remainder of her lease.”

  “They let you do that?”

  She pulls a key out of her pocket and opens the door. “I think it was because she was a reporter, and they were a little bit star-struck having her here. It worked to our advantage.” She throws the door open and ushers me in.

  I’m shocked to see how messy it is. It’s obvious cleaning isn’t a priority. There’s a diet Dr. Pepper can on the end table in the living room, and a pile of clothes overflows a laundry basket next to a closet I assume hides the washer and dryer. A few dirty dishes are piled in the sink.

  “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I didn’t have time to pick up.”

  I carry our food bags over to a round dining table and put them down. “This is your space. It’s not my place to say anything. And it’s not like it’s filthy in here.”

  “I try to do the deep cleaning once a week,” she says as she sits down and unpacks the food, dividing it between us. “But I really suck at picking up during the week. I’d just rather enjoy my life than get caught up in making sure things are pristine all the time. I’m sure once I have kids, I’ll be better about it.” She shrugs. “Or I’ll get a maid.”

  I break open a couple ketchup packets and squirt them on my burger. “You want kids someday?”

  She licks her thumb after getting ketchup on it from her packet and tucks a leg under her. “Someday. I can’t see myself with them now. There’s too much else to do. I love my job and don’t want to feel like I’m short-changing a kid by being at work late every night, ya know?”

  “You don’t think you can do both?”

  She looks up. “I know I can do both. I just don’t know if I want to. My mom did both because, as a single woman, she didn’t have a choice. Even though I turned out fine and think she’s a great mother, every once in a while she tells me she still feels guilty for not being there after school every day. I think it’s a ridiculous way to feel, but she and I are a lot alike. I don’t ever want to feel like that.”

  I take a big bite of my burger and smile at her.

  “What?” she asks, popping a fry in her mouth.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  I put my burger down and wipe my hands on a napkin. “When my dad retired, he was home all the time. He got me off the school bus, took me to all my practices, went to all my parent/teacher conferences.”

  “That sounds nice. Not a lot of kids have such involved dads.”

  “I’ve always assumed when I retire, I’ll end up being a stay-at-home dad, and it would never bother me if my wife wanted to work.”

  She stops chewing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything.” I pick up my burger again. “You may be surprised how life works things out so you can have it all without the guilt.”

  I wink at her as I take another bite. I’m genuinely not suggesting marriage at this stage in the game, but I’ve always been a believer in fate, and I don’t take dating lightly. If things keep lining up, I can see us having a future together.

  And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me happy.

  “When are you going to visit your parents?” I ask for the second time as we drive to Quincy’s apartment for a barbecue a few days later. I’m so anxious I keep asking the same questions over and over because I can’t seem to retain the answers.

  Rowen glances over at me and takes my hand. “Next week. And would you stop being so nervous? It’s gonna be fun.”

  I try to take a deep breath, but I don’t feel like I’m getting enough air. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not about to put yourself in a room with a few dozen women who want to rip your hair out.”

  He snickers. “Another plus for the beanie.” I shoot him a death glare. He squeezes my hand. “Tiff, we were invited.”

  “No, you were invited.”

  “And they all know we’re together, so they know you’re coming, too.” He lifts my hand and kisses the palm. The feeling shoots goose pimples up and down my arm. “Quincy is always nice to you, right?”

  “Quincy is not who I’m worried about. I never slept with her boyfriend,” I grumble under my breath. His jaw tightens, and I immediately realize my mistake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I never expected to be invited to a party with the families of the team before. I’ve never been around the families at all. This is new territory for me.”

  “Tiffany,” he pulls into a space and throws the gear into park. “You are here with me, and I am proud to have you on my arm. They can give us ugly stare
s all night, as far as I’m concerned. We’re here to celebrate with our friend and his girlfriend and her son. Not become besties with anyone.”

  “Okay.” I smile and open the door. “Let’s go before I lose my nerve.”

  As Rowen knocks, I realize we forgot something. “Oh shit. We’re missing the present.”

  I start to go back to the car, but Rowen spins me around. “No way. You’re not getting away that easily,” he says and tucks me under his arm. “I’ll get it later.”

  I close my eyes and sigh, nerves taking over again. When no one answers, Rowen opens the door to a party that is in full swing. Guys I know from the team and their significant others are standing around chatting. Children race by. Balloons hang from some chairs. Under normal circumstances, it would feel like a fun kid party.

  But this isn’t fun for me. I’m on display and not in a good way. Like I’m a pariah. It doesn’t help that several conversations stop when people notice we’re here. Or maybe more accurately, that I’m here.

  “Hey, man,” Rowen says, shaking hands with Santos. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too. I didn’t know you were coming.” He puts his arm around a pretty dark-haired woman. She’s barely over five feet, with a round face and a round, pregnant belly. And she can’t stop glaring at me.

  “I was waiting to find out when I was going to Detroit, so I didn’t know until a couple days ago. Do you guys know Tiffany?”

  “We’ve met,” Santos says noncommittally, the woman next to him still watching me. My heart starts to race, and I’m praying this is not who I think it is. “This is my wife, Mariana.”

  Shit.

  Guilt hits me like a ton of bricks. I knew Santos was married when we hooked up, but I never thought I’d come face-to-face with his wife. Groupies never interact with the families. We stay distant. Separate. The two never overlap.

  Being in front of her, seeing her face, her pregnant belly… I don’t think I can breathe. How could I not realize there was another person on the other end of those hookups? A woman who clearly loves her husband and a child who needs him?

  I don’t know what she knows, and I can’t tell from Santos’s body language if he’s told her of his indiscretions. I certainly won’t be the one to ruin this happy family if I can help it, though. I suck up my guilt the best I can.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say with an attempt at a smile. “When are you due?”

  “Next month,” she says rubbing her belly. “It’s a boy. Our two girls are running around here somewhere.”

  “Congratulations,” I say. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to teaching him all your moves when he gets older, right, Santos?”

  Mariana’s eyes widen, and I throw a hand over my mouth, realizing what I’ve said. “I mean your soccer moves. Because you play soccer. I….”

  Rowen squeezes my shoulder. “He knows what you meant, babe. And I can’t imagine any of us not looking forward to teaching our son our moves.”

  I nod and clamp my mouth shut, embarrassment running through me. I can’t believe the first time I meet a player’s wife, I stick my foot so far in my mouth. I don’t say another word as the three of them continue to chat. I’m too busy looking for a friendly face, and I don’t see many.

  Finally Rowen excuses us and leads us toward the kitchen. “Would you relax?” he whispers in my ear.

  “I made a fool out of myself. I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “It is not. Let’s go say hi to Quincy.”

  I nod and we make our way over to where she’s slicing cheese for a platter.

  “Thanks for letting me come,” I say, shoving a bottle of wine at her.

  “That’s what he said,” Geni mumbles behind her. I feel Rowen squeeze my shoulder again, trying to reassure me, but he’s starting to understand why groupies don’t mix with WAGs. It never turns out well.

  “I’m glad you could be here,” Quincy says kindly, taking the wine and looking at the label. “Petrolo Galatrona 2013, straight from Tuscany. Wow. This is a great year.”

  “You know wine?” I ask, brows crinkling. “With the way you suck down those yard-long margaritas, I thought all you liked were cheap drinks.”

  I can tell by the look on Quincy’s face my lame attempt at a joke failed. Once again I open mouth, insert foot.

  “My dad used to be a real wine connoisseur,” she says, putting me in my place. “I grew up learning about the best years for different vineyards.”

  I nod. “Well, anyway, thanks for inviting us.”

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Rowen gives them a small wave, and we move out to the patio where most of the players are hanging out. As soon as the sliding glass door closes behind us, I relax. When Rowen’s hand drops off my shoulder, slides down my arm and into my hand, I know he feels it, too.

  “Hey, guys. Glad you could make it,” Daniel says as he brushes past us with a greasy tray in his hands. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to put this in the sink.”

  “How’s it going?” I say as Rowen fist bumps and slaps hands with Christian, Randall Shiahriary, and Sammy Marshall.

  “Good to see you two finally making an appearance together,” Christian says, giving me a one-armed hug. I smile at Rowen, who is obviously displeased with Christian’s friendliness towards me. “It’s about damn time this pussy sucked it up and told you he was interested in you.”

  I raise my eyebrows at Rowen as he groans. “I didn’t know it was common knowledge that I caught his eye.”

  Randall laughs. “Darlin’, there is not a lot of secrets in the locker room. We all knew he was smitten from day one.”

  They all laugh as Rowen turns bright red. I like seeing the interaction between them. I don’t know Randall and Sammy well, but they’ve always seemed like nice, solid family men. They’re quite a bit older than us, and I’m sure they had their share of partying before settling down. But it almost seems like they’ve taken Rowen under their wing. They rib him, yes, but they don’t talk down to him. Not like Mack and Nate do.

  Seeing their interaction, and how freely Rowen smiles and laughs, it occurs to me he doesn’t feel as comfortable around Mack and Nate.

  My attention is caught by Santos and Mariana, chatting with Luca Montoya and a woman I assume is his wife. The way Santos rubs her belly and holds her close, it’s so clear that he adores her. It’s the way Rowen looks at me. Santos catches me observing them and kisses Mariana on the side of the head. She looks at him with such love.

  I close my eyes and turn away. I can’t look anymore. When I think about what I’ve done to her, to them, it’s too much.

  “I don’t see how they’ll keep him,” Sammy says, pulling me out of my guilt and to the conversation in front of me. “They keep getting knocked out of the play-offs, and his years before retirement are limited. He wants that Super Bowl ring bad.”

  “No way,” Christian says. “Do you know how much they pay him? He can buy his own damn ring.”

  “He’ll never leave Dallas,” I say as Daniel and a man who looks an awfully lot like him come back outside. “He’s married with two kids. His mom is here. I interviewed him last year, and there’s no way he’s leaving.”

  “No shit?” Christian says. “You interviewed Jason Hart? What’s he like?”

  I smile. “He’s huge. I mean, humongous. But he is just the nicest guy. Exactly like he was when he was drafted.”

  “Wait,” Rowen says. “How do you know what he was like when he was drafted? Weren’t you, like, fifteen when that happened?”

  I smile. “Yep. For my birthday that year, my mom got us tickets to see the draft.” This is the kind of sports talk I love. “I don’t know how she did it but we got to sit inside the actual draft room with the players, front row. It took forever to get through it. But I will never forget it. Jason was the number one draft pick that year, and he hasn’t disappointed at all.”

  “So you’ve always been a fan of sports,” Randall asks, taking a swig o
f his beer. “Not just since you started coming to games?”

  Daniel laughs. “Dude, you know she’s the sports producer for Channel Four, right?” Randall stares at him blankly. “How do you think we get so much coverage there? Soccer is the low man on the sports totem pole in this city. Our girl, Tiffany here, is the one that sends the cameras out to all our events.”

  “I had no idea,” Randall says with respect. “I really appreciate it.”

  Rowen beams at me. I know that look. It’s a mix of pride, with a smidge of “I told you so” mixed in.

  “She’s really good at what she does,” he adds, making me blush. “Houston is the eighth largest market in the country. It’s unheard of for someone straight out of college to get a job in television here.”

  “Seriously? I didn’t know that,” Daniel says. “You’re really smart then.”

  “She got into the grad program at Columbia.”

  Christian lets out a low whistle. “My sister tried to get in there. That is some stiff competition.”

  I’m blushing and starting to feel embarrassed by all the attention. I’m used to hanging out with these guys, but I realize I’m not really used to them actually seeing me. “It’s no big deal,” I say, shoving my free hand in my back pocket. “I just really love sports. All sports. Did you hear the city is toying with bringing a minor league hockey team back to the area?”

  Fortunately, I successfully deflect the conversation off me and back onto a topic I’m comfortable with. We stand around, shooting the shit for a while as people come and go.

  Pretty soon I realize people are looking at me, but it’s not with glares. It’s more with curious stares. Rowen puts his arm around my neck and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head.

  “You feeling more comfortable now?” he asks quietly while the debate over the benefits of an open roof versus a closed roof at a baseball stadium are discussed.

  “I am,” I say. “I think it helps that Daniel and them see I can actually talk sports, not just bat my eyelashes.”

  “Stop it,” he says with a tug on my ear. “You’re making it worse than it really is.”