Groupie (Juked Book 2) Page 8

  “Yeah. Most players go to the smaller farm teams for a few years to build their skills first.”

  “Right. That’s what it’s like for me to have a job at a television station in Houston.”

  I furrow my brow, trying to grasp the importance of what she’s saying.

  “I can see you’re still confused. Let me try this again.” She shifts to face me. I immediately miss the feeling of her thigh resting on mine. “The television markets are ranked by how big your demographic is. For instance, New York City has the largest population in the country, so they’re ranked number one. Los Angeles is ranked number two. Most people, when they first get out of college, start in a really tiny market, like Lubbock or Amarillo. They’re both ranked well into the one-hundreds.”

  “How many markets are there?”

  “Over two hundred. The larger the market you work in, the more you get paid, the more sports teams there are, the better the stories and opportunities. So while you may start out in a small market, making minimum wage, the goal is to get a big market, where there are bigger perks and maybe even national attention.”

  “Where is Houston ranked?”

  “Last time I looked, it was number eight.”

  “Holy shit,” I exclaim. “That’s really good.”

  She nods excitedly. “I know. My first television job is a full hundred and fifty markets higher than most people. So you can see why I had to turn down Columbia.”

  “Well, yeah. Grad school will always be there if you change your mind.”

  “Exactly. But the recruiters who scout for ESPN may be looking at me now.”

  “That’s really amazing, Tiffany.” I rest my hand on her shoulder and rub my thumb in circles. “You should be proud of yourself.”

  “I am. I mean, I know I was in the right place at the right time. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “But you had to at least be good at it for them to give the job to you.”

  “Well, yeah,” she agrees. “I work hard, and I try to stay humble so I can learn everything I can. There’s always room to grow. I don’t want it to go to my head. When I start thinking it’s only my talent that got me here and forget how much luck played into it, that’s when I’ll start getting cocky, and I don’t ever want to be that person.”

  I slide my hand down her arm and rest it on the bench. “Arrogance doesn’t work when your job requires a lot of team effort.”

  “I take it Mack is still giving you a hard time?”

  I think about how to answer her without sounding like a whiny bitch. It’s hard to describe some of the passive aggressive digs he lobs at me on a regular basis, and I certainly don’t want to tell her how he talks about her in the locker room, or how it makes me wanna go off the rails. It’s best to keep it simple. “He’s difficult to work with.”

  “I think he knows something is up. He hasn’t figured out you’re about to replace him, but he’s intimidated by your talent.”

  I whip my head around to look at her, stomach dropping. “How did you know about that?”

  She stumbles over her words. “I… um… I just… I’m a journalist. I hear things all the time.”

  “Tiffany, no one can know they’re grooming me. No one. If this gets out, it could cause a lot of morale problems, which would negatively affect the team.”

  “I know that, Rowen. I would never say anything,” she says adamantly. “I don’t know anything officially.”

  I can’t risk her jumping the gun and reporting it. My reputation is on the line. So is my father’s. “It’s not set in stone. It’s just speculation.”

  “I figured it out on my own,” she says quietly. “I’ve been around longer than some of the team and have heard whispers. I’ve seen this kind of setup before, so it’s not hard to put together.” I pull my beanie off and rub my hands through my hair. “Please know I would never pull the trigger on a story that wasn’t solid. I am not a tabloid journalist.”

  I take a deep breath and pull my beanie back on. Her eyes glisten and she’s biting her lip, like she could start crying at any moment. “Aw, Tiffany. I’m sorry. I’m not questioning your skills.”

  “No, just my journalistic integrity.”

  “That’s not it. I’m on edge. Everything I do right now, everything I say is being watched. I really don’t mind you knowing what’s coming. Just please, please let me know before you run the story.”

  She blinks a couple of times, and her eyes clear. “I’ll do one better. I won’t say a word to anyone if you give me the exclusive interview once it happens.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Deal. I didn’t realize I was that big a deal.”

  “By that time everyone will know you’re soccer royalty, and I can do a really good piece on how you’ve made the game your own.”

  Part of me is relieved she’s so trustworthy. The other part is dreading putting that label on myself again.

  “What time do you leave in the morning?” she asks. The mood is still stilted, but at least she doesn’t look crushed anymore.

  “We have to be on the bus at six.”

  “I guess we should probably go then, huh?”

  I hope she’ll see me again, but after what just happened, I’m not shocked she’s calling it a night. My insecurities ruined what had been a really good time.

  “We probably should.” We go over to my car, which is parked on the street.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asks as we pass the foster mom and her kids. She smiles at us, and Tiffany waves back.

  “A full week this time.”

  “Oh. That’s a long time.”

  “Yeah, but we’re going north for this tour. I think my Mam and Da are coming to one of the games.”

  “That’s good. Not really a way to keep your heritage a secret, but it’ll be fun seeing them, I’m sure.”

  “It will.” I hold the car door open for her, then jog around to the driver’s side and get in. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. I really enjoyed hanging out with you.”

  “Me, too.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks out the window while I navigate through a quiet drive to drop her at home.

  Seven days.

  It’s been seven days since I’ve heard from Rowen.

  I knew I wouldn’t hear from him a lot because they’re so busy on road trips, but I didn’t expect radio silence. I down the last of my vodka and cranberry and continue wallowing in self-pity.

  I knew better than to mention the tension between him and Mack, but I wanted him to know he could talk to me about it. That he could vent to me. But it backfired. Instead, I’d made him question why I was there with him in the first place, if I was on a date with him because I like him, or because I was using him for a story.

  The drive back to my place that night was silent. It’s not uncommon for things to be quiet when Rowen is around. He’s a man of few words. But I didn’t expect it to feel awkward.

  He’d walked me to my front door, and before I could invite him in, he gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and took off. Rejection at its finest.

  I take a deep breath and put my glass on the end table next to me. The guys are finally home from their trip, so that means Mack has people over. The party is winding down. Only the core group of friends remains, which is fine with me. I’m not in the mood to hang out with a lot of people anyway.

  “Why so grumpy?” Sasha slurs as she flops down on the couch next to me, handing me another vodka cranberry. I will never understand how she can plop like that and not spill a drop of alcohol. Say what you will about her, the girl has skills when it comes to balancing while drunk.

  I take a swig. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

  “Cause Rowen’s not here?” she says with a giggle. “I don’t know what your obsession is with him. Yeah, he’s a good player, but he looks like fucking Carrot Top.”

  “He does not,” I argue. Drunk Sasha can get annoying, especially when I’m already in a bad mood.r />
  “Fine,” she concedes. “He’s a much hotter version of Carrot Top. So what? He’s not here. We are, and so is a wide variety of beautiful men with very toned butts.” Never mind that most of them are as inactive as we are after consuming so much booze. “Forget about that loser. You’re young and beautiful. Take advantage of it while you can. Have you forgotten who you are? You’re the queen of the blow job races!”

  I snicker. Only Sasha could make that sound like an award to write home about.

  “I say we use our female charms to get this party moving again.”

  “I’m actually thinking about calling it a night.”

  She sits up and grips my arm. “You can’t do that. It’s not even that late.” She makes a bad attempt at snapping her fingers. “I have an idea. Will you hang on a second?”

  I give up and relax. Who knows what Sasha has planned, but I can’t leave her behind, so I figure I can humor her for a while longer.

  I look around the room at the men chatting and still taking shots. They’re all attractive and solid, with hard muscles and chiseled faces, and they’re just arrogant enough to be intriguing.

  But none of them are Rowen.

  Sasha’s right, though. After the way our date ended, and the lack of communication, it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I need to let it go. I need to move on. Or at least I need to not let my disappointment prevent me from enjoying myself with friends.

  The beat of the background music changes, and the telltale tempo of “Closer” by Tegan and Sara pipes through the speakers. This song always makes me feel sexy and like dancing. Sasha knows this.

  She walks toward me, swaying her hips, a sultry look on her face, and sticks out a hand. “You need to have a little fun tonight. Be the object of someone’s desire. Let’s give them a show.”

  I toy with the idea because of my feelings for Rowen. But he’s not here, and it’s likely I won’t hear from him again anyway. I grab her hand. We make our way to the middle of the room, swaying to the beat, and I lose myself in the music. I raise my arms, play with my hair, arch my back, and move. All conversation around the room has stopped. All eyes are on us. We command the attention of everyone. It’s empowering.

  I catch Mack’s eye and dance for him. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers his hand, unzips his pants, and pulls out his cock. It’s long and hard, and he strokes it as he watches me.

  Nate does the same. Several other teammates join in.

  Sasha has already lost her top and is working on losing her shorts, but I like to take things more slowly. Make them work for it. Make them wait.

  I reach for the hem of my top and drag it up my torso, exposing my flat stomach and lower ribs. I let go and move my hands into the air again, leaving the shirt riding high enough to make my boys happy, but not enough to give them everything.

  “You’re killing me baby,” Mack groans, making me smile.

  With a swoosh, I pull the shirt over my head, revealing a lacy red bra. My nipples are taut, and you can see them faintly through the sheer lace. I barely hear the sound of someone moaning as they make it known how much they are enjoying the show.

  I run my hands down to the waistband of my shorts and unbutton them, teasing my boys. Making my boys anticipate what’s under them.

  I swivel my hips and move in a circle, glancing up to see the reaction I’m getting from my friends. I catch movement in the doorway and freeze.

  Rowen.

  He looks at me, a murderous expression written all over his face.

  “Keep going, baby,” Mack says. “Show me how beautiful you are.”

  “No,” Rowen says harshly, making several people’s eyes snap in his direction, surprised he’s here. Rowen ignores them and stalks over to me, snatching my shirt up off the floor and dragging it down over my head, essentially dressing me in front of everyone. “We’re leaving.”

  He takes my hand as soon as I push it through the armhole, and drags me through the apartment and out the front door, without a backward glance or another word to anyone.

  We drive around in silence for what seems like hours. I’m angry, but I’m still trying to figure out why and if I even have a right to be.

  What Tiffany does with her body is her business. I have no say over it. I respect that. Even if we were a couple, it’s her decision, right?

  I don’t even know the correct answer anymore. All I know is I feel this desire to protect her, which is ridiculous, but there it is. I want her to be treated like she deserves to be treated. Not like what those assholes do. They treat her like a piece of fucking meat. They use her, and someday they’ll throw her away, and she’s worth so much more than that.

  The worst part is, she doesn’t see it. But how would she? They give her tickets to games. They bring her to parties. They call and text and let her call them her friends. Then they call her a whore behind her back and laugh about someone actually caring about her.

  I try to relax my hands on the steering wheel when I notice my knuckles are white from the intensity of my grip. I look for a place to park, somewhere we can talk on neutral ground. I really like her. I want to be with her. But I may be too conservative for this relationship.

  Around the corner from my house is a small park. I’ve driven by it but never really paid attention until now. I pull into the lot and throw the car into park, doing a bad job of it, but we’re the only ones here so it doesn’t matter.

  I move to the passenger side door and open it, putting my hand out.

  Tiffany pauses before taking it and stepping out. I lead her to the sidewalk and through the trees.

  “Where are we going, Rowen?”

  I don’t answer. I’m still getting my thoughts in order and trying to figure out how to start this conversation.

  We come to a clearing with a playground on one side. I lead her over to a picnic table. She sits down on the bench and watches me as I pace. I go to tug my beanie down around my ears but realize I pulled it off in the car and never put it back on.

  I put my hands on my hips. “What the hell was that back there, huh? Why would you do that?”

  She looks at me like I’ve slapped her, but the look quickly changes to one of anger.

  “What business is it of yours? Since when do you get to decide what I do and don’t do, and who I do and don’t do it with?”

  “Since….” I pause. She’s right, and I know it. But that doesn’t change what I’m feeling. “I really like you, Tiffany,” I say more gently. “And I don’t get it. I thought we had a great time the other night and then I walk in and find you… I find… I’m not sure what to think.”

  “Rowen, I haven’t heard from you in a week.” She sounds less angry, but I can tell she’s not happy with me. “After the way our date ended, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “How our date ended?” I rack my brain, trying to remember what she’s talking about because, truth is, she’s all I thought about the entire time I was out of town. Finally it hits me. “The conversation about Shivel?” She nods and my shoulders slump. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I didn’t mean to. I thought I explained myself. You caught me off-guard. I’m more on edge because of how temperamental he is. I’m walking this fine line between working my ass off but not making it completely obvious I’m running circles around him.”

  She looks at me cautiously. “That makes sense.”

  I stalk over and straddle the bench facing her. “Why do you do it, Tiffany? Why do you share that part of yourself with them so freely?”

  She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, turning away.

  “I promise I’m not judging you,” I say. “I just want to understand. Those guys, they’re such dicks. You deserve so much more.”

  A smile crosses her face, but she doesn’t look at me. It’s almost like she can’t when she bares this part of her, which is strangely ironic because I find talking way less intimate than some of the things I’ve seen her do.

&
nbsp; “I went to my first Mutiny game after winning tickets in a radio contest,” she says. “I was so excited. I was eighteen and new to college, new to town, and soccer was already my life. Tickets are expensive, ya know, so I couldn’t wait. I don’t know if you know this, but the media passes we give away used to be in the same section as the players’ passes.”

  “They aren’t anymore?”

  She shakes her head. “They decided to spread out the tickets so even when there aren’t many people at the game, it looks fuller.”

  I crease my brow. “I’ve never seen the stadium not full.”

  “Me neither.” She smiles and glances at me before looking away again. “I’m sure it was the Marketing Department’s genius idea. Anyway, I met Angie Nichols that night. Have you ever heard her name before?” I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure if the guys ever talked about her. She used to be a friend of the team. Angie and I sat next to each and started talking, really enjoying each other’s company. She invited me to my first after party.”

  My stomach clenches. So that is where it all began. Part of me wants to know this story, the other part isn’t sure I do.

  “It was fun. I met everyone, and we drank a lot. I was star-struck most of the night. One of the players, Jason Johnston—he doesn’t play for the Mutiny anymore—we hit it off. I ended up sleeping with him that night.”

  My jaw tightens. “Please tell me he didn’t take your virginity like that… after a night of drinking with some of your favorite athletes.”

  She pats my thigh. “I had lost my virginity a long time before that. And before you go all caveman again,” she says quickly, “It was with my high school boyfriend when I was almost seventeen. In his bed when his parents were out of town for the weekend; wine, roses, the whole thing. He genuinely loved and treated me right that night.”

  While I don’t like the idea of her having sex with anyone but me, I relax, knowing her first time had been special and for the right reasons.

  “Jason got me tickets to the next game, and I ran into Angie again, who invited me to another party. By the time I got there with Jason, a lot of making out was going on. The more we drank, the more PDA Jason and I engaged in. Before I knew it, I was naked from the waist down, and he was banging me up against the wall in front of everyone.”