The Right Player: A Sports Romance Page 2

  What if that wasn’t the life I was supposed to live?

  What if, for me, my work was my husband? What if I could have all the fun that goes along with being in a relationship — the laughter, the butterflies, the excitement of kissing for the first time, the knock-your-socks-off sex — and then… because the shoe fits… I take myself out of the picture, and continue living my kick ass life while the guy goes off and gets hitched, or whatever he decides to do?

  Suddenly, being the good time girl didn’t sound so bad.

  At least, that’s what I told myself.

  From that moment on, I wore that badge of disgrace like it was a badge of honor, instead.

  I wouldn’t be just a good time, I would the best damn time any guy I hooked up with would ever have.

  And I’d never have to make them breakfast in the morning.

  “It’s his loss,” Zach chimed in. “On to the next, right?”

  “Damn straight. And,” I added, holding up one finger. “I’m going to add doctors to my list of Never Ever Ever Again Will You Ever Even Consider This Type of Man. Right under football players.”

  Zach smirked at that. He was the only football player I tolerated, and it was probably because he didn’t play anymore — except to toss the ball around with Gemma, which was actually quite adorable.

  “Oh! What if…” Gemma framed my arms, and I knew before she said another word that I wouldn’t agree with whatever she was about to propose. “What if we got you on a dating app.”

  “I’m already on them.”

  “I mean to actually date someone,” she expanded. “I know you’re El Presidente of the Single Forever Club, but what if you just tried it?” Her expression softened. “A lot has changed since college, Belle. You don’t have to play this role forever.”

  “I like this role,” I pointed out, tapping each finger. “Hot sex, no one telling me what to do or where to be, no one complaining that I work too much, no one to take care of when they’re sick or just being a baby.”

  No one to take care of me, I thought, but I didn’t say that one out loud.

  “Maybe it’s time for a change,” Zach offered, and the word crawled over me like a dozen cockroaches, eliciting a shiver and grimace.

  Change.

  Why does everything have to change?

  “It’s fine,” I said finally, hopping out of my seat. I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it to the top with black coffee. “By the end of the week, I’ll have a new, hotter, better player in rotation.” I pointed at the two of them. “Just you wait and see.”

  Gemma offered a sad smile, she and Zach exchanging looks that told me more than their words ever could have.

  I knew they wanted to see me happy, but what they didn’t understand was that fairytales weren’t for everyone.

  Some of us got stuck with the kind of stories that made you cry, that made your heart ache, that made you hold your knees to your chest and rock in a corner, or drown your sorrows in a bottle of wine or two.

  That was the kind of story I had the leading role in, and I’d accepted it long ago.

  I just had to find the next chapter.

  Makoa

  For as long as I could remember, there had only been two things I ever wanted in my life.

  Love, and football.

  The latter was easier to admit, and, I found out early in life, far easier to accomplish, too. I started throwing a ball as soon as I could pick one up, and then my dad was tossing spirals to me in the backyard, teaching me how to catch and protect the ball while I ran. My parents put me in Pee Wee football as soon as they could, and from there, I was unstoppable.

  I was picked out as a top receiver by my Pee Wee coach, played in the Pop Warner Super Bowl twice, and even received the MVP Award the second time around. I went on to play varsity all four years of high school, and then four years as a starting wide receiver for The University of Hawai’i at Mānoa. Being six foot five and two-hundred-and-twenty pounds made me one of the tallest and largest receivers in college, and that, combined with my record-breaking high-catch seasons, got me the national attention I needed.

  At twenty-two years old, I was drafted to the San Francisco 49ers in the second round of the NFL draft. I mostly rode the bench in my time there, but I made the cut, made the team each and every time.

  And now, five years later, I was moving into my new home, in my new city, and getting ready for my first season with my new team.

  The Chicago Bears.

  Not that my position was set in stone, yet. As a free agent, I was essentially guaranteed training camp and pre-season games, a tryout more than an official position.

  But I wouldn’t accept anything less than a spot on that team.

  I was manifesting it in every way I could — by wearing the team colors, practicing every day in the “off” season, running drills and watching tape, getting close with the players I could to learn the ins and outs of the team. And, as the cherry on top, I didn’t just rent a place in Chicago. No, renting insinuated that I was temporary, that I was only staying for a little while.

  Instead, I bought a condo.

  Buying instead of renting spoke volumes. It was a symbol of my commitment. It was a good omen to turn my dream into fruition.

  It was a mark of my permanence — in this city and on the Chicago Bears team.

  “Braddah, look at this view!” My sister, Oliana, ran to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan, pressing her face right up against the glass. She was the youngest of our siblings, seventeen, about to enter into her senior year of high school. Her jet-black hair hung to her waist, the front twisted into a braid that wrapped around the crown of her head. “The water is so blue.”

  “It is nothing compared to home,” my mom said, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tissue I knew was too damp to do anything anymore. Oliana looked a lot like our mother, both with the same wide, chocolate-brown eyes and dimples. Both thick with curves that all my sisters had. My eyes favored my father’s, a sort of golden maple syrup, but I had the same goofy smile as my mom, one that took over my entire face and usually garnered me a comment or two every time I met someone new.

  Your smile is so unique!

  You have such a big smile!

  That’s the best smile I’ve ever seen!

  Of course, I learned early on that to the girls, that smile told them one thing and one thing only.

  Put this guy in the friend zone.

  But we’ll get to that.

  “Ah, my beautiful Mah,” I said, pulling my mom into my arms and kissing her temple. “No more tears.”

  “I just cannot believe you’ll be so far from home now.” She sniffed. “California, not bad. But this… this city… in the Midwest?” She shook her head, like the mere thought of it made her want to faint.

  “Did you forget that you have a spare key and a card that you can book as many flights as you want to on?” I smiled. “Consider it a second home for all of us.”

  “You say that now. But when I start showing up every other weekend, you are going to take my key away.”

  “Never,” I said, giving her another kiss before I joined Oliana at the window.

  “I’m moving here with you,” she said just above a whisper, her wide eyes sweeping over the lake, the pier, the skyrises in the distance. “I’m so tired of the island. The same food, the same people, the same ocean and mountains and trees. I mean, just look out there.” She shook her head. “It’s like a whole new world.”

  “Good luck telling that to Mah, Tita,” I said, elbowing her ribs. I usually reserved the Pidgin nickname for when she was acting particularly sassy, but I knew more than anyone that she loved the nod of acknowledgement that she was a spitfire.

  She smirked. “Yeah, I’d be getting lickens if I so much as muttered it.”

  “Yes, you would,” Mah said from behind us, where she was surveying the rest of my new condo skeptically. If it wasn’t home, it wasn’t good enough in
her eyes. “So do not even think about it.”

  Oliana and I shared knowing looks and smiles, and then I followed Mah around the apartment, making a mental list of things I’d need while she made an actual list that included far more than mine. It didn’t bother me, though — that was just who my mom was. And being that I was her only son, and a not-so-discreet mama’s boy, it didn’t surprise me that she wanted to make sure I was taken care of before they got on the plane back to Hawai’i.

  Remember how I mentioned that love was the other thing I’d always wanted? Well, I had my four sisters to thank for that — and maybe my mother and father, too.

  The Kumaka family was a big ball of sleeve-worn emotions, and we always had been.

  I grew up watching Disney movies and rom-coms and talking about my feelings far sooner than any other boy or man I’d ever met. I remembered my first crush, in the second grade, when most boys could only focus on video games. I, on the other hand, stayed up all night before Valentine’s Day making a homemade card for the blue-eyed girl in my class who always smelled like citrus and vanilla. I gave it to her along with a box of chocolates and a teddy bear that I used my hard-earned chore money to buy.

  She’d called me sweet, thanked me, and told me I was one of her best friends.

  Friend.

  It was the first time that word scarred me, but it wouldn’t be the last.

  Maybe it was because I had the best mother in the world, and a father who treated her like gold. Or maybe it was because I had four sisters — two younger than me, two older than me — and a fierce determination to protect and respect every single one of them. Maybe it was because I grew up hearing everything a girl wanted from a guy, and I thought I knew exactly what I was doing.

  Turned out, I didn’t know anything.

  I could blame it on my big, goofy smile. I could blame it on the fact that I made it a point to get to know a girl before I asked her on a date. I could blame it on the cheesy lines I’d learned from the movies, the ones that always made my sisters swoon but seemed to make girls in real life grimace uncomfortably. I could blame it on my incessant need to ask permission before I even attempted a kiss, but regardless, one thing remained true.

  I was always the friend, never the boyfriend.

  No, it seemed that title was reserved for the assholes who made all my girl “friends” cry and question their worth. The guys who didn’t text back quickly or call the day after a date, the ones who flirted with other girls right in front of the one they were dating, the ones who said they wanted something “casual” and made it seem like the girl was cool if she was down for just having sex without expecting anything more.

  Somewhere along the way, I got my wires crossed on what girls were actually looking for.

  Of course, when I signed with the NFL, my trouble with love shifted. I went from being perpetually friend-zoned, to never knowing if a girl I was on a date with wanted me or my money.

  Luckily, it never did take long for the truth to come out. A gold digger showed her true colors early enough on that I never really risked being hurt. My first run in with this type of woman was with Kelly, a hot little volleyball player who I nearly did a backflip for when she agreed to go out with me. But she showed me her real intentions regarding our “relationship” at a dinner with a few of my teammates and their wives in San Francisco, when she commented about how big one of the wives’ wedding ring was and said to me, in front of everyone, mine better be bigger.

  Zariyah was next, and she made it perfectly clear when she hinted that plastic surgery would be a lovely Valentine’s Day gift.

  And my favorite, the beautiful, sweet, seductive Lucia, who truly had me fooled for about two months — until the first time we had sex, and she asked me so how does this whole sugar daddy thing work?

  So no, as much as it hurt, it wasn’t hard to figure out if a girl only wanted me for the things the NFL had brought into my life — whether that be money, fame, or connections. And honestly? I was glad for it. Those women showed me everything I didn’t want. They taught me the hard lessons that put me on guard, that gave me pause and reserve with every woman I’d met since then. I was spared a lot of disastrous relationships by seeing those signs early on, and I was tougher for it.

  Still, I longed for a true connection, one that was more than friendship and one not born out of a desire to use me for the dollar signs or possible fame attached to my name. I wasn’t well-known enough in the NFL to cause a scene yet, but I planned to be one day, and I wanted someone who would support that without exploiting it.

  What I really wanted, more than anything, was a girl who didn’t know me at all, one who I could tell my own story to, one who loved me for me.

  What a sap, right?

  The main point here is that while football was second nature to me, love was a fleeting fantasy.

  But being in a new city, with a new team? Everything felt possible.

  Maybe my dream girl was hidden somewhere in the Windy City.

  Maybe, with a little luck, I’d find her.

  And maybe, with a lot of luck, she wouldn’t have any clue who I was.

  “Where are you going to sleep tonight?” Oliana asked, scrunching her nose as she looked around at the empty space.

  “I’ll get an air mattress.”

  Mah’s eyes lit up with horror. “No, no, no! You cannot sleep on an air mattress, that is terrible for your back.”

  “We used to sleep on air mattresses all the time when we had sleepovers!” I reminded her.

  “You were ten. And about half the size you are now.”

  “It’s just for a little while, Mah,” I assured her with a smile, framing her arms in my hands. “I’m meeting with an interior designer later this week, and she’s one of the best in the city. Next time you visit, it’ll be a whole new place.”

  “I could be your interior designer.”

  I chuckled. “I know you could be. But hey, this is a new city with a new style. It’s different from anything we’ve ever seen. Don’t you think it’ll be fun to let one of the Chicago professionals who knows the city best bring that new style to life?”

  “I think no matter how professional they are, there is nothing Chicago has that is better than Hawai’i.”

  Oliana laughed, wrapping her arms around our mother to replace mine. “Alright, I think it’s time we leave Makoa and let him settle in. We should get some sleep, anyway.”

  “But our flight is not until ten in the morning!”

  “Makuahine,” Oliana said, giving her a look. “Kiss your one and only precious son goodbye and let him breathe for once in your life.”

  Mom pouted, but I had her smiling at the end of a bear hug. And with a whispered Mahalo in my little sister’s ear when I hugged her, we said a hui hou — until we meet again — and then I was blessedly alone.

  The sun was slowly setting over the city and the lake, casting everything in a warm, orange glow that leaked into my empty condo like rays from heaven itself. Slowly, lights twinkled to life, and I smiled, feeling the newness that only a big move like this one could ever bring.

  Moving to California had felt big, but not in the same way. After all, I was still close enough to catch a short flight home to feel the culture and warmth of Hawai’i, and my family was never too far away. But now, I was in Chicago — the Midwest, a city as unfamiliar as the team I was about to play with.

  And I had something to prove.

  I wasn’t a rookie anymore, but I was new to the team, and that meant I’d have to fight for my spot. While the veterans could rest easy knowing they had a position regardless of what happened in the pre-season, I would have to work my ass off at training camp just to earn the chance to play and show coach what I could do if he kept me on the team.

  And I wanted more than just a position.

  I wanted a starting position.

  Or, at the very least, enough playing time to surprise anyone who picked me up for their fantasy football team.

&n
bsp; I blew out a breath as the last of the sun dipped away, the city somehow coming more alive in the twilight. There was no ocean, but instead, a grand lake that seemed to hold completely different possibilities. The palm trees had been traded in for European buckthorns, the albatross for starlings, the city on the bay for the city by the lake.

  There at the window in my empty condo, despite the mounting pressure I felt and the uncertainty of a new home, I smiled.

  Because everything was different.

  And I was ready for a change.

  Belle

  I smiled at the family photo in my hand, one from a couple with their newborn child in their lap. The little threesome was situated right in the middle of the grand family room I’d designed and decorated for them in the spring when Mrs. Albers was pregnant. That family room was only a small piece of the re-design, as I’d done everything from the nursery to the master bath. But that room had been the one that stole my heart.

  There was always one.

  It was a bright room, with all white walls and white trim, save for the cherry wood beams that sprawled across the ceiling. We’d chosen a gorgeous French empire chandelier for the centerpiece of the room, and it hung over the luxurious cream push pin couch that the family sat together on, the new parents smiling down at their baby. The Albers already had an impressive art collection, it was just moving those pieces into the right place that made everything come together, like the Kara Walker silhouette pieces hung in symphony over the couch.

  What I loved most about that room was the fireplace.

  Ever since I first studied interior design, I’d been fascinated by the concept of Hygge. It’s a Danish word that essentially means cozy, warm, safe and comfortable — at least, that was always my interpretation of it. You could make a room Hygge by using low, warm lighting — like candles and fireplaces and chandeliers, as opposed to bright fluorescent or white lights. Add in some cozy blankets, plush furniture, hot tea, and some board games, and you’ve got the Hygge effect.

  Looking at the picture of the Albers made my heart squeeze and float on butterflies like no man had ever accomplished in my life. I didn’t fall in love with men. I fell in love with homes, with rooms, with spaces that would play host to memories for years to come. The Albers would put up a Christmas tree in that room. Their baby might take her first steps there. Mr. Albers might doze off on the couch one cold Sunday afternoon, with his sock-covered feet being warmed by the fireplace.