Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance (9 page)

In any case, I was wondering how you are doing. It's been a while since you emailed me, and I know you're busy. But if you have a few minutes to give me a call, I'd appreciate it.

Yours truly,

Patricia

I re-read the email, my finger trembling over my mouse to delete it. I sound desperate and lonely. Oh, wait. I
am
lonely, but I'm not so sure I'm desperate. At least, not this desperate, am I?

“Hey, Trisha?”

I quickly stash the email in my
Drafts
folder and look up, seeing my boss, Trevor Bana. He’s forty-six, with a wife and two kids. I've been working for him for over fifteen years, since soon after I finished up my night school bachelor's. It took me seven years since I had to work full-time and take night classes, but I did it.

“What can I do for you, Trevor?” I hate that he calls me Trisha, but I can't seem to get him to stop calling me a name that sounds better on an exotic dancer than a professional office manager. “Is everything okay with the electrical contractors?”

“They're doing fine,” he says, coming over and standing just a bit too close. Trevor has for years had no problem with violating my personal space, and I don't like it, but the pay is good, I need the money, and usually, I can shut him down without too much of a problem. “Actually, I was thinking . . . you've been working so hard, and with the news that your daughter went to Florida, I was thinking that maybe you'd like to go out for a drink tonight.”

I try not to roll my eyes, and mostly succeed. Trevor's a former college baseball player, and still now, twenty-five years later, he's still a player. Not that he isn't handsome. There's a little salt and pepper in his hair, but most of the white is actually concentrated right around his ears, kind of giving him a look like the comic book character, Reed Richards. He also has a lean build and hasn't had the same amount of middle aged spread that a lot of the guys who have been doing construction for a long time seem to get.

But he's married. In fact, not only is he married, but he's a major contributor to the same church I go to. His son is fifteen and is a sophomore at SLHS, while his daughter is what he jokingly calls an 'oops' and is only six. In fact, I teach her Sunday school twice a month. So for him to make a pass at me is more than just inappropriate since he's my boss. It's downright disgusting. Not that any of those facts stop him.

“I don't think so, Trevor,” I reply, giving him a level look. I've got a bit of leeway. We both know that I keep the office running ten times smoother than anything he could do, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware that he's the owner. “Wouldn't you rather take Kerri for drinks?”

“Kerri's not as . . . interesting as you are,” he says, leaning down close enough that he's seriously in my personal space. If he normally stops at the yellow zone, he's in the double red right now, and I'm getting pissed off. “I've seen the way you've glanced my way.”

“You're imagining things,” I shoot back, shaking my head. “Let me put it this way. I am not going to go for drinks with you tonight or any other night. And I doubt you want Kerri to find out what you’re up to, including that business trip you took to Vancouver last year. You really need to be more careful with what receipts you turn in. Just because you claim that a trip to an Asian massage parlor is a business expense and might actually skate past the IRS, that doesn't mean you should turn it in.”

He turns a bit red, but stands up. “Fine. Just trying to be nice. If I were you, I'd make sure that stick up your ass isn't leaving splinters.”

Trevor walks off, and I sigh, shaking my head. He's rude, he's crude, and I get what some women would call sexually harassed at least once a month, but the pay is good and the benefits are better. Still, why is it that the only man in town to show interest in me in the past six months is married and a jerk?

I open my email and re-read what I wrote. Instead of deleting it, I hit
Send
, not giving it another thought.

“
O
kay
, Rick, so you're looking at how much a year?”

The guy on the other end of the Skype call isn't a household name, but he's been in the League for ten years, mostly as a second-stringer, and even though he's making the veteran minimum, that's still over a million dollars per year.

“I was thinking maybe half a million? The team's made it plain that when this contract's finished, I'm gonna get released. My agent says that my chances of getting a shot with another team are slim to none. So I have two years to save up and get some stuff rolling.”

I nod, wishing this guy had come to me three years ago. Seriously, two years, even at half a million dollars per year, isn't going to give him time to accrue much, but there are still options. “All right, I gotcha. Well, normally, a player who is looking at setting aside what you're looking at, I'd recommend a balanced basket of investments, the classic being everything cut into thirds between stocks, real estate, and business investments. In your case, though, I think we need to capitalize on getting maximum ROI and securing you a wide enough base that you'll have residual income that can hopefully be rolled into further investments.”

“So whatcha sayin', man?” Rick asks, and I remind myself that he 'graduated' with a 2.0 GPA with a degree in cultural appreciation studies.

“Where you currently play, the real estate market is pretty soft, but the market analysts are saying that within five years or so, you're going to be hot. The time to jump in is now. With your half-million, I can get you down payments and good mortgages on at least two multi-unit apartment buildings, with a possibility of up to five if there are any motivated sellers. The Department of Defense pulling out a few years back hurt the local economy, but it's already hit bottom and is going to start coming up. That's my recommendation, at least.”

“So how do I do that?” Rick says, and I can see he at least understands part of what I'm saying.

After I fill him in on all the details, Rick cuts the call. I sit back, shaking my head in amazement. Ten players, all in the League, and one guy from baseball whose wife is a friend of a wife of one of the guys Troy's passed my card along to. All in roughly six months.

I take twenty minutes to put together the packet that Rick requested. None of the information is all that different from some of my other packages, even though I'll tailor it to his needs later. Ten thirty in the morning, and I've already got another potential half-million a year to add to my portfolio. Nice deal.

I get up and go to the coffee room, which I have to admit PacFran bank does an awesome job on. I brew myself a Himalayan K-cup and take a sip, savoring it.

“Mr. Dunham, do you have a minute?” someone asks behind me, and I turn to see Dan Bremmington, the President of PacFran's investment division, standing in the doorway. I've only talked to him a few times because he's so far up the ladder above me.

“Of course, sir,” I answer, setting my cup down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bremmington?”

“I just read the monthly reports,” he says, gesturing for me to have a seat. “Did you seriously add four million dollars to your portfolio in the last sixty days?”

“Yes, sir. I got a few new clients, and my current clients are continuing with their deposits too.”

Bremmington nods, then takes a seat. “Well, whatever you're doing, I want you to keep it up. In fact, I wanted to come down here and tell you in person. The senior directors all discussed it, and we've decided that it's time to get a talent like yours out of the cubicles. Starting Monday, you're going to be listed as an Investment Specialist, and you'll be in your own office. It's not a corner one yet, but at the rate you're going, I wouldn't unpack your things too quickly.”

I blink, stunned. “You're shitting me.”

Bremmington laughs and offers his hand. “I’m not shitting you, Cory. Now, the position doesn't come with any more salary, but you do get two more points on your portfolio. The way that's growing, you're going to be doing some serious damage this upcoming year.”

I shake his hand, still half-shocked. “Wow. I guess this is the right time to ask then, but yesterday, I got an email from one of my clients, and my best friend in high school. It was a reminder that he's getting married soon, and his fiancée is also a good friend of mine. I put in my original vacation request a while back, and I was kinda hoping to amend it a little, maybe add a few days?”

Bremmington nods and gives me a grin. “Sure. Tell your friend congratulations.”

I shake with him again and head back to my desk, still stunned. A few of the other guys on the floor toss me their congrats. The word's spreading quickly, and I wave back, not believing it.

“Early lunch,” I tell Rita, the floor secretary, and she nods, marking me down as out of the office. “Be back by one.”

When I hit street level, my phone is at my ear, and I quickly hurry to the back of the PacFran building, where the street and pedestrian traffic is lightest and I can talk.

“Hello, Cory.”

My heart leaps in my chest, and I can't help it, hearing Patricia's sultry voice in my ear. “Good morning. How's it going today?”

“Now that you've called? I'd say it's a pretty good Thursday. Especially since I'm getting to fly to the Bahamas next week. Hey, did Troy tell you about the dresses he's getting for me and Dani?”

“No, why?” I ask. “I mean, the most I know about is the suits. Troy's got me and Coach Jackson wearing white tropical suits, which I guess isn't too bad. It could have been worse. He could have asked for those horrible Hawaiian shirts that they made the Pro Bowlers wear.”

Patricia laughs softly in my ear, each little chuckle sending warmth through my body and tingles down my spine. “You'll see. So what did you call about?”

“Well, I just got a promotion,” I tell her, and I can hear her breath catch. “I was kinda thinking . . . things are starting to shape up. And well, at the wedding, I don’t really want to hide what I’m feeling.”

“Do you mean you want to dance in front of everyone like Troy and Whitney did?” Patricia asks.

“Have you mentioned anything to Whitney? I mean, I guess there’s not much to say, but is it going to be totally out of the blue for her?”

“No, I haven’t. I wouldn’t even know what to say. I'll be honest with you, Cory. While your reaching out to me has been more than flattering, I'm a little scared too. I can't quite shake the little voice in my mind telling me that you're either playing me or that I'm playing myself and misunderstanding what you're telling me, reading too much into things.”

“Patricia, don't worry about that. Well, what if we just keep the little charade up until we go out to dance? If I email Dani and talk to Troy, I think they'll be on board with it. I mean, they've kind of known something was budding and haven’t said anything this long.”

I hear her hum in consideration, then laugh. “Only if you promise me two things.”

“What's that?”

“One, that you are not going to stand me up. I swear that if you do, I'm going to sic my new son-in-law on your butt. Second, that we go to Whitney afterward and tell her we’re going to see one another. You don't know how guilty I feel that we've been talking like this for months now, and I want to tell her.”

“I know,” I reply. “Just a few more days, Patricia. I know that I've tested your patience, but I promise, I'm not going to stand you up.”

“You’d better not.”

“Okay, I should get going now. Patricia . . . thank you.”

“Thank you, Cory. See you in the Bahamas.”

* * *

T
o say
that the scene for the wedding is idyllic is an understatement. It’s the Bahamas, after all. Beautiful blue ocean, warm sun, and tropical breezes. The perfect place for Patricia and me to finally spend some time together.

Okay, so my mind's going there. Why shouldn't it? For six years, I've carried a flame for this woman, and now, finally, I get to do something I've dreamed about.

“Hey, Cory!” Whitney says, and I see the best current reasons to be in the Bahamas, my best friend and the love of his life. “You jetlagged?”

“Something like that. I’m so looking forward to tomorrow, though,” I say, giving her a quick hug. “Looking like the most beautiful bride ever, by the way,” I tease her.

“You know, I bet Dani would protest that, but she's flying in tonight, so I'll take it,” Whitney says, grinning. “Thanks for the ego boost.”

“You deserve it,” I reply, then look at Laurie, who's grinning widely. “What do you say, Laurie?”

“Mama's the prettiest for sure,” Laurie says, then runs off. Coach Jackson's kid is hanging out by the pool, and Greg's already sort of bonded with Laurie. She looks up to him like a big brother, and he's still in that age where he's shy enough around all the older adults that he likes the attention from the little blonde girl.

“She's enjoying herself,” I muse, then look over at Whit. “So are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” she says, crossing her arms and rubbing them, something I remember her doing a lot when she's thinking. “I mean, this just feels like a formalization of something that's been true for a year. So the piece of paper just makes it easier for us, that's all.”

“I gotcha,” I say. “So can I ask, what about Laurie? I mean, I assume you're going to change to Whitney Wood, which has a really nice sound, by the way, but Laurie?”

“For now, she’ll stay as Laurie Nelson, at least for a while. When she fully understands, she can make that choice. She loves her daddy, though, so I’m pretty sure what she’ll decide.”

“I gotcha,” I say again, before faking watching a pair of players' wives walk by in their swimsuits. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you guys agreed to let me come down early too?”

“Watch yourself,” Whitney teases. “Just remember, every woman here is either dating, is married to, or is family to a professional football player. Well, except Dani, who shows up tonight, and you know Troy's got her back. You really want to piss them off?”

“Good point,” I concede. She thinks I said that because I was looking at them in their swimsuits, but that’s the furthest thing from my mind. “Well, there's Troy. I’m going to go give him a holler.”

Whitney laughs and gives me a slap on the shoulder, stopping when she feels the muscle underneath, the results of all my personal workouts the past few months. “You've kept yourself in good shape. You're certainly not built like a banker. So what's her name?”

“Honey, how do you know it's
her
name?” I tease, trying to keep her guessing.

She laughs as I’m walking over to Troy, who's giving me a knowing smirk. “You're enjoying this a bit too much, pulling this on Whit. I should bust your ass for it.”

I laugh, shaking my head and punching him lightly in the arm. I feel like the two of us are back in high school in some ways, just cutting up and having some fun. “Oh, come on. It's the last big, immature trick any of us get to pull. Besides, even you have to admit that it's going to be pretty damn epic if it goes off right. I mean, it's poetic even.”

Troy chuckles and nods. “Okay, okay. Still, try to play it cool, all right?”

“I am cool, man. Well, except for the fact that I've got cold, clammy hands just thinking about it tomorrow. Palms are sweaty. But trust me, it's going to be great. You'll see.”

We bump fists, but Troy leans in, his voice dropping and carrying a note of seriousness that also has a hint of the violence that I know he can unleash. After all, he gets paid millions of dollars a year to unleash it. “In all seriousness though, Cory . . . I love you, but if you're doing this just to fuck with Patricia or to hit it and quit it . . . you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.”

Troy's two hundred and thirty-two pounds of linebacker, and he's protective of his family, but I have nothing to worry about. “This isn’t a joke. I don't know what's going to happen after tomorrow night, but it isn't a joke to me.”

Troy's eyes study me for a minute, then he clears up, still serious, but not a hint of violence in him at all. “All right then. Enjoy the rest of the day, and I'll see you for the rehearsal dinner. Till then, I'm going to go play with my daughter.”

Later that night, the last seaplane arrives, and Dani, Pete, and Patricia all get out. Dani runs up the dock to nearly tackle Whitney—she's so excited—while Pete exchanges bear hugs with Troy and me. I give Patricia a glance, and she returns it, but we both know it's only one night. We can play it cool until then. Actually, from the little smirk she gives me, I think she's into it as much as I am.

“Dude, this place is awesome!” Pete says, looking around. “Like . . . holy shit, is that Chad Jordan?”

“Yep,” Troy admits, and Pete's going gaga. “Come on, man, you want to go meet him?”

“Uh . . . hell yea,” Pete says after stammering for a second.

They head off toward Troy’s teammates who are here for his wedding, and then they turn around, looking at me. “You coming?”

“Go on, you two. I’ve already met them. I'll go find some trouble of my own to scare up somewhere.”