Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (9 page)

I
t was
about three months after my move to New Orleans that I was finally beginning to relax a little. I earned minimum wage, and was only taking home about a thousand dollars every month. Even so, with my disciplined money habits, my seven thousand dollar nest egg had increased to eight thousand big ones.

Rose and I were actually getting closer. Back when we were growing up our age difference seemed so huge, and then she moved out here with Mike and we drifted even further apart. Now, we made a habit of going to a nearby farmer’s market every Saturday morning. We also prepared brunch together on Sundays. I wouldn’t quite say we had a lot in common, but we enjoyed spending time together. Personally, I was happy to have a family bond again.

Her boyfriend, Mike, was scarce. He worked those weird, twelve days on and fourteen days off shifts. His position was a rotary drill operator on one of the offshore oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Somehow, whenever he was off the rig and here at home, he’d end up at one gambling establishment or another. Or maybe that was just his excuse for cheating on Rose with other women. Either way, I was glad I had only seen Mike’s face about four times in the last few months.

Chris and I hadn’t seen each other for over three months either. I kind of missed him, even though he wasn’t supposed to be more to me than a casual fling and a road trip rescue. The funny thing about not seeing him was we were getting closer as friends. He would send me texts almost every week to check up on me, and fill me in on school and his games, which I never told him I listened to on the radio at work. I guess if I wanted to, I could watch it on my phone, but that meant I’d need a better data plan, which would throw off my budget. Because of his full schedule, I didn’t message him much, other than to reply whenever he called or sent a text. The biggest reason I didn’t get in the habit of reaching out to him was because I had no intentions of fucking up his chances of acing the school year, playing hard, graduating or living out his dream in the NFL.

I spent most of my free time painting. Getting into my art gave me an outlet I desperately needed. I had a sliver of freedom and peace that I never was able to reach through any other medium. People like to say a picture is worth a thousand words. For me, it saved me from certain jail time for my foul mouth and my generally rude and outlandish behavior.

So everything was going great.

Then my world got turned upside down again.

It was Thursday and Mr. Solomon, the store owner, would make rounds at all his minimarts once a week or so to be sure everything was running smoothly. He was probably also ensuring each of his attendants like me, were still at our stations and hadn’t abandoned our jobs. Maybe it was also to double check that we didn’t steal any of his cash or stuff from the store. Whatever the reason, he would show up. This week, he phoned the store after five in the evening. He said he was on his way, and asked if everything was okay. It was, so he told me he’d be here soon.

About twenty minutes after he hung up, a male customer walked in. The man perused the store aisles, but every time he got to one end or another, he was still empty handed and would stare over at me. He got to the back aisle that shelved the refrigerated beer and spirits, then he shouted out to me that he needed some help. I was already rolling my eyes. I disliked the job enough as it is, so topping it off with extra close-up contact with the patrons made me feel I might break out in hives.

“May I help you find something, sir?” I asked in my least annoying tone of voice.

“Bud Light. Where’s the fucking Bud Light?” he spat out, although there was a row filled with bottles and cans of exactly what he wanted and they were staring him right in the face.

“How many would you like, sir?”

“Two six-packs.”

I slid open the fridge and reached up for the handles of the two cardboard beer carriers. That’s when I felt the disgusting prick’s hands on me. The fucker groped each of my ass cheeks with his hands, then he reached around and grabbed my goodies.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I practically screamed, putting the beer back into the fridge and turning to face him. I think the bastard was damned lucky those bottles went back in there and that I didn’t end up breaking one and jamming it into his eye sockets for what he’d just done. My hands came up in front of my face, ready to fight.

“I was just checking out the merchandise, sweet thing,” he said, thinking he was funny. “Can’t blame a hot-blooded male like myself for wanting to touch.”

“Get out!” Now I was screaming. I kneed him in the groin and pounded my fists on his back when he ducked down to protect his crown jewels.

“You fucking bitch,” he shouted.

“Get the fuck out of here! Don’t fucking come back or I’ll have your sex assaulting ass arrested before you step on that curb outside!”

As I turned to kick him in the pants, that’s when I saw my manager walk in.

“What’s going on here and why aren’t you at the cash register?” he asked.

“Mr. Solomon!” I answered, relieved. “I’m so glad you’re here. This man came in the store and groped me.”

The fucker vehemently shook his head. “No I didn’t.”

“What? You know what you did, you sick pervert!” I turned to my boss. “Mr. Solomon, he grabbed my ass and touched me after asking me to help him find some beer. Please make this man leave or have him arrested.”

“Arrest me? If anyone should be arrested it’s you, you feisty bitch.” He looked over at Mr. Solomon. “Your employee physically assaulted me over there.”

“That’s a goddamned lie! Everything’s on camera, Mr. Solomon. I’m done asking. I’m calling the police.”

“The camera’s not actually filming, Josephine,” my boss said calmly. “They’re a deterrent. We don’t have a budget for CTV cameras.”

To that, the patron became more demanding. My coward of a manager decided to give the man his beer for free so that he wouldn’t file a lawsuit against the store. I stood there in disbelief, but I couldn’t be any more outraged than when Mr. Solomon told me he was docking my pay to cover the two six-packs of beer.

“My pay? You’re cutting my pay after he sexually assaulted me? You’re got to be kidding me!” I objected.

“I’m dead serious, Josephine, and if you keep up that verbally offensive behavior you and I are going to have a problem.”

That was it. That crossed the line. I ripped my nametag off my work shirt, placed it on the counter, grabbed my bag and charged out before I did something that would end up getting me arrested for assault on my boss. I was seething mad all the way to the front steps of the apartment. I was so stomping mad all I could think of doing to calm down was sending a text to Chris.

‘Hey. What are you up to?’

‘Hi. Just leaving football practice. You?’

‘I quit my job.’

He answered less than a minute later.
‘What happened?’

‘I didn’t get arrested.’

‘Lol. Want to talk about it?’

‘Not on the phone.’

‘I’ll come get you.’

‘No. You have your stuff to do.’

‘I’m getting in the car now.’

‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll be home. Cause I don’t got a job no more.’

‘Be there soon.’

I huffed up to the second floor and walked in expecting to see Rose, who was usually home before the dinner hour. She wasn’t home. I locked the door and went into my room, stepping over to my window to mentally let off some steam. I was pacing back and forth, weighing whether to call the cops when I heard the front door unlock.

“
O
y my god
, Rose you don’t want to know what—” I started, then stopped short when I looked out from my room divider and saw that it wasn’t Rose, but Mike. “Oh, hi. Sorry I thought it was Rose coming in.” I turned and went back into my space, not in the mood to make the effort to be courteous.

He stuck his greasy blonde-haired head and red face in. He had bloodshot eyes, and I could already smell the strong alcohol on him before he’d even said a word. “So Rose ain’t here?” he asked.

“Naw. I’m sure she’ll be here real soon.”

I sat on my sofa bed and started organizing my purse, just to pass the time. This was the first time he and I were alone at the apartment. I was hoping he’d go to his room or the kitchen and keep his distance, but he just stood there, watching me and letting the stink of his booze waft over in my general direction.

“Do you need something else?” I asked him without looking his way. “I can try to get her on my phone if you want.”

I must have had an invisible sign above my head that read ‘
Redhead special today only.
Go ahead and touch me anywhere you want to
.’ That had to be it. While I sorted through my bag, he stepped in past the divider.

“Rose used to have hair like this,” he slurred, and ran his lecherous hand into my hair, letting it come to rest on my shoulder.

I jolted up to my feet and vaulted back to the window. “Are you out of your mind?”

“What?” he asked, coming closer.

I held the bag up between us and started looking around the room for something I could use as a weapon. Because of that awful corner store customer, I already had my guard up. I wasn’t letting this sick cheating scumbag son of a bitch try anything. “Don’t touch me, Mike. You’re rummed up and three sheets to the wind. Get out of my room before I make you regret it. Go fucking sleep it off or something.”

Drunk people aren’t supposed to be fast. They’re supposed to be slow and clumsy and lumbering fools. Mike was a fool, but he moved like lightning just then. Before I could kick him hard or step away, he had his hands on my waist and was gyrating his crotch against my side.

In my state of mind, I could have killed him for doing that.

I dropped my bag and grabbed the lamp on top of the chest of drawers, then I crashed it over his head. “You sick drunk bastard!”

That got him off me long enough for me to pick up my purse again and get the hell out of that apartment. I ran downstairs and out the front door, pulling out my phone so I could call Rose. Whatever she was doing this evening, she was not taking phone calls. My call went to her voice mail. I left her a message and phoned again. There was still no answer. I sent her a text asking where the hell she was. If she didn’t get here soon, I’d either call the police or have to empty a trash can and beat Mike over the head with it. Either way, someone was spending some time in a jail cell.

She didn’t answer, so I sat outside on the steps, waiting.

Chris drove up after about half-hour. He quickly hopped out of the car and ran over to me. “What the hell happened? Did you get mugged?”

I was confused when he asked that question, but then I looked down at my clothes. Half my shirt was tucked into my pants and the other half hung out. That spot where I tugged my nametag off the shirt was ripped and I was sure my hair was disheveled. It was in a sorry state.

“Talk to me, Jo,” he said, helping me to my feet and pulling me into his arms.

I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t want to talk at all. I could have just stood there and let him hold me until it was time to leave. When I opened my mouth to talk, the floodgates opened and I was bawling incoherent shit. He put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to sit in the car, then he got in the driver side.

“I can’t leave like this,” I told him through stifled tears. “I need to get my stuff.”

“I thought you said to quit your job when you sent that text?”

“I did…and now I have to move.”

I took a while to gather my thoughts. Chris just sat and waited. After a few minutes, I started at the beginning and told him everything. His disposition went from patient listening to flat out fury.

“Where is he?” he demanded, already opening his door to get out. “I’ll kick his ass and teach the fucker a few things.”

“He’s upstairs, but don’t. I just want to get my things and leave.”

“Hell no. He can’t get off that easy.”

“No, Chris. He’s Rose’s problem, not mine. He’s probably passed out already. I’ll just go up and take my stuff.”

“Fine,” he barked, hopping out of the car. “But you’re not going in there alone… and I swear to God if he so much as looks at you, I’ll beat his ass into next week.”

“Thanks, but please don’t do that. He’s not worth it.”

He locked up his car and followed me inside. “Did you find a place to stay?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Not yet. It’s not a big deal. You can drop me off at one of the motels nearby. I’ll get my bearings for a few days and then figure out what I’ll do next.”

“Like hell you will.”

“I’m not staying here another night.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Then I’m staying at a motel.”

“No. You’re staying with me,” he blurted out.

I looked back at him as I made it to the top of the stairs. “What?”

“You can crash at my place.”

“I can’t do that. You live over an hour away.”

“So what? You don’t have any reason to stay here right now. You left your job, remember? You can be anywhere for a few days. Look, I live alone and I’m off-campus. I’ve got enough room.”

“You’re not thinking straight, Chris.”

“No, I know what I just said and I meant it…You’re going to do what I say.”

I glowered at him for barking orders at me. He softened his approach, but only slightly. “Come on, Jo. You’ve been through enough. Listen to me, all right? We’re going in there, and you’re packing up your stuff, and then you’re coming with me. End of discussion. We can figure out the rest in a few days.”

I could have objected some more. Really, I could have. I just didn’t possess another ounce of resistance left in me. Turning the key in the door, I took a breath and went inside. Mike was snoring hard enough for the sound to echo on bedroom walls. Chris and I went into my room, and I looked around, planning the best and fastest way to get everything out. I ended up organizing everything exactly the way I had packed it up for the move out here, sending Chris down with each suitcase, storage container or wrapped framed painting, and I finished with each one.

We had everything in his car in less than an hour. Rose made it home five minutes before we ever finished.

“What’s going on?” she asked as I walked out with the last storage container.

“Chris, would you give my sister and me a minute alone?”

Chris nodded and went to wait in the car. When he was out of earshot I went to town on Rose.

“Christ, Rose. Haven’t you checked your phone?” I shouted. “Mike is drunk upstairs. He put his hands on me and tried to sleep with me, and I don’t give a fuck if he was drunk. I’m not living like this.”

“He did what?”

“Don’t act all surprised when you know he’s a cheating, lecherous pig.”

“You can’t talk about Mike like that, Jo.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now? I’m your sister and you’re gonna tell me I’m wrong? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind, Rose! The man cheats on you and gambles every penny he makes. I’m telling you he groped me in his drunken state—and under your roof—and you want to tell me I’m wrong? I didn’t come all this way and uproot my life to be with my only sister only to have someone like him treat me like that.”

“Calm down. You’re overreacting as usual.”

“I’m overreacting?” I screeched, which caused Chris to open his car door and stand halfway out to look over at us.

“Jo, you don’t need to convince her of anything. She may be your sister, but if she can’t stand by you, she ain’t worth it. Let’s go.”

I turned to him. He was right too. Still, I needed to get some of this off my chest. “Let me just finish what I have to say and we can leave, Chris.” That intervention helped me to get my high-pitched voiced under control. “Look, Rose. Mike is your man and you know what he’s about. I am not going to have this conversation with you.”

“And what conversation is that?”

“Take responsibility for accepting a douchebag in your life.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You and I were doing really well when it was just us and Aunt Alice, then you picked up with Mike and left me back in El Paso. This ain’t much different, I guess. I refuse to tolerate Mike. You’re my sister, and I’ll always care for you like family. I’m sorry Rose, but I’m gonna have to cut this family reunion short. Take care of yourself.”

I turned and jumped in the car, leaving a confused Rose standing on the front steps. Chris didn’t want to wait around. He was tired from practice, and mad as hell about how my evening had gone down. As he drove off, I tried to organize my purse so I could get my mind off my sister. My hands were shaking so much it took me what seemed like forever.

I’m not saying my life was horrible, but since when did it turn into such a shit show?