Preseason Love (18 page)

I recruited a little help in an effort to make things less obvious, plus, the dude knew my face. Doing a little reconnaissance for me, Lydia made her way into the vicinity of the conversation that he was having with a middle-aged Hispanic man standing to the left of a vomitorium. I observed from afar. It looked as though he was introducing the big-booty chick to the man. Lydia would have the intel on the whole conversation. She was too close to not overhear every single word.

“Your suspicion was right on. He is no good,” Lydia told me when she wrapped up her conversation.

“Shut up?” I said incredulously. “What did you hear?”

“That was definitely his girlfriend, and if it wasn't, I don't know why he would have introduced her as ‘his girl.' ”

“He said that? Damn!”

“Yep,” Lydia said with her eyes wide.

“How am I going to break this to Bella? Being out with another chick is one thing, but sporting a chick that you are introducing as your girl is another.”

“Tell her to stay away from these athletes. They will get you every time.”

I decided that I needed to call Bella right away while the whole story was fresh in my mind. When I called, she picked up on the third ring. Once I knew that I had her undivided attention, I prefaced my story with a statement of understanding as to why she had major reservations about even entertaining the idea of dating a professional athlete. I felt badly for encouraging her to call him, but then again she was grown and able to make her own decisions. I went on to break down the events of the evening.

Bella was not in shock, but she was definitely pissed. She was upset with him for being deceptive and upset with herself for allowing her emotions to believe for one moment that he could be honest. By the conclusion of our conversation, she had decided that she would not ever contact him again and if he reached out to her, she would politely tell him to go to hell. Bella had stepped out of her comfort zone with this guy, but now it was safe to say that she was back on her no-athlete's diet.

The next day, I woke up refreshed and ready to kill it at the final event. My team had their assignments, the media was confirmed and I received the manifest listing which celebrities were expected and where their seats would be.

By the time three o'clock hit, I was rushing around feeling the last-minute event pressure. I hadn't even had a chance to look at the
USA Today
that I snagged from the hotel lobby. With everything else on my plate, I had totally forgotten to type up and print out the press markers, which were essentially name cards for media. They helped media identify where to stand on the red carpet. I whipped them up real quick while I was getting dressed and shoveling room service down my throat.

I got to the location where the plush crimson red carpet was rolled out with fifteen minutes to spare—enough time to get the press markers printed and laid out on the carpet. The velvet rope and stanchions were lined up along the carpet, the bright lights were in place and beaming down, and security was on hand mean-muggin'.

After I taped down the last marker, I coated my lips with my favorite cherry-colored lipstick, and media started to arrive. I greeted people individually and told him or her to look for their spot and line up. As media continuously flowed in, we had a packed red carpet. The only thing left was the pretty faces and chiseled bodies that grace the television screens and the pages of the magazines.

My whole team was on walkie-talkies, and I had one person stationed directly by the VIP drop-off to give us a heads-up as to who was coming our way. Typically, lower-level talent would arrive first so that they did not have to compete with the A-List celebrities for the media's attention.

We were getting closer to game time and people were arriving in what felt like droves when you are managing a red carpet. As I was handing off to one of my colleagues, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was in event mode, so I turned around quickly to greet someone who I thought might have needed something.

To my surprise it was Damien Telfetter again. I knew that he wasn't playing in the game so I wasn't shocked to see him on the carpet. All of my
SportsCenter
paid off.

“Uh, hey!” I said awkwardly.

We had met at the event on Friday, but it wasn't like we kicked it on weekends. And there I was talking about “Hey.” I could've kicked myself for that one.

“What's up?” he said with a cocky, self-assured smile. “Are you gonna escort me down this carpet or what?”

My face must have looked slightly strange.

“That is what you do, right?” He looked at me, then looked at his entourage and said, “I'll meet you guys on the other side. I'm in good hands.”

Well, technically, yes, that was my job, but he was speaking to me as though I was his personal publicist and he had me on retainer for special occasions like this. Not so much, and I could tell that a few of my coworkers were sizing up the situation.

Well, shit, now that you put me on the spot, what else can I do? You got this, Scottie; suck it up and knock it out.

I wasn't supposed to be the one nervous on the carpet. People were not focused on me. They couldn't care less about me. They were there to ask this freak-of-nature star athlete questions, not me. I was shook by Damien's approach and his presence for some reason. I had to get my mind right and do my job, though.

I led him down the carpet and made him do every single interview, since he wanted to put me on the spot. When we got to the end, he thanked me and before he walked away, he asked, “Will I see you inside?”

“Maybe,” I replied, as I turned to rush back to the other end of the carpet and get back to work.

Before we could finish wrapping up the last of the guests on the red carpet, one of my female coworkers could not wait to ask if Damien tried to talk to me. In all actuality he never asked me out or asked if he could contact me at a later date. Either way, I would have never told her anything anyway. It was not my style to have my coworkers in my business.

I quickly dismissed her question and looked around to see if we had any stragglers before shutting down the carpet.

Once the red carpet was over, the remainder of the night was easy and I was relieved. I facilitated a few interviews for the U.S.
“National Anthem” singer, but that was easy. Now it was time to try to find a seat in the arena where I could at least watch the last half of the game.

I ran to the restroom closest to the VIP lounge before I hit the stands. As I walked toward the east side of the arena, I noticed Damien and a smaller version of his crew coming in my direction. My first thought was to do a pivot turn and head the other way. That could have come off like I was running scared, though. I put my head up and kept my stride. The plan that I hatched in my head within five seconds was to walk past them confidently, speak to him and his crew, and politely keep it moving.

Before I even got to him good, Damien shouted, “So that's how you're gonna act now?” He wanted to make sure I heard him.

I could have played the role and acted completely brand-new like I had no clue that he was talking to me, but what good would that do? In any case, I had planned to speak; he did not allow me the chance.

“Hello again, Damien,” I said with a slight hint of attitude.

The nerve of him. What did he expect?

“Look, I know that you're working and all right now, but you should give me your number so that we can talk sometime when you're not as busy.”

The hallways weren't buzzing with people like they were during halftime so I understood why he was so open about approaching me. On the other hand, what he seemed to fail to realize was that at the end of the day, he and I worked for the same company. That would look extremely bad on my part if someone caught a glimpse, walked by, or overheard me interacting with a League athlete like he was suggesting. He was handsome, but that's where it had to stop.

“I appreciate the offer but…no thanks.”

He had a look of shock on his face that quickly turned to a stiff shrug as if to convey that he did not care.
I guess that must not happen too often.

After an awkward moment of silence, we both turned to walk away and I heard him say with a confident tone, “You'll change your mind.”

I kept walking. I could not and would not feed into that type of ignorant and arrogant attitude. One down and who knows how many more to go—I was no longer an Athlete's Virgin.

“So are you going to tell me what your problem is?”

“Scottie, what are you talking about?”

I didn't pass go, I didn't collect 200 dollars, I didn't even stop at home first. I went straight to see Kari after my flight from Miami because I missed his face and his touch.

Now there I was, sitting at his place for a little over an hour and he'd spoken no more than twelve words in my presence. One would think that after not seeing your girl for six days, you would be dying to chat it up, hug, kiss, and simply be engaged with her. I wasn't sure who this imposter was, but I could not wait until we could get back to the regularly scheduled program.

“It's okay,” I said sarcastically. I was exhausted and over the game of dismiss-Scottie-to-see-how-long-she'll-take-it. “Look, if you can't be honest and tell me what's up with you, then I'm leaving.”

Kari turned to me with a cold scowl on his face.
I must be caught in the matrix because this shit can't be happening.
I couldn't take it anymore. I felt a surge of emotion run through my body, from my toes to my fingertips and I began to unleash.

“I can't take this, I'm tired! I've been on the road for six days straight dealing with these crazy-ass people and this ridiculously demanding job sucking the life out of me. The expectations were
extreme and the work was strenuous, so to cope with the stress, I decided to drink my problems away because I felt alone and like no one would understand what I was going through. But I held it all together on the outside looking toward the light at the end of the tunnel, which was supposed to be your ass. The person that I thought genuinely cared! I go out of my way to get to you only for you to treat me cold and shitty? I'm done!” I was screaming and sobbing simultaneously. My vocal cords were hurting and my head was pounding.

The stress and frustration built up from days prior finally erupted. Salty tears were streaming down my face at a rapid pace as Kari rushed over to my side. I was crying uncontrollably. He scooped me into his muscular grip and whispered, “I'm sorry.”

I had a head-on collision with my wall of tolerance. I was at my boiling point. Thankfully my breakdown erupted post-trip.

Kari stood in the middle of the living room holding me tightly like he would never let me go and that's just what I needed. After he finally calmed me down, he was ready to talk about what was bothering him.

“I'm sorry that I made you to lose it like that.”

I paused for a moment. “It wasn't all you. The way that you were treating me turned up the fire on an already boiling pot. This weekend was the hardest weekend that I've ever experienced in life as far as my career is concerned, and it really took everything out of me.”

“But, I thought that you were out in Miami having fun.”

“It wasn't all fun. The nights that I did go out, I was essentially trying to escape and release some of the anxiety that I was feeling from the day,” I struggled to explain. “Get sign-off on this, make sure you turn in that, check off on X, don't forget Y. This company
has crazy expectations and if things are not perfect or close to it, you could potentially get your ass handed to you. It felt like my mind, my actions, hell,
my life
was moving at a rapid speed and I was doing my best to keep up. It was overwhelming.”

“I'm sorry, babe. I had no clue that you were under that much stress. Here I was, feeling slightly insecure thinking that all you were doing was partying and flirting with ballers.”

“Why would you think that, baby? You know I'm happy with you.”

Kari continued to explain. “I was actually annoyed with you because I called to check on you Friday night after we spoke, and you never hit me back. Not even the next day. Do you realize that I haven't talked to you since Friday?”

“I saw the message, but my phone was dying and I was honestly a little tipsy. I planned to hit you when I got back to my room, but I ended up passing out. And as for the players, trust me. The interaction was not that deep. It's not like we were around them the entire time.”

“See, I didn't know any of that. I thought the worst. I'm sorry.”

“Is that the only reason that you were pissed with me?” I inquired for clarity.

“Yeah, pretty much. I guess I let my emotions run wild.”

“You should know by now…I'm not that chick. I get it. There was no way that you could have known how crazy things were if I didn't tell you. That was my fault. But I want you to know that those weren't normal circumstances. Please don't hold that against me.”

“I get it too,” Kari said, as our eyes locked. “I don't want to fight.”

I giggled and wrapped my arms around him. He was so sincere and I did not want to fight either. Since we were back on track, I
wasn't even going to mention that Damien Telfetter tried to talk to me. That would have increased Kari's insecurity and set me up for a future fight.

That night, Kari and I had amazing makeup sex, which was the perfect remedy for the week ahead. Unfortunately, the other unappealing aspect of working the Athlete's Annual was essentially working two weeks straight. After we arrived back in New York on Monday, all employees were still expected to show up for work the following day, as well as for the remainder of the week.

It was pleasantly quiet around the office on Tuesday, so I took the opportunity to catch up on some personal emails, which I'd been neglecting. As soon as I logged into my account the words “Erotic Dancer” practically slapped me in the face. It was from Lydia. I wasn't nor had I ever been an erotic dancer, although there was the one time in college when I was low on cash and the thought crossed my mind for a brief moment. Anyway, my curiosity forced me to click on the email immediately.