Storm:a violent, tumultuous atmosphere that causes a disturbance.
I got that being close to her in any capacity wasn’t good for my sanity, but not seeing her at all felt like a huge step backwards. I knew I needed to fight for us, but how could I do that when she was being so stubborn? Same old Storm.
Between my other activities, which included hitting the weight room and dealing with the media, I scoped out a couple of prospective houses to rent. I knew I would soon outgrow my hotel suite, and even if Storm went ahead and married Dickless. After speaking at length with Ma and my brothers, I had decided to stay in the area, at least during the rest of my NFL contract with my new team. Most of my family lived in Newport, and the best memories I had were made there.
As far as Storm and I were concerned, I had decided to follow Phoenix’s advice; it wasn’t over until she said, ‘I do.’ I was a fighter and would do everything in my power to make her see sense.
After she left my hotel room, I called Mia and asked her to assign a PI to investigate Jasper Dean Remmington the fucking Third. I wanted to know everything about that fuck. Something about him still felt off. She called me back later that day to say she’d engaged the services of a reputable guy who fit the bill but who would cost me an arm and a leg. I didn’t care. I wanted the best.
Over the last few days, I’d purposefully given Storm space that week, hoping that she’d cave. Teacup was always the one to come running first with her tail between her legs, but that was usually because she was in the wrong. That last time, I wasn’t so sure who was at fault. The powers that be? If that were the case, they needed to cut me some fucking slack.
Thankfully, that ‘slack’ came after the win that Saturday night. And I didn’t mean by the fact that I played the best I had in months, earning my place as the starting quarterback with my new team. Storm had sent me a message during the game.
We need to talk.She used to say that a lot, especially after a fight. Her tone would be thick with exaggerated seriousness as she attempted to break things off with me, again.
I thought about how to reply, holding my phone in one hand and a beer in the other. The team and a group of others were drinking together in the stadium lounge bar, celebrating the win. A few of my teammates had their girlfriends with them, and I would have loved to have had Storm there. I wanted her to see how well I was settling in with my new team after the shit that went down with my last one.
“Bro, hot piece of ass, checking you out on your six,” Gunther Matthews, the tight end on our team, suddenly whispered in my ear. The lounge bar was a sea of players, management, a handful of press, a couple of cheerleaders, and several jersey chasers from the looks of things.
Lowering my phone, I glanced around the room towards where Gunther’s focus was. Dang. She was pretty. The woman he motioned towards was sitting cross-legged on a barstool alone, wrapped in the tightest black number. She was holding a cocktail in one hand and fanning herself with a bar menu with the other. The girl had blonde hair in a messy bun on top of her head. The most arresting thing about her was the size of her breasts. They were fucking huge, and the neckline of the dress only showcased those babies.
Had I not been as wrapped up in Storm, I would have tapped that in a heartbeat.
“You gonna go for it? She’s looking right at you.”
Before I could reply, one of the female servers appeared by our table with a tray in her hand and a large glass of white liquid. A snowball. My favorite drink. I knew that wouldn’t have been a guess, as most people knew that type of shit about me. I’d been interviewed that many times and asked about my favorite color, favorite band, and favorite number (forty-seven, of course). Most of the public knew that type of shit about me.
“The lady at the bar says hi and has asked if you would like to join her for a drink?” the uniformed woman said as she placed the drink in front of me and then walked off. I would have sent my thanks and declined the sweet gesture, but the server had already gone.
“She’s bought you a drink too. That shit never happens to me,” Gunther grumbled, necking his own beer, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and then belching loudly. No surprise there then.
Feeling under pressure not to snub her. I placed my cell on the table and wrapped my fingers around the tall glass. Raising the drink, I saluted her across the room with a smile of thanks. I didn’t want to come across as a total dick and blow her off so publicly. We’d already caught the attention of some of the guests in the room as Malcom a.k.a. Mally Snipes appeared, placing his hands flat on the surface of the table, his back towards the mystery woman as he said, “Check out the rack on that. Fuck me, I wouldn’t mind being breastfed by those.”
We all laughed as I continued to sip the snowball, feeling Big Tit’s, as the boys had so graciously named her, still staring at me. My phone suddenly moved across the table as it vibrated.
The message was from Phoenix.
We’re here, shithead. Where the hell are you at?
I’d already arranged to meet my brothers and would have to cut the victory party short. My plan had always been to show my face with my teammates and then head out to the Tavern to meet Hudson and Phoenix. I needed advice from the two people who wouldn’t sugarcoat shit and get my head around what I was going to doabout my Storm situation. I’d already chewed Micah’s ear off on the phone every night since Storm ran out on me.
As Snipes and Matthews started making perverted comments about the hot female who was still eye-fucking me across the room, I replied to Nix to say I was on my way and then realized I hadn’t replied to Storm.
When and where, Teacup?I replied.
Some VIP season pass holders approached our table, and we all posed for some pictures with them. They were the fans you weren’t allowed to piss off. I checked my phone intermittently and finished off my free drink. It took Storm forever to reply.
Somewhere neutral.How about we meet outside the gym?
Reading the message with my phone under the table was no easy feat. Not when the other seats were filled with huge football players who were drinking like there was no tomorrow.
You go to the gym?
Funny. I take one of Harper’s yoga classes.Storm responded.
I grinned, messaging back.Now that I’d love to see.
Tomorrow, first thing after my class, say ten?
