Five
Mmmmm.
With my eyes still closed, I rolled over onto my stomach, putting myself in a position to reach the nightstand drawer. Tugging it open, I felt around until my hand connected with what I wanted. A little tingle of anticipation ran through me as I turned to my back again and opened my legs, positioning my current favorite sex partner in just the right spot. I bit my lip and sucked in a breath, then flipped the switch to turn it on.
Nothing happened.
My eyes popped open, as I flipped the switch off and on, off and on, willing my mechanical boyfriend not to let me down, not when I’d woken up so hot and bothered.
“Ugh!”
I snatched the bright pink vibrator from between my legs and under the covers and sent it flying across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thump and then dropped to the floor, where I almost hoped the impact would shake something back into place, giving enough juice for one last hurrah, but… nope.
Nothing.
“Stupid,” I muttered, honestly not completely clear on if I was talking to the vibrator or to myself as I looked down, realizing that I was still in last night’s dress. I must have gotten well acquainted with the open bar at Trent and Jade’s wedding if I’d crawled into bed without undressing or taking a shower.
At least you took your shoes off.
I groaned as I sat up, reeling against the little bit of dizziness that hit once I was upright. My purse was on the nightstand, so I made it the first place I looked for my phone. Sure enough, it was there, and almost dead, with several missed text and calls.
The one that caught my attention was from Ramsey.
“Took your key with me so I could lock your door. I’ll drop it off when I come back through in the morning – R. Bishop.”
And then:
“Decided not to ring the bell or call, in case you’re still sleeping last night off. Key is in an envelope that I put through your mail slot. Tried to get it as far away from the door as I could. – R. Bishop.”
Sleeping last night off?
Shit, did I embarrass myself at the wedding or something? I sat back against the headboard, trying to remember, but couldn’t call anything crazy to mind. I’d talked with Cole, Ramsey and I had danced, and then we left, and I fell asleep in the car.
I shrugged.
Maybe he just meant my weepiness, since I’d been an emotional mess for quite a bit of the night. But I was glad I’d gone. All that love in the air had definitely cured my concern of becoming cynical about love, generally speaking.
At this point, I was just skeptical about it for myself.
I went through my other calls and texts, then went to my social media accounts. I grinned when I saw the pictures I’d been tagged in throughout the night, glad that nobody – yet – had posted anything of me crying. But then I came across one that nearly made my heart stop just before I blushed, hard.
Really, the picture was of Ramsey, but I was in it too. He looked so, so good in his beautifully cut gray suit, with those broad shoulders and his fresh haircut, and his beard glistening and all that. But I’d – obviously – already known that Ramsey looked good last night. What struck me was the look on his face.
Eyes slightly narrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, obviously enthralled by whatever had his attention.
Me.
We were holding hands in the picture – something I’d probably been the one to initiate, because I’d been doing it since we walked in, using him for strength. I’d stepped a little ahead of him, to speak to someone, but made sure to remain connected to him. I remembered the moment in vivid detail, squeezing his hand so he would know I was asking him to stay. Apparently, his gaze had wandered a bit before it landed on my ass, which he was looking at the same way I looked at a good piece of carrot cake.
I didn’t recognize the name of the person who’d posted the picture, but it already had a ton of likes. The caption underneath was a single word.
#mood.
A fresh round of heat rushed to my face.
“Thank you, dress,” I said out loud as I shook my head. I’d been a little bit nervous about it, but apparently it had been a good decision if it had Ramsey looking at me like that, when I’d always suspected he’d mentally put me in the “sister” category.
Several of my thoughts about him yesterday had been far from “brotherly” though.
In between my bouts of being the “sad chick” at the wedding had been moments like the one that woke me up. He was so damned handsome and smelled so damned good, and was so damned strong, putting those big hands at my waist to lead me around and…
I pushed out a sigh.
Girl, you need help.
I climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, stopping when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I frowned at the bonnet on my head and then pulled it off, surprised to see that aside from being a bit flat, my little updo was still in place.
How the hell did I remember to put my bonnet on, but fell asleep in my dress?
I pondered that as I sat down to pee, and pondered it more as I washed my hands, then reached for my toothbrush. While I was brushing, I took the pins down from my hair, and tried to remember putting on that damn bonnet. When that didn’t work, I tried to remember taking off my shoes…
I didn’t take off my shoes.
Ramsey took off my shoes, when he helped me inside, which is why he had my key.
Duh, Wil.
I shook my head as my brain finally started filling in the fuzzy memories. Ramsey helping me from the car, helping pick out the key to get inside. Ramsey sitting on the bed with me, unbuckling my shoe, handling me with care, like always. He’d taken off his jacket and tie in the car, so sitting on my bed, he’d looked so casual – so damned comfortable.
I blinked, and then, I remembered climbing into his lap, and trying to put my tongue down his throat.
I damn near choked on my toothbrush as the kiss flooded my mind in blurry detail. His lips had been so, so good, and even in getting my drunk, horny behind off of him, he’d been tender with me.
Why couldn’t I have ended up engaged to a man like that?
I spat the minty foam residue out of my mouth, then rinsed before I went back to my phone to read the two messages from him again. Nothing in either text hinted that anything untoward had happened though, so…
Maybe I’d imagined it?
I had woken up feeling lusty, so it easily could have been part of a fantasy from a dream. Was probably part of a fantasy from a dream. It had to be. Probably.
Please?
I put the phone down and headed for the shower. It was already past noon, and I still needed to eat, look through a fresh batch of apartments, and drive into the city to be at the studio for another filmed live-tweeting of the game tonight.
Which meant I would be seeing Ramsey.
The very last thing I needed was awkwardness in any of my relationships with the people who were serving as my rocks right now. I couldn’t be having dirty dreams and stuff about Ramsey – not only did we work together, he was my friend. Like… a real friend.
I couldn’t ruin that.
I couldn’t explain the butterflies I felt when I knocked on the door to Ramsey’s dressing room. Even though I heard him say, “come in”, I hesitated a few seconds before I touched the knob.
Stop being a weirdo.
After a deep breath, I opened the door, only to have my breath snatched right back out of my chest. Ramsey’s shirt was in his hand – not on his body – and though I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times before, my mental state wasn’t right for it today.
“Hey…,” I said, averting my eyes as he pulled the From the Sidelines tee shirt on. “I got my key back, thank you. And thank you for getting me in safely too. I appreciate it.”
He nodded, then dropped down onto his couch. “Not a problem at all, Champ.”
His dressing room was much quieter than mine tended to be. He didn’t use a stylist for the show, choosing to dress himself instead, and he hated when they came after him with the stage makeup. I usually had a wardrobe stylist, makeup, and hair, all crowding me. For tonight’s show, everything was understated – I was wearing a From the Sidelines tee as well – so there had been a lot less chaos, which was why I had time to stop by and talk to him privately before we went on set.
“Hey, so… you mentioned me “sleeping off last night,” I started, nervously twisting my fingers together, even though I was trying to sound nonchalant. “I wasn’t like… too sad, was I? Was I embarrassing?”
He scoffed. “Nah, nothing like that. That’s not what I was talking about though.”
My eyes went wide, and I turned away from him, playing with the assorted cuff links on the vanity so he couldn’t see my face. “Oh? Cause… I can’t really recall doing anything too crazy… is that not the case?”
“Nah,” he laughed. “You just… got a little silly. Same as any time I’ve seen you tipsy. No big deal.”
I tried not to let out too big of a sigh of relief before I turned around to find him wearing a big, mischievous smile as he stood and approached me.
“Unless you want to talk about the fact that you kissed me. I mean… I guess that could be considered a little crazy.”
“Oh my God! So I did kiss you?! Oh my God,” I squealed, covering my face with my hands. Ramsey – asshole – was cracking up laughing as he pulled me into a hug, rocking me back and forth.
“Gotta say Champ, you surprised the hell out of me,” he chuckled as he pulled back. “I most definitely was not expecting that.”
“I’m so sorry. I was drinking to try to relax, and I think I had too much, and I—”
“Wil!” He grabbed my arms, looking me right in the face, with that same impish shine in his eyes. “Nobody is looking for you to apologize. Damn, you’re reacting like this to the kiss, I probably shouldn’t even tell you how you tried to get my pants off.”
I gasped. “No!”
He nodded, still grinning. “Yes. You were pretty determined too, but I guess your coordination was off a little bit.”
“Oh Goddd,” I whined, turning away from him as I clamped my hand to my forehead.
“You know what really surprised me though?” he continued, and my eyes snapped in his direction as I turned around. “I don’t think I realized you were that flexible, could do a split like that.”
I frowned. “A split? What are you talking about?”
“When I pulled you off my lap, you kinda laid back, and well…opened wide.”
“Oh my God!” I shrieked, backing away. “I… Ramsey, stop playing, I didn’t… did I really…?”
“Show me the money shot? Yeah, you did.”
“I think I’m gonna pass out,” I said, and Ramsey immediately wrapped me in his arms again, but his ass was still laughing.
“Chill, I’m just messing with you,” he said, and a tiny little bead of hope blossomed.
“Messing with me?” I asked. “So… I didn’t really do that?”
He shook his head. “No, you definitely did it, I’m just saying… I’m teasing you. I hope you don’t think I’m really bothered about it.”
I punched his arm, then pulled back. “Of course you aren’t! You got kissed, and got the view from the box – literally.”
Ramsey cracked up at that, and even though I was embarrassed as hell, I couldn’t help laughing too.
“I didn’t look, I promise,” he said, as if that was supposed to make me feel better. “I closed your legs and put you under your covers, and then I left.”
“After you put my bonnet on,” I reminded him, and he shrugged.
“Yeah, that too.”
“Which was really sweet. Thank you.”
He shook his head. “Like I said… not a problem.”
For some reason, my mind went back to that picture, of him looking at me like something he wanted to devour – a clear difference from right now, with his barely veiled amusement of my tipsy antics the night before. Antics that probably killed any possible desire for me.
What? Why the hell should that matter?
“Did you have one of these in your dressing room too?” he asked, stepping away to pick up a packet of papers from the vanity. The front was stamped with the WAWG logo.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Hadn’t really looked at it yet, since I figure it’s just their soft open, to start the conversation. They probably saw your viral video, and are trying to lock you down before it goes further.”
He shook his head. “Too late for that. What I’m thinking is that they caught wind of my conversation yesterday with Eli Richardson.”
“Conversation with Eli Richardson?!” My eyes bugged wide as I stepped up to him.
“Yes, drunky,” he teased. “I told you last night… the Kings want me to come in for a workout.”
I frowned for a second, trying to remember, grasping a fuzzy thread in mind that led me back to it. “Oh, shit! Yes, you did!” I threw my arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. “Congratulations, again.”
“Nothing to congratulate yet. The workout isn’t even scheduled.”
“But it will be, and you’ll crush it – isn’t that how you got that name? Anybody between you and your destination on the field is gonna feel like they got hit by a sledgehammer. That’s how you have to look at this workout – as something to take the hammer to.”
His mouth spread into a grin. “Here you go with the Ms. Motivational thing again.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Absolutely not. Trust me – I consider having you in my corner a privilege.”
“As you should,” I said, picking up the contract he’d put down on the vanity. “As a matter of fact, I believe in your ass so much that…” I grabbed the stack of papers in the middle and twisted, then laughed. “I’m just playing, I’m not about to rip this.”
Ramsey’s eyebrow went up, and then he took the papers from my hand, copying my actions. Only… he actually ripped them, right down the middle, then held up the two halves.
“No guts, no glory, right?”
I grinned, big. “No guts, no glory. This means you’re going for it? Like, full on?”
“Full on. I mean, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t, but at least I kept my word.”
“Absolutely. And it’s not like the network is going to tell you no. They love your ass.”
He chuckled. “Nah, you’re the eye candy around here.”
“They don’t care about that, at all,” I laughed. “I mean, you see what they did to me starting out.”
He shook his head. “Nah, Champ. Say it right. What you mean is, do I remember how you treated me like the enemy for the first few months we worked together? And the answer is hell yes. I swear, I don’t think you liked me until you met my mama.”
“Who, by the way, was on my side,” I giggled. He wasn’t lying on me though. From the time he first sat down beside me at that desk, I’d hated his ass.
From the Sidelines was my show – meaning, mine alone – originally. I’d hustled my ass off getting a meeting with somebody who could make a decision, making a point of not involving my parents. I couldn’t change my last name obviously, couldn’t do much to hide my legacy, but I certainly didn’t use it as a selling point. I sold me. My idea, for my show, sports from my perspective as not only a woman, but a professional athlete with accolades, and a well-earned journalism degree.
I was nervous, yes, but I went in with my head held high to give my pitch and hopefully stake my claim. And… I got it. They let me shoot a pilot, and offered me a contract, but when I got to set for the first official filming… there was Ramsey Bishop. Well-dressed and charming and a superstar in his own right. I understood his appeal, understood what they felt he would bring to the show.
The show they’d promised as mine.
I was slow to warm up to him. Very slow. On air, I was the picture of professionalism, and would play along with his jokes, keep the right vibe going, all of that, but once we were off those cameras… it was all I could do to just pretend he didn’t even exist.
I wasn’t really mad at him though. It wasn’t his fault, but in a situation where I felt powerless, taking it out on him was the only control I had. I’d signed a contract to do something I hated now, knowing the truth behind it.
They hadn’t hired me for any of the reasons I thought I could make From the Sidelines successful. They’d hired me for exactly what I didn’t want to be hired for.
The Cunningham name.
I got it, really.
My parents were black royalty – professional athletes in a time where racism was much more prevalent than now. The eighties were the height of their professional careers, but they still, separately, made time for civil rights activism during a time where past gains were being undone. They were vocal about homelessness, AIDS education and prevention, and it certainly didn’t hurt that they were just attractive people.
Once they got together?
Whew.
It was like they had all of Black America collectively on their side. The wedding was televised, and people still talked about it now, since it was basically a gathering of everybody who was anybody in Black sports or entertainment at that time.
They were, again, Black royalty now, considered among our legends.
You couldn’t turn the daughter of legends down.
Especially when they were notoriously generous with their checkbook. As soon as I saw my father’s name and picture go up on the wall as a “platinum level supporter” of WAWG, I knew what it was.
Ramsey wasn’t the kind of man you could hold a pointless grudge against for long though. He wasn’t of the “larger than life” personality type, but he was definitely a strong presence. He always had a compliment or encouraging word, and he was funny and intelligent, and the man knew sports. And… before all this happened, I’d been a fan. Not just of his skill on the field, but of the no-nonsense tack he took with press. He didn’t play along with their ridiculous questions, never fed into it when they tried to pull a negative spin, none of that. It had gained him a reputation of being “difficult”, but nobody could deny the man on the field.
That translated into how he interacted with the athletes we spoke to. He treated them with the same respect he’d demanded for himself.
And I couldn’t help but respect him.
That was only multiplied when I saw how he interacted with his mother. I never knew, until then, that I was a sucker for a man who loved his mother. I hadn’t been cold to him since.
And so, professional respect evolved into genuine enjoyment of working with him. That developed into being buddies, which shifted into being for real friends. Going out to eat, working out together, text conversations, things like that. And now – even more since my breakup, honestly – he’d become one of my most valued friends, somebody I really, truly, couldn’t imagine being without.
Funny how that happens.
“She was only on your side because she was trying to get some grandbabies,” Ramsey said, bursting my bubble. “She thought she was going to hook us up, and then you would convince me.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as purple piss.”
“What does that even mean?” I giggled, and he shook his head.
“I don’t know, just saying shit,” he admitted. “But mama was definitely trying to get me with somebody other than Lena.”
Hmph.
I pressed my lips closed.
Ramsey had always made a point of not commenting on my love life – meaning Darius – since we’d been friends, and I’d given that same courtesy to him. It was a respect thing, really – I wouldn’t want my man talking about his issues with me with a female friend who may or may not but probably did want to screw him and was just waiting on her chance. So I didn’t complain about Darius to Ramsey either – at least not while we were together.
Now that it was over though, Ramsey wasn’t shy about letting his disdain for Darius be known. It wasn’t as if he ever spoke about him at length, or without me bringing up the subject, but the few words he gave were certainly never kind, or positive. I was pretty sure Ramsey hadn’t even spoken his name, choosing instead to refer to him as “the clown”, which was accurate, obviously.
If I had to call Lena anything, she’d be…. “the bitch”.
And that was generous.
Lena McBride was polished and gorgeous and rich as hell and a doctor – the inflection she gave every time she mentioned it. I wasn’t sure exactly how much time she spent practicing medicine though, when she was, so often, filmed having dinner or lunch somewhere posh, or arguing about something silly with her fake reality show friends, or fake family – they were her actual family, they were all just fake.
But then, I guess you had to have a certain degree of phoniness to thrive in the reality show world, and thrive they did. McBrides on Call, following their whole family of doctors, was on season four.
Now that I thought about it, Ramsey had experience with failed engagements. We’d never really talked about why he’d called it off with Lena, which I considered a small miracle. As far as I was concerned, Ramsey was too good for her and her family of quacks.
I wouldn’t have been able to act sad about that breakup. If he’d wanted a parade though… that, I could’ve handled.
“Well, I’m glad your mother thought highly enough of me to consider me worthy to carry her hypothetical grandbabies,” I laughed, and Ramsey gave me this wide-eyed look that immediately made me regret saying it. Did he think I was angling for that or something? Especially after that kiss…
This man probably thinks I’ve gone crazy.
But just as quickly as those thoughts crossed my mind, the look was gone, and he was shaking his head, laughing. “You know she loved you. That girl is fast, baby, and I mean that as a compliment,” he mimicked, his eyes and voice full of love at the memory that must have been crossing his mind. “But hey… if I’m doing that,” he said, pointing to the torn contract, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to lobby for doing the show on my own – what they promised in the first place. We’ve made this show amazing, and I’d like to think I’ve proven myself enough for them to understand that I could handle it.”
He nodded. “But… what if they don’t?”
“Then… I guess we’ll both be moving on to something new.”
Why does this number keep calling me?
For about the tenth time in the last month, my phone lit up with a call from an international number I didn’t recognize. The fact that there was never a message made me a little suspicious that it was some type of telemarketer, so I never answered.
Until today.
I needed a distraction while I waited to hear from Ramsey.
His workout with the Kings was today, and though I’d talked a big game about believing in him and his talent, I couldn’t help being nervous. I’d just never tell him that. He had enough of his own concerns without me piling mine on, so when he let me know they’d called, I slipped right into the role of “Ms. Motivational” as he teasingly called me.
Really though? I was scared I was going to end up in jail for threatening to kill somebody if, for whatever reason, they didn’t see what I saw in him.
So yeah, I needed the distraction.
“Good morning!” was the response I was given to my hesitantly spoken hello. “This is Ayu Rama, how are you?” she asked, in accented English that I couldn’t quite place.
“Umm… I’m fine.”
“Very good! Am I speaking with Wil-hel-mi-na Cunningham?” she inquired, carefully sounding out my name.
“You are.”
“Wonderful. I am calling on behalf of the Four Seasons at Jimbaran Bay, about the stay you booked with us last year.”
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t, feeling choked with sudden emotion.
“Are you there, Mrs. Cunningham?”
“It’s Ms.,” I corrected her, even though it hurt like hell. “Just Ms. The trip was supposed to be a honeymoon, but um… the wedding never happened.”
“Oh.” For a short moment, Ayu said nothing, but then in a brighter voice, said, “Well, I was calling to ask if you would be interested in rescheduling your trip. I understand that your wedding did not happen, so maybe a relaxing trip alone, or with a friend? You paid up front for the stay, but you never checked in, and our policy is to allow a reschedule, within ninety days.”
“No refunds?”
“No, I am sorry.”
I nodded. “No, no need to apologize, I understand. Um… do I have to give you an answer now?”
“Not at all. I will give you my direct line, and you can call me back. As long as your trip is before that 90 day period, your full package is valid.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I got up to get a pen so that I could write the number down, and then got off the phone feeling… strange. The Balinese vacation was something I’d immensely looked forward to, but after everything fell apart with the wedding, the idea of still going hadn’t crossed my mind. Now that the option was in front of me though… it felt tainted.
I was supposed to be on this trip with my husband, celebrating the fact that I’d married the man that I loved. All of the stress, the disappointments, all of it… for that week, there was supposed to be nothing except me and him, connecting in new ways and reconnecting in others.
Yes, I could go alone… hell, reconnect with my self, but would the fact that he was supposed to be there with me loom like a dark cloud?
While I was still thinking through it, my phone rang again, this time with a number I recognized, but dreaded. I took a deep breath, then hit the button to answer, raising it to my ear.
“Sarita, hi!” I said, trying not to sound like she was the last person I wanted to talk to. “What can I do for you?”
“You can be in my office in an hour.” Was her clipped response.
I rolled my eyes. “Sarita, I’m not in New York right now, I’m at my parent’s, in Stamford.”
“Well, weren’t you going to need to be on set today anyway?”
“Yes, but not for several more hours.”
“I guess you’re coming early today. Two hours. I’ll see you then.”
I didn’t even have a chance to respond before she ended the call, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. I’d never understood the personal issue Sarita seemed to have with me.
In any case, it had to be important for her to call me in to a meeting before the show. I hadn’t signed the new contract yet, but my current one wasn’t over, and I hadn’t heard back from my lawyer about it yet anyway. They’d given it to me on Sunday.
Today was Wednesday.
It couldn’t be about that.
But then again… Ramsey had ripped his contract in half. I knew he hadn’t talked to the network yet, but that didn’t mean the streets hadn’t. There was a good chance they knew he was essentially at an interview with the Kings, and could easily be there until well into the afternoon. I wouldn’t be shocked at all to find that they were trying to get to me before I talked to him again.
I hoped they didn’t think that would work as a negotiation tactic.
In any case, I got up to go to the meeting. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything other than waiting to hear from Ramsey about the workout anyway, so it was a good way to pass the time.
I arrived a little early, waited in the reception area until I was supposed to be there, and then walked into Sarita’s office right on time. I was relieved to see Connie there. Not that she was some savior or something, but at the very least she gave Sarita some balance. There was another person there too, a man in a suit and glasses who I assumed was a new network lawyer, since he looked vaguely familiar.
That made me wonder if I should have called my own lawyer for this meeting.
“Wil, have a seat please,” Connie asked, and I obliged. I crossed my hands in front of me on the table, waiting to hear the reason for this meeting.
Sarita was the one who spoke up with that. “As we’re sure you already know, your co-host is in Connecticut right now, working out with their little local football club,” she started, and I bit my lip to keep from smirking at her attempt at shade.
Must be a Pats fan.
“As you also probably know, were he to make the team, it would present a conflict with his ability to continue as one of our From the Sidelines hosts.”
“I feel that it would be best to address this with him. I’m not comfortable speaking on his behalf in a matter that seems to be in reference to his employment contract.”
Her jaw tightened. “Fair enough. We aren’t here to discuss his contract anyway. We’re here to discuss yours. You haven’t signed it yet.”
“No, I haven’t. It’s still with my lawyer.”
She nodded, then slid a folder across the table to me. “That offer has been rescinded. This is your new one.”
My eyes narrowed at the folder, but I took it, flipping to what I knew was one of the more important pages. When my gaze landed on what I was looking for, I frowned. “This number is lower than the one offered two days ago. Hell… it’s lower than the initial contract I signed.”
“Yes, we know,” Sarita smirked. “You see, with Ramsey leaving, we’re going to need an acceptable number to offer his replacement.”
“Ramsey hasn’t told you he’s leaving. Second – even if he is, why does he need to be replaced? I could handle it alone, with the occasional guest host. That way, you can afford to offer me a number that isn’t an insult, and the network even saves money by not employing a second full-time host.”
There was quiet for a few seconds as Connie and Sarita shared a look, and then Sarita laughed. “Alone? Wil, you’re a twenty-seven year old woman. You can’t possibly think we’re going to hand you a sports news show of your own.”
“You wouldn’t be handing me anything. Ramsey and I put that show on our backs and carried it to where it is. Viewers tune in for us as much as they tune in for the highlights and news. You shove someone in Ramsey’s place, it’s not going to be the same. Not the same energy, and not the same chemistry. Our viewers won’t appreciate it.”
She snorted. “But they’ll appreciate you alone because of what, perky tits and a cute face?”
“And sharp analysis, quick wit, and abundant knowledge. Oh, and a fat ass too, since you seem to think my appearance is the only thing viewers tune in for.”
“We don’t think that,” Connie finally spoke up, shooting a scolding glance at Sarita. “Let’s take a step back, okay? While we’ve absolutely seen a good diversification of our audience since you and Ramsey introduced your show, our main demographic is still largely men. Our concern with having you host the show yourself is that you aren’t enough to anchor the show on your own. The research shows that a male audience still, by and large, wants their news – especially sports news – delivered by men. So, we need that balance.”
I shook my head. “So instead of challenging that, and taking this opportunity to stand on the promise you made when you hired me, you’d rather cut my salary to pay for a man to come on the air and say the same things I can?”
“It’s not that simple,” Connie urged, holding up a hand. “Yes, we need to reallocate funds, but the drop isn’t significant.”
I laughed. “Isn’t significant? Then why take it at all? Do you not understand how offensive this is? You promised me.”
“Girl, this is business, and we are not your fairy god-aunties,” Sarita snipped. “Promises are made and broken every day. The terms are in front of you for you to accept. Aiden has already signed his contract.”
“Aiden?”
I scowled, and then looked to where she was pointing – at the man I’d assumed was a lawyer. He was handsome, with sandy blonde hair and familiar green eyes…
“Aiden Sanders, the baseball player?”
He smiled, and perked up. “In the flesh. But – former player. Looking forward to hosting the show with you.”
I looked at him, then over to Sarita, then to Connie, hoping this was some elaborate joke. When I realized it wasn’t, I shook my head, and “Oh hell no,” was the first thing that crossed my lips. “You cannot be serious!” I snapped. “Is the name of this network not WAWG – We all we got?”
Connie lifted both hands this time. “Yes, of course, but we’re trying to move the station beyond that, into today. We want to start embracing more diversity.”
I cackled, loud. “Diversity? You want to embrace diversity? Purvi Kahn is an amazing sports journalist – you could have gotten her. Aiko Matsuoka. Jeremy Lopez. Kim Williams. Ali Singh. All very capable, established journalists who would probably love to come increase our diversity here at the network. Not to mention all the retired athletes who would have loved this opportunity. But you’re going to sit in my damn face and tell me you hired a blonde white man for the sake of diversity?!”
“We understand how on the surface, maybe the optics look a little rough,” Connie said, still using that soothing voice that was only further grating my frayed nerves, “But I really think this is a good opportunity to maybe start some important conversations.”
I wrapped my hands around my armrests to force myself to stay in my seat. “Anytime I’ve brought up race in the last six months or so, I get a verbal swat on the hand. I get scolded for it. But now that you’re bringing him on… we can have these conversations? Tell me something, what are your thoughts on the disproportionate penalization of athletes of color under current NCAA scouting rules?” I asked, turning to Aidan, who flushed bright red. Before he could answer, I shook my head. “You know, never mind that question – let me ask you something else – where did you get your journalism degree? Where did you intern? Have you done news before?”
He shifted his gaze to Connie and Sarita, then looked back at me with fire in his eyes, sputtering something about being a “fast learner” even though he didn’t have his degree. Yet, supposedly.
I smiled, to keep from screaming.
“So, let me run this down,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, and at least appear calm, though I definitely wasn’t. “You are cutting my salary by an “insignificant” thirty-thousand dollars to pay a grossly inexperienced white man to replace my cohost, so that you can increase the “diversity” of a network founded on principles of giving a platform to, and showcasing Black talents and excellence. Do I understand that correctly?”
Connie shook her head. “You’re simplifying it Wil, and it’s not the way it seems. We’re just trying to put our best foot forward.”
“Adding him is putting your best foot forward?” I scoffed. “I mean, no offense intended to you Aiden, but…” I turned back to Connie and Sarita. “Are you serious right now?”
Connie opened her mouth, but Sarita stopped her. “Wil, I’m not sure where things got mixed up, but we’re under no obligation to explain anything except your contract to you. Your terms are in the folder in front of you. Review it, and get it back to us, signed, by Monday.”
“I’m not signing shit,” I snapped, before I’d even really thought about it. But honestly, there was nothing to think about. I’d wanted to work at WAWG because of what they stood for. I’d tried to get past the trickery they pulled with getting me to sign a contract in the first place, I’d ignored Sarita’s sour face and slick mouth, but this?
I was done.
“Excuse me?” Sarita asked, drawing her head back.
“You heard exactly what I said.” I stood up and grabbed my purse, leaving the new contract there on the table. “I’ve worked my ass off my entire time here, and that won’t change now. I’ll be back on time for tonight’s show, and every other day that’s necessary to fulfill my current contract. Because I’m a professional, and that is all I’ve ever been for this network. But I will not sign that.”
Sarita sat back, crossing her arms. “Don’t bother coming back for a filming tonight – we’re showing a re-run. That decision was already made before you walked in here, and your cohost has been notified. But I tell you this – if you walk out of here without taking that contract with you, you will not be offered another one. And I promise you, nobody is going to be lining up to offer you another position. I mean… unless your father is going to write another check for you, it’s a scary world out there girl.”
I smirked. “That’s what part of this is about, isn’t it? I’ve seen how some of these people hop, skip, and jump around here for you, but not me. Not ever, because I’m not scared. You can levy your little veiled threats of blackballing me, try to discount my talent by saying my daddy has to pay my way around all you want to. But Sarita… I’m not afraid of you.”
“If you want a career in media, maybe you should be.”
I let my smirk spread into a smile. “Maybe so. But you want to know the most important investment my mother and father ever made in me? They didn’t raise a coward.”
I didn’t wait around for Connie to try to calm me down, didn’t give Sarita a chance for another snide remark. I left, with my head held high, just like my mother taught me. My chest was tight, eyes burning, head swimming with what just happened.
I pushed out a deep breath once I made it back to the safe confines of my car. Pulling my cell from my bag, I turned the screen on. The first thing I saw was a text from Ramsey.
“Just left workout. I don’t feel good about it though…. I feel FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC! I really think this is happening! – R. Bishop.”
I was happy as hell for him, but the reality of my own situation hit me at the same time. I’d already lost my man, lost my home as a byproduct, and now, apparently, I didn’t even have a job. What the hell was I doing?
Instead of dwelling there, I shook my head. I couldn’t let myself slip back into the low place I was just starting to feel that I’d made it out of.
“You killed it didn’t you?” I texted Ramsey back. “I knew you would! Dinner on me? Unless you have plans?”
“Nah, I’m all yours. I want to tell you about it. – R. Bishop.”
We went back and forth a little about the place and time, and then I started my car, anxious to get away from the building. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew hanging around here wasn’t the best use of my time.
Not that it mattered.
Without a job, time was something I’d have plenty of.
“So you were just going to let me ramble on and on all night about a damn workout, and not tell me about this?”
Instead of answering my question, Wil averted her gaze as she took a long sip of water, trying to stall. I’d been so high on my own excitement, even when I picked her up, that it took me all the way through dinner, into dessert, to notice that she wasn’t shining at her normal wattage. When I did, it took some pressure to get her to tell me.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, quickly reaching across the table to slide her plate of cheesecake away before she could use another mouthful as an excuse not to talk. “You’re telling me they hired my replacement, without saying shit to me? And they’re taking money from your salary to do it?”
“I’m telling you that’s the impression I had. What did they say when they called to tell you we weren’t filming today?”
I shook my head. “They left a message, made it seem like there were some technical issues or something. Which was bullshit, obviously.”
“The whole thing is bullshit,” she agreed, doing a not at all good job of sneaking her fork across the table to snag some of the cheesecake. “Sarita has always been a bitch, but this is something else going on. Something… I don’t know. As pissed as I am about what happened, I really can’t help but feel like we both dodged a bullet.”
“That gut feeling is everything, Champ.”
She gave me an absent nod in response, then reached for her dessert plate. All night, she’d been fully engaged in me, asking questions about the workout, getting excited. But knowing that she’d been busy celebrating my shit just a few hours after what sounded like the meeting from hell… I felt bad for even having her out tonight. The least I could do was give her a moment with the cheesecake she raved about every time we hit this spot.
While she ate, I observed. She was so deep in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice – or didn’t care – that I was staring at her like I was seeing her for the first time. She had her hair pulled back, showcasing her pretty ass face, but her expression was so somber – so unlike her – that it pissed me off.
“Hey,” I said, reaching across the table for the hand she wasn’t maneuvering her fork with. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Cause apparently I’m jobless too now. This is probably the last date I’ll be able to get for a while. Can’t impress the ladies without a job.”
“Oh please,” she laughed, which was exactly what I was trying to do. Her cheekbones lifted as her lips stayed spread into a smile, and that cute little gap of hers appeared.
Soft ass lips.
“You know damn well you wouldn’t have a single problem getting a woman, job or not. I can probably find you a sugar mama somewhere in here.”
I shook my head. “Nah. Under six feet and no job? I may as well hang it up.”
“Stop,” she giggled, and I squeezed her hand, which seemed to remind her I was still holding it. She looked down at our entwined fingers with this expression of… wonder, or something like that. The same look was still on her face when she lifted her eyes to mine, and staring at me in the same way I’d been staring at her a few seconds ago.
Like I was a phenomenon.
But then she dropped her gaze, and cleared her throat, gently sliding her hands back to place them in her lap. “Don’t look now,” she started. “But they’re kinda giving us the stink eye over there.”
“Who?” I asked, looking even though she’d said not to. Sure enough, we were getting the please leave so we can clean your table and go home look from our server and the hostess, both of whom quickly looked away when they realized I saw them. Chuckling, I brushed off my lap and stood up, fishing my wallet from my pocket. I put two hundred-dollar bills on the table – enough to cover our meal, drinks, and a generous tip – then held out a hand to help Wil up from her seat.
She accepted the hand, and then I motioned for her to lead, a move that was purely habit. I wasn’t trying to get a peek at her ass, but she was wearing this thin little dress that was hugging and clinging and just… good God.
Get it together, Ram.
Our chosen dinner spot for the night was in Stamford, so it didn’t take much time to get her home. Instead of talking, we’d cranked up the radio and sang along, so when I pulled around to her apartment, it went without question that I would be walking her to the door, to say goodbye.
“So what’s your next step?” she asked, as we approached the door. The motion light popped on, bathing the entire porch in a golden glow that made her look damn near angelic as she put her back to the door, leaning into it.
“Next step for…?”
She rolled her eyes. “Becoming the Kings’ star running back, and leading them to that Super Bowl win that slipped away last year, duh. We got interrupted by you insisting on listening to me complain.”
“Okay so you can kill that noise,” I said. “But as far as joining the team, it’s really just a waiting game now. They’ll call when they call. If they want to call.”
“They want to call,” she insisted. “They might make you sweat a little first, but they would be idiots not to call. They need you.”
I shook my head as I stepped closer to her, off pure compulsion. “You sure do know how to pump a man’s head up, Champ.”
She shrugged. “All I’m doing is telling the truth. Same as you’re always doing for me.”
“Not the same thing.”
She crossed her arms. “How so?”
“Cause you’re… I don’t know. You’re you.”
“And you’re you,” she shot back. “What, you don’t think you’re worthy or something?”
Heh.
She didn’t know how accurate that was. Or rather, used to be, even though the shit still cropped up sometimes. Sure, I talked, dressed, lived a certain way now, but that wasn’t always the case, growing up with virtually nothing no matter how hard my mother tried. For a lot of people – for a lot of men – the shit was hard to admit, and it certainly wasn’t about to come out of my mouth, but having people look at you a certain way for so long, then have it suddenly change… you didn’t always just shake that shit off.
I wasn’t so far removed from having nothing that I didn’t remember what it felt like. The shit was vivid, so much that it woke me up from my sleep sometimes. But once I signed that NFL contract, once I got that first check, I made a vow – I was never going back to that.
That was barely eight years ago.
Back in college, the girls… they saw it. The athletic scholarship may have taken the boy out of the hood, but the hood was very much still in the boy, and they didn’t want shit to do with it. Lena was an exception, in a way that I didn’t realize until much later wasn’t healthy. She was one of the rich, bougie chicks, and she considered herself elevating me. She would bring me into her world, but wanted nothing to do with mine, never meeting halfway.
And honestly speaking… Wil was one of those chicks too. Made inaccessible by culture and class – on the surface, at least. But once I knew her, I saw different. Wil would go to the hood and talk to the mothers of budding young players– the ones watching their sons, and the ones watching their children’s fathers – who congregated on raggedy metal bleachers outside in the heat of summer, to get their voice for an interview.
She never hesitated to go to the roughest of neighborhoods to get to a good chicken spots for wings. Never saw someone on the streets she wouldn’t slip a few dollars to if she had it on her – something I’d had to beg her to stop doing when she was by herself. But the point was, Wil didn’t think she was better than anybody.
There was no ulterior motive to her praise, no emotional manipulation, just… genuine admiration. I wondered if she understood how refreshing that was, in our world? How damned sexy her authenticity was. In that moment, I got consumed with the thought of kissing her, but then her gaze dropped as she let out a sigh.
“So…” she sighed again, before she lifted her eyes back to mine. “I’ve gotta say thank you.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you for what?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been… a lot over the last month or so, and please don’t try to make me feel better by saying “no, no, you’re not”, because… yeah. I kinda have. My life is a complete clusterfuck right now, and I really don’t know what I would do without my parents, Naima, Soriyah when I can get her ass on the phone, and really, really importantly… you. So just… thank you for being my friend. And not ignoring my calls so you don’t have to listen to me whine, and taking me to eat whatever I want,” she laughed, and then her expression shifted, and her cheeks visibly heated. “And… for not holding that kiss against me.” Her nose wrinkled up as she frowned. “Not really my proudest moment, you know? Giving you the “money shot” as you called it.”
I chuckled as I took a step back, very glad I hadn’t acted on that urge to kiss her a second ago. “Why would that be something I held against you?”
“Because, you didn’t want me putting my lips on you!” she answered, with such certainty that I couldn’t help what came out of my mouth next, as she giggled.
“You sure about that?” The giggle died on her lips, and her eyes went wide as I stepped into her again, closer than before. “I’m gonna go ahead and get out of here,” I told her, pushing my hands into my pockets. “But for the record, I could never hold that kiss against you.” I leaned in a little more, speaking into her ear. “I kissed you back. Good night,” I said, then placed a soft kiss against her temple and headed to the truck.
I was halfway there when I turned to see her still standing there, unmoving, and I chuckled. “Go in the house!”
Those words seemed to remind her she was outside, and she flinched, then dug her keys from her bag. Shaking my head, I climbed into the truck and sat down, watching until she tossed her hand up to wave before she closed the door and went inside.
I started the truck but didn’t immediately pull off. I had a strange sense of déjà vu, from just a few days ago after the wedding. After that kiss.
Something had shifted now, and I wondered if she felt it like I did? I hadn’t intended to say what I said, but it was out now.
I wasn’t sure which one of us had more to think about.