Laney
THE DAY’S FESTIVITIES aren’t through yet.
After an eventful brunch, Kam and I had about five minutes of downtime before we had to shower and change for a celebration gala the team is hosting in New York City.
I will be the first to admit my fiancé cleans up well. At heart, Kam is a down-home southern boy. He loves his broken-in denim jeans and casual T-shirts. But he has no issue adapting to the part of dapper gentleman draped in an Armani suit. He wears many hats, and owns each and every one of them the same way he owns the football field.
Currently, Kam is owning the room. He’s the man of the hour. Sophomore year in the NFL and he’s leading his team to the big game. The excitement is palpable. Throw our high-profile engagement in the mix, and it’s a full-on electric storm. For me, anyway. Social media has been buzzing since last night. Every media outlet has played and replayed the proposal repeatedly. While driving through Times Square, the ticker congratulated the team on their win and Kam on our engagement as the Jumbotron simultaneously broadcasted a bigger-than-life still of Kam on one knee and me a delightful shade of red.
My life is surreal sometimes.
Like right now, for instance. I’m surrounded by models and actresses and reality stars fawning over my hand and the diamond you can probably see from Mars. All the wives and girlfriends of the players who have become part of my extended family.
“It is gorgeous.” Chris, a six-foot-tall, statuesque model gushes. The brunette with the most beautiful, buttery-olive skin you’ve ever laid eyes on nearly yanks my arm off.
The rock on her finger is just as impressive. She’s engaged to Martell Lewis, or Telly as we all know him, one of the top ten running backs in the league. I know most of the players’ significant others. We’ve been thrown together in a mishmash of public events and dinner parties the last two years. “And I can’t believe you have a date set already! You and Kam have been engaged for twenty-four hours!” Mia chimes in. She’s a reality star who won that around-the-world challenge. She met her husband, Robert, the team’s center, when he guest-starred on the show. Apparently, it was history after that. They eloped six weeks after she won and have been going strong ever since.
“That wasn’t planned. My mom pulled a string, and Kam hopped on board.” I reach for my drink on the bar. The girls have been crowding me since the moment I walked into the room.
“At least football season will be over.” Chris huffs, sipping on her champagne.
“Hey, you were the one who wanted to get married on a leap year,” I remind her.
“I know, but who knew they were going to go to the freaking Super Bowl. The tone of my wedding seriously depends on the outcome of that game.”
“It will be fine.” Mia waves her off. “No matter what, everyone will be blitzed. It will either be from joyous celebration or drowning their sorrows. Drunk at a wedding sounds like a win-win to me.”
“Dear Lord, please let it be from joyous celebration,” Chris prays.
“If I know Kam, it will be. Nothing is going to stop him from getting that win. He’s like a bull seeing red.”
“Awww, and then you guys will have the perfect happily ever after,” Mia pokes fun. “The Super Bowl MVP and his bride.”
“You are lucky I love you, ‘cause I sorta want to throw my drink in your face.” I laugh.
“Save it for later. The managers will totally have a cow if there’s a bitch fight at the bar.” We all giggle in great spirits. “Could you imagine?”
“I can see the headlines now.” Chris snorts. “Girls’ fight night at celebration gala. Which NFL hottie hits the hardest?”
“Definitely me,” I claim the title.
“Laugh it up now, ladies.” Monique, an ex-lingerie model and wife of the quarterback Kam replaced, tosses in her two cents. She hasn’t said much all night. Usually she’s a social butterfly, but she’s just been hovering by the bar, sipping her martini, a long, silk champagne gown draped over her lean body. “Everything is all wonderful in the beginning.” Her French accent drips with disdain. “You have kids, a beautiful home, the American dream, so you say. Then you find out it’s all a ruse. A scam, because your wonderful husband has been cheating on you the whole time. You are the fool, and everyone knew it but you.” She drains the vodka from her glass. “Demand a pre-nup.” She bumps into Mia then me before she struts off, clearly pissed and clearly drunk. We all stare at her bare back as she walks right past her husband without a second glance and out of the lavish ballroom.
A dampening silence blankets our little group. Even though none of us will admit it, what Monique said is true. Being a professional athlete and being faithful is a rare occurrence. We’ve all heard stories or seen it firsthand. I look over at Kam laughing and talking, living in the moment. His stock just went up twenty thousand points. Women throw themselves at him on a daily basis despite our very public relationship. Groupies don’t care if you’re married, engaged, or have a girlfriend, and a lot of times, neither do the players. My only comfort is knowing cheating isn’t Kam’s style. It never has been, but it doesn’t mean temptation isn’t ever present. It’s front and center in this world. And I’m not naïve enough to pretend it doesn’t exist. Or that he isn’t confronted. I just have to trust in him. Trust in us, and hope we don’t end up like my parents. Or his.