Jared stood on the forty yard line with his arms crossed, a metal whistle resting between his lips. He tried to concentrate on the four college seniors running sprints between the hash marks, but his mind continued to bombard him with the image of Samantha and Carlos embracing, smiling into each other’s eyes. Someone had left a copy of the celebrity magazine in the common area of the locker room, opened to an article that covered some charity event in Miami the two had attended over the weekend.
Anger and disgust burned hot in his gut as he recalled the contented bliss that was evident on both their faces. The unmistakable adoration as they gazed upon each other couldn’t have been forged in the few months since he’d found Samantha and Carlos in bed together. It took time to build that kind of love.
Jared had often wondered how long their affair had been going on behind his back. And how long it would have continued if they hadn’t been caught.
He shook his head with a fierce curse.
Disregarding the stopwatch in his hand, Jared mentally counted down the seconds before blowing the whistle.
“Stop,” he yelled. The guys abruptly halted their sprints.
Jared strolled up to the four players, trying like hell to keep his expression impassive. They looked ready to piss in their pants. Man, he remembered those days, jumping through hoops—literally—to impress the players and coaches. Willing to do just about anything to earn a spot on some team’s roster.
After a lifetime of Pop Warner, high school and college football, knowing that your performance over a single week could decide whether you got to continue playing the game or hung up your shoulder pads forever; that was a lot for a twenty-one-year-old kid to handle.
Torrian walked up to him, carrying a clipboard and wearing an identical whistle attached to a teal-and-gray Sabers lanyard.
“How did this group do?” Torrian asked.
“Some had better numbers than others,” Jared answered.
Torrian addressed the players. “You guys ready for The Wall?” He gestured to the twenty-five-foot cushioned wall with several ropes dangling from the top of it. Jared hated that damn wall, but he loved watching other guys fight with it.
As Torrian walked the group toward the apparatus, Jared headed for the Gatorade station. Randall was standing next to it, gulping down fluid from a paper cup.
“Nothing like tryout week,” Randall said with a wicked laugh. “I especially love seeing the cocky ones who’ve bought into all the hype from the sports analysts get what’s coming to them. A Heisman trophy doesn’t mean crap when you have three hundred pounds of pissed off linebacker charging after your ass.”
“You want to see some real tears?” Jared grinned and nodded toward the back end of the field. “Torrian is taking the group I just worked with over The Wall.”
“And today isn’t even my birthday,” Randall said with the excitement only one who’d suffered at the hands of The Wall could experience. “Hey.” He nudged Jared’s shoulder as they strolled across the practice field. “Did you end up going out with The Brain on Friday?”
“Don’t call her that,” Jared snapped.
“Why? That’s her name.”
“Her name is Chyna. And, yeah, we went out.”
“And?” Randall asked when Jared didn’t elaborate.
“And it’s none of your business.”
“Man, I know you’re not holding out on me. I’m the one who told you to go after her in the first place.”
“And when she blew me off you told me to go after another one,” Jared reminded his teammate. “So, yeah, I’m holding out on you. Chyna and I had a good time. That’s all you need to know.”
Randall shook his head. “Dude, that’s not even cool.”
“Maybe if you went on your own date you wouldn’t be so concerned about mine.”
“Last date I had was with Big Bird and Elmo.”
“Hard to compete.” Jared grinned.
“That’s nothing. I’ve got Nemo and Friends on Ice up next. Eat your heart out.”
They stopped about ten yards back from The Wall and openly pointed and chuckled at the rookies who were literally brought to their knees by the grueling exercise. With a twinge of unease, Jared noticed the cornerback from Rutgers lasted the longest.
He’d been surprised that the rookie had been brought in for tryouts. Everyone knew the Sabers were in the hunt for a new quarterback now that their star for the past nine seasons, Mark Landon, had decided to retire. Talk around camp had been that the Sabers would trade their first- and second-round draft picks in order to get a more experienced quarterback from one of the other teams, but Sabers upper management were playing their cards close to their chest. Not even the players knew what move they would make come Draft Day.
But there wasn’t a single mock draft in the online fantasy sports arena that had the Sabers picking a cornerback, which made their choice to audition the player from Rutgers even more puzzling. Why not bring in a quarterback or maybe another running back to take the load off Cedric Reeves’s shoulders? Hell, they’d just lost that bastard Carlos Garcia to the Colts. Why not try out a rookie tight end to fill his spot?
After another ten minutes of torturing the candidates, Torrian blew his whistle and called all eleven of the potential draft picks into a huddle.
Jared checked his watch. He had only a few minutes before he had to join the team in the media conference room. The rookies would be given a chance to shower then it was a bit of show-and-tell for the rest of the afternoon. A current player from every position would discuss their role on the team and give some insight into the Sabers organization.
“I’ll meet you in the media room,” Jared told Randall before heading toward the field house’s exit. He pulled out his phone and called Chyna, but his call went to voice mail. He tried again with the same result before remembering that she was at work and probably couldn’t take personal calls.
He wasn’t used to dating a woman with a regular day job. Even though Samantha had a degree in finance, she hadn’t held a job since finishing her internship back in their senior year at San Diego State. Once it was obvious that Jared would be drafted into the NFL, there was no need for her to work.
Jared suppressed the rage that flared at the thought of how Samantha had used him. He’d given that girl everything she could possibly want, and it hadn’t been enough.
He pushed through the main building’s double doors with a silent curse. He was done with this self-torture. He’d spent a decade of his life making sure Samantha wanted for nothing, and look at how she’d repaid him. He was done. Samantha had made her choice, and he was making his.
His cell phone rang, and Jared nearly dropped it in his haste to answer, but it wasn’t Chyna’s number on the screen.
“Yeah, Patrick,” Jared answered with a terse breath.
“You can at least pretend you’re happy to hear from me,” his college buddy said.
“I thought—” hoped “—you were someone else.”
“The growl kinda gave that away,” Patrick said. “I’m just calling to tell you the Red Zone passed inspection. We are good to go, my man.”
Jared’s shoulders sagged with relief. “That’s the kind of news I needed to hear today. Congratulations, man. Hey, is everything ready for Saturday? You need me to do anything?”
“It’s all taken care of. Just be there by ten o’clock for the ribbon cutting. I’ve got a photographer from the Post coming.”
“You have taken care of everything,” Jared said, impressed. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
He disconnected Patrick’s call and stared at the phone, willing it to ring with Chyna on the other end. It didn’t.
Jared shook his head, unable to believe a woman whose name he didn’t even know a week ago could have him staring at the phone like a love-struck teenager. Chyna was supposed to be only a distraction, someone to help get his mind off Samantha. But in just over seventy-two hours she’d become so much more than that. He couldn’t get her off his mind. And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to be with her.
Saturday night couldn’t get here fast enough.
Chyna met up with Liani inside the marble-and-gold lobby of the Fifth Avenue building that housed her parents’ eight-thousand-square-foot penthouse. Chyna turned right when they exited the building, heading for the subway, but Liani caught her by the elbow.
“This way,” she said, nodding to a black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows. “I figure since I’m staying here, I might as well take advantage of all the perks, right?”
When the Dixon family’s personal driver pulled the Town Car in front of a handsome brownstone at the corner of 107th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, Chyna sent Liani a quizzical look. “Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn’t look like a barbershop to me.”
“This is it. The Red Zone.” Liani pointed to a chrome-plated sign flanked on either side by three-feet-tall red-and-white barbershop spirals. They climbed out of the backseat with Liani leaving instructions for the driver to meet them back here in another two and a half hours.
“There’s Kenya and Jamie,” Chyna said, pointing at two members of the Saberrettes squad who had just turned the corner.
“Hi, girlies,” Kenya greeted. She motioned to Chyna’s dress. “Look at you looking all Project Runway. Somebody’s trying to land herself a man.”
“From what I hear she already has,” Jamie said. “I heard about you and Jared Dawson.”
Chyna opened her mouth to respond, but Kenya cut her off. “You’re dating Jared Dawson?” she asked, her pencil-thin brow arched in inquiry. Her joking tone had taken on a note of accusation. “I guess there are some perks to being just a choreographer. No one looks at you as if you’re a gold digger since you’re not in a Saberrette uniform.”
“First of all, I didn’t take this job to land a man,” Chyna said. “And it’s not really anyone’s business what I’m doing with Jared.”
“I agree,” Liani said. “What Chyna and Jared do is no one else’s business, except for mine since I’m her best friend. Now can we stop the chitchat and get to work.” She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through a list of messages. “According to Amy’s email, we’re meeting someone named Patrick. Go to the side entrance that’s just off the alley.”
The four of them walked around the side of the building. Chyna followed a few steps behind, trying to get a handle on her temper, burning slowly just beneath the surface.
Of all the things Kenya could have accused her of, being a gold digger was up there with mass murder. Chyna took care of herself. Always. She’d been schooled in the art of self-reliance years ago, and had worked her ass off to make sure she never had to depend on anyone else for her well-being.
She was not dating Jared for his money. If anything, his extravagant lifestyle had been more of a hindrance than a benefit to their…relationship, for lack of a better word. Chyna wasn’t sure if she would call two and a half dates a relationship, but when they took place in the span of two and a half days, it deserved some kind of title.
She forced herself to shove Kenya’s words out of her mind. She was here to support the Saberrettes and get an idea of the type of work they did outside of the stadium. She would not let Kenya Simmons get to her.
“This must be it.” Liani knocked on the side door, but with the music blasting on the other side, Chyna doubted anyone would hear. “Is this a barbershop or a dance club?” her friend asked.
The door opened and a handsome guy with wire-rimmed glasses greeted them. “Oh, great. You’re just in time. Come on in.” He gestured for them to follow him into a small room with shelving on either side of a narrow walkway. They were stacked with white towels, toilet tissue and boxes with pictures of little black combs on the outside, evidence that it was, indeed, a barbershop.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “The deejay just started up, and we’re about to have the first door-prize drawing. I’d like you all to take turns drawing the names.” He abruptly stopped and turned. “Hey, aren’t you all supposed to be in uniforms?”
“Give us a minute,” Liani said. “Is there somewhere we can store our bags?”
He gestured to an empty shelf a few feet away. “You can put them right there. The door leading to this room stays locked, so everything will be safe.”
Chyna stood to the side as, like synchronized swimmers, the three women simultaneously stripped out of their warm-up suits, revealing the barely there teal-and-metallic-gray uniforms underneath. Each squad member stuffed their warm-up suit into their personalized Saberrettes duffel bags and placed them on the empty shelf.
Liani tapped Patrick on the chin. “Close your mouth, honey. There’s no need to drool.”
One by one they filed out of the back room and entered the main area of the barbershop. Chyna was the last out. She walked through the door and came face-to-face with Jared.
“The Saberrettes are here.”
Jared heard Patrick’s voice coming from somewhere behind him, but his business partner could have been yelling “fire” for all he cared. As he stared at Chyna standing there in a hot pink dress that was holding on to her curves for dear life, he had a hard time focusing on anything else.
Her gray eyes widened in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
Jared shook his head, trying to get his bearings straight. “This is my place,” he finally answered. “Well, partly mine. I’m an investor. I knew the Saberrettes would be here, but I didn’t know you were joining them.”
He glanced at her face, but couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling back to the luscious breasts that were deliciously displayed in the deep V of her dress.
“Liani invited me to tag along so I can get a sense of how the Saberrettes function outside of their normal dancing duties.”
“Chyna!” Jared heard one of the other girls call her name.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, stepping around him.
As he watched her stroll over to where the other dance squad members stood, Jared had a hard time reconciling the woman he’d just spoken to with the one he’d spent the day with last Sunday. The makeup, fancy hair and clingy dress were such a contrast to the ponytail and clean, fresh face that had greeted him at the park.
As turned on as he was by how incredible she looked right now, Jared acknowledged that he was just as attracted to the girl without all the bells and whistles.
The Saberrette with the blond hair pulled a slip of paper from the mesh steel drum Patrick had set up in the middle of the barbershop, and called a name for the first of four one-hundred-dollar gift certificates that would be given away as door prizes. The winner ran up and gave her a hug, then quickly moved to do the same with the other cheerleaders and their choreographer.
Jared’s back stiffened and his hands instinctively clenched into fists. He didn’t like the precedents that move set. He had no doubt that every winner would now follow in hugging all of the Saberrettes and Chyna, and Jared was fairly certain he would beat the hell out of any man who wrapped his arms around Chyna again.
The cheerleaders surrounded the winner, but before the photographer could snap their picture Liani gestured for Chyna to join them. She hesitated for a moment before scooting way too close to the guy who’d won the door prize.
A mother and two small boys came up to Jared and asked for his autograph, pulling his attention from what was transpiring in the center of the barbershop. Jared scribbled on the football and headed for the crowded lobby area to greet more patrons.
Patrick’s promotional efforts had paid off better than either of them had expected. There had been a steady flow of people in and out of the barbershop all day. The demographic included varied ages and races, but the crowd was predominately male, a fact that sent his blood pressure spiking as he became aware of all the eyes on Chyna.
He didn’t like it. Not at all.
Jared knew he was being ridiculous. After only two dates he had no claims on Chyna. Yet he couldn’t help the possessiveness that stalked through him and demanded he snatch her away from all these leering eyes.
Jared had done the knockout gorgeous girlfriend routine before. He’d been proud to flaunt Samantha on his arm, knowing other men envied him. Until she’d been stolen away. He refused to go through that pain again.
Liani Dixon drew the second door prize, and once again, the winner used the opportunity to score hugs. Again, Chyna was invited to join the squad as they crowded together for a group picture, but this time Chyna stood immediately to the winner’s left. When the guy put his arm around her waist and rested his palm on her hip, Jared saw red.
He started straight for the Saberrettes, who were rustling their glittery pom-poms and posing for pictures. He caught Chyna by the elbow and half guided, half dragged her to the break room behind the bar.
“Jared, what are you doing?” she balked.
He ignored her question as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and started peeling away hundred-dollar bills. “How much are you being paid to be here?”
“Excuse me? I’m not being—”
“Dammit,” he cut her off. “This is all I have on me.” Jared handed her five hundred dollars. “This is part of the money for the vet bill. When I pick you up tonight I’ll give you the rest of it along with whatever consultant fee you charged Patrick for being here today. Just don’t go back out there.”
Her shocked expression was quickly replaced with outrage. “First of all, I’m not being paid to be here. I came to offer support to the girls on the squad.”
“Is that your special offering-support dress?”
She looked down at the silky dress that clung to her body and stopped just above the knee. “What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Not a damn thing. That’s the problem.”
“Jared, I don’t have time for this. Technically, I’m working.”
She tried to push past him, but Jared caught her arm. He pointed toward the main area of the barbershop. “That isn’t ‘working,’ it’s…being fantasy material for some guy’s wet dream.”
“Do you really think the guys out there are paying any attention to me when there are three cheerleaders wearing the equivalent of bathing suits? I don’t see you demanding any of the Saberrettes cover up.”
“I don’t give a damn what they do. I’m not going out with the other girls.”
She looked down at where he still held her. “Jared, if you don’t let go of me right now, I swear I’m going to hurt you.”
She yanked her arm away and headed for the door. She stopped with her hand on the handle and swung around to face him again. Jared could feel the heat from her blistering, defiant stare. She stomped back to him and stepped right up into his face.
“Let’s get one thing straight. You have no say in what I put on this body, you got that? And my being out there with the rest of the dance squad is a part of my job. If you have a problem with it, then you have a problem with me. Either figure out a way to deal with it or find someone else to go on this date tonight.” She poked his chest with her finger. “I told you once before that I take care of myself.” Her eyes were steely, her voice cold as ice. “Don’t you ever think you can come in and dictate what I do.”
Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the break room.