Chapter 2
“Here you are,” Trina said, causing us to tear our eyes from each other. She set his brown liquor down on a white napkin. “And your food should be out shortly.”
I continued eating but focused my attention on the game. Several hard-hitting plays resulted in a third-down interception. The first time the quarterback for the Wasps dropped back with the ball, the Monarchs sacked him. It would’ve resulted in a thirteen-yard loss, but a late yellow flag came out.
“What?!” I exclaimed, almost choking on my fry.
“Bullshit,” he reacted at the same time.
The man and I looked at each other.
“That was…” I was distracted when he lifted the lid of his hat.
I could see his face clearly. He was strikingly handsome with his flawless mahogany complexion, impeccably manicured beard, and full, thick lips. His thick eyebrows framed beautiful brown eyes. It was almost jarring how attractive he was.
I cleared my throat. “That was not roughing the passer,” I continued. “That was a bullshit call.”
He let out a short chuckle and shook his head.
I glanced at the TV screen again before giving him a look. “What’s so funny? It is a bullshit call!”
A small smile pulled at his lips before he flashed the brightest, whitest teeth. “You said it like I made the call. Like, damn, I agree with you! You don’t have to yell at me!”
His smile was infectious, so I felt myself grinning as I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t yell at you.”
“You know the outcome of this game, right? I don’t want you to be surprised and act like them.” He gestured with his head to the few rowdy basketball fans who were across the bar, still reeling from the earlier loss. “They might put you out next.”
My jaw dropped when I saw a security guard ushering a group of people out the front door. “It’s never that serious.”
“They must’ve had money on the game because ain’t no way they’re acting like that for no reason.”
“I thought the same thing! The stench of lost wages was in the air.”
A deep, rumbling laugh erupted from him. It was the kind of laugh that spread warmth to everyone in its radius. It warmed me in areas where I hadn’t felt heat in a long time.
“I’m Lamar,” he introduced himself. “Lamar Anderson.”
“Jazmyn Payne—friends call me Jazz.”
Before he had a chance to say anything else, Trina slid his food in front of him.
“Thank you,” he told her. “This looks good.”
“It is good,” I replied.
Lamar picked up his burger and took a huge bite. Nodding, he confirmed my words with a series of appreciative grunts. After he swallowed that bite, he looked at me and pointed to his plate. “This shit right here!”
“Okay!”
“I was going to get wings. If I didn’t come sit next to you and see what you had, I would’ve missed out.”
“I guess it was meant to be.”
He licked his lips. “I agree with that.”
Heat crept up my neck and spread across my cheeks. I tore my eyes away from him and tuned in to the game. The Wasps’ star running back dashed across the screen.
“That was a hell of a run,” I pointed out as I munched on a fry.
“It was. But Channing slipped on the grass, and that’s how he got open,” Lamar responded. “The Wasps’ offense isn’t as good as everyone gives them credit for.”
“Yeah, but if we’re honest, Channing has been losing a step for a while now. And he got progressively worse as the season went on. The Monarchs’ defense is good, but Channing has been playing a little off.”
He looked impressed. “You noticed that, too?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s obvious only if you’re paying attention.
Watch his feet. His footwork has changed.
You need defensive tackles who are big and athletic, who can open field tackle and rush the quarterback, who can observe and communicate.
Watch him the next time he’s out there. Something is wrong.
He’s getting off the line funny. I’m telling you. ”
He assessed me with a healthy dose of amusement, amazement, and suspicion.
Unprovoked, I continued: “I learned early on that defense wins games, so I pay attention to the defensive players.”
“Most people pay more attention to offense,” he pointed out.
I smirked. “Most people don’t know any better.”
“I like the way you think.” He grinned. “If you were Coach, what play would you call to get at the Wasps?”
“I love a good blitz. It’s organized disruption. It takes timing, execution, and adaptability. And when done right, it can be a game changer,” I rambled. “It’s the ultimate ‘go big or go home’ play.”
“A blitz, huh?” There was a playfulness and familiarity to his tone. “And what about for offense?”
“It depends on how the defense is set up. I mean, I love to see a quarterback with a strong arm slinging it.”
“A gunslinger.”
I nodded. “A gunslinger. What about you?”
“I’ve thought about this a lot,” he answered, pointing to how the teams were lined up. “A hybrid three-four defense would’ve made the most sense. Look at how the Wasps…”
He was knowledgeable, and even though I was listening, I found myself becoming distracted. The tone of his voice was sexy. But as he continued to talk, his voice became huskier.
“I can see that,” I commented once he finished speaking. “I don’t agree, but I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.”
“You don’t agree?”
I shook my head. “Maybe if we had the Channing of two years ago. But with the ‘star’ defensive player playing like he’s hurt, there’s no way your defensive scheme would work.”
He let out a light chuckle. “I’ve had people talk football with me my whole life, but there’s something about the passion in you … the way you light up as you talk.”
My lips twisted ruefully. “I’ve been told I can be a bit much during football season.”
“I don’t see how you could ever be too much.” With his eyes trained on me, he took a gulp of his drink. “So, when did you get into football?”
Ignoring the heat creeping up my neck and flushing my face, I answered, “I grew up on it. My dad and my aunt were big fans—still are.”
“They taught you the love of the game?”
“They introduced me to the game, and I fell in love with it all on my own.” I pointed a fry at him. “What about you?”
“Football is life. I’ve played since I was five years old. My mom said it was initially to channel my energy into something productive, and then they noticed I was nice with it, so … I’ve been in love with the game since the beginning.”
“Your first love.”
He smiled softly. “You could say that.”
“So, you played in high school, college, all that?”
He nodded. “All that.”
“Offense or defense?”
“What do you think?”
I looked him up and down, appreciating the opportunity to truly gawk at him.
He was wearing a dark gray jogging suit in a lightweight material.
The logo looked familiar—like one of those brands that sold one-hundred-dollar T-shirts.
But by the way the material stretched across his body, it was clear that he was solidly built and muscular.
His broad shoulders and perfect posture led me to believe that even though he was big, he was agile.
I was only five feet five inches, and my feet dangled on the final rung of the stool I was sitting on.
His feet were comfortably planted against the floor, so I guessed he was over six feet.
I took account of the size of his hands and the way the burger almost looked small in comparison.
My eyes traveled back up his face, and I realized how long I’d lingered, taking him in.
“Defense,” I said definitively.
He turned his body toward me, leaning his elbow against the bar. “And why do you think that?”
“Your size mainly,” I told him. “You’re probably six-three—”
“I’m six-five,” he interjected.
“Close enough,” I teased. “But the biggest giveaway for me was when you tried to wave down the bartender. With your broad shoulders and long arms, your wingspan has got to be incredible.”
“Wingspan?” He nodded. “Okay, I’m impressed. So, instead of playing with dolls, you were in front of the TV watching the game.”
“Me and my dolls were watching the game. They were also fans.”
“You’re funny.” He snickered before he took another bite of his burger.
We ate and watched the game together, making comments about the plays as the seconds ticked down in the quarter.
He made me laugh.
He made me think.
He made me forget.
“Can we get another round?” Lamar asked the bartender.
We talked about players, stats, coaches, and games.
We made jokes and laughed heartily. We had something to say about every commercial that came on, every commentator’s commentary, and every referee’s call.
We were on our second round of our respective drinks, and it felt like time was just flying by.
It wasn’t until the bartender cleared our plates that I realized that we’d gone from strangers to friends within two and a half quarters.
“Hm,” I mused under my breath as I looked at a man with a bouquet of roses. The mirror caught his image behind us, so I didn’t even have to turn around to be nosy.
Following my eyes, Lamar asked, “You like that?”
“Flowers are nice, but…” I shrugged and returned my attention to the TV screen. “Those are gas station ‘forgive me’ flowers.”
Lamar craned his neck to get a better look. “How do you know?”
“Look at the way she’s pushing him away from her. She’s not feeling it. Look at the way her friends are side-eyeing him. He did something, and he’s trying to get back in her good graces.”
“Yoooooooo! I didn’t even notice the way her friends are looking at him.” He shifted his attention to the play on the screen. “He’s fucked.”
I snickered, nodding in agreement. “What would you do?”
“For the woman I love?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, let’s set the record straight: I wouldn’t do anything that would necessitate me bringing gas station flowers to the bar at midnight.”
With my eyes glued to the game, I felt my lips tug upward slightly. Good answer.
“You don’t believe in grand gestures?” I asked sarcastically.