8. Jason Kingsley
Chapter eight
Jason Kingsley
I thought there was a chance of Willow showing up tonight. She’s close with Aaliyah–according to Jamal–and seems like the type of person to put others before herself. So it only surprised me a little when I saw her walk in looking far too beautiful in her little black dress. What really surprised me, though, was walking into Jamal’s game room to find her beating Calvin at pinball…while drunk.
“I can’t even say you’re cheating because you’re much too drunk to cheat,” Calvin says and I chuckle from my place a few machines down.
I came down here to get away from the crowds and stumbled upon Willow and Calvin’s competition. Apparently they’re doing a best of seven games. Willow has won the first three, all while swaying in her stilettos. There are a few other people down here playing games, but none of them are paying attention. A fact I’m sure Willow will appreciate tomorrow morning.
“I’m not drunk,” she says, barely managing not to slur her words.
“And I can tackle Damien,” Calvin deadpans. I snort. Damien is our star defensive lineman, and Calvin is a wide receiver built for scoring, not tackling.
“I’d love to see you try,” I say, drawing their attention.
Willow scrunches her nose up. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching you beat Calvin at pinball, which isn’t much of a feat considering how bad he is.”
“Hey, don’t insult my skills. Willow is just really good.”
“Yeah don’t insult him.” She reaches up and pats his cheek. “He’s good at pinball and he could tackle Damien if he wanted to.”
An irrational flash of jealousy flares within me, but it’s tamped down when I see Calvin take a step back while laughing. It’s fully extinguished when I remember that he has a crush on Aaliyah’s sister, Imani.
“How about I take his place then? See how good you really are?” I ask.
She sighs as if I’m the most exasperating person she knows. I probably am. “Fine, but don’t start crying when you lose.”
I laugh, and so does Calvin.
“Better keep an eye on her,” he says as he heads for the stairs.
“I will,” I say with a smile.
Willow sniffs. “I don’t want your eyes anywhere on me.”
I shake my head. “Did you drive here?”
She scowls as she pulls the lever to the pinball machine. “I’m not drunk, and I’m not yours to take care of, Kingsley.”
Ouch. That one stings a little. I suppose she’s not wrong–about her not being mine, she’s very drunk–but her icy tone doesn’t make it fun to hear.
“You’re a part of the team, I take care of the team,” I tell her.
She keeps her eyes on the little ball, and she’s surprisingly deft considering her current state.
“I can take care of myself.”
With those words, she beats her last high score, then steps aside so I can play.
“I know you can, but is it so bad for someone to help?”
“If that someone is you, yes.”
I wince at her words. Something in her expression falters but then hardens once more. I probably imagined the soft look in her gray eyes. I want to ask her why she dislikes me so much, but that question hasn’t gotten much of an answer in the past. And I’d rather not antagonize a drunken Willow. Her insults are biting enough sober.
I pull the lever and focus on the game as if it were the playoffs. If I can’t help her or understand her, then I’ll beat her. Logically I know this is likely to make her madder, but now I’m frustrated. I’ve been nothing but nice to this woman–okay, maybe more than nice at times–and she repays me in insults and eye rolls.
When I finally lose the ball, the machine dings with a new high score. I caution a glance at Willow. She’s staring at the game in disbelief.
“You cheated,” she says and I chuckle.
“How do you cheat at pinball?”
“I-I don’t know,” she stammers, flustered. “Calvin always says I cheat even though I don’t know how. But you definitely did.”
“Want to try best two out of three?” I ask through my laughter.
“You’re on. And this time I’m going to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t cheat.”
“Fine by me. I don’t have any qualms about you having your eyes on me, in case you were wondering.”
Her already flushed skin gets brighter. My grin grows.
“You’re an incorrigible flirt,” she says, which wouldn’t necessarily be an insult if not for the way she says it. She steps toward the machine but loses her balance. I reach for her, but I don’t steady her in time to stop her ankle from bending awkwardly in her high heel.
She hisses in pain and clutches my arm.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Her glare assures me that was a stupid question.
“I think I twisted my ankle. This is why I hate heels. Well, that and I’m usually taller than my date when I wear them.” She looks up at me. The realization that she’s looking up even in heels dawns on the both of us. “Don’t say it.”
“What?” I give her an innocent look. “All I was going to do is point out I’m a foot taller than you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re six foot eight, I’m five foot nine.”
“Why do you know how tall I am?” I ask, my chest warm at the thought of her looking me up.
“I work for the team. I have to know these things.”
“How tall is Calvin?”
“What? Why?”
“You said you have to know the team’s stats. How tall is Calvin?”
“I-I-” she stutters. Huffs. “Are you going to quiz me or help me walk? I don’t think I can put weight on my ankle.”
“I can do both,” I say with a grin, then sweep her up in my arms bridal-style. She sucks in a surprised breath.
“This is not what I meant when I said help.”
“You ought to be more specific then,” I reply. “Do you want a ride home now or later? I can plant you on a couch upstairs if you want to enjoy the party a little longer.”
She sighs, the fight already seeming to leave her. “I’m kind of tired. I’d like to go home, but I can call an Uber.”
I start to carry her upstairs, ignoring the cacophony of whispers from those in the game room. I’m sure this looks like more than it is, but carrying her will be a whole lot easier than helping her limp up the stairs.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve been ready to leave for a while,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She relaxes a little more in my arms. “I’m going to close my eyes so I don’t see everyone staring.”
“Good plan,” I say with a breathy laugh.
Once we’re on the main floor, we draw a lot more attention. I do my best to glare at everyone enough to keep them away, but Aaliyah rushes over before I can make it to the door.
“Is she okay?” she asks.
Willow lifts her head and looks at her. “I’m all right, I just had a little too much to drink and twisted my ankle. I’ll have to Uber over here in the morning to get my car.”
“That’s okay. You just get home and rest. Do you have your purse?”
Willow shakes her head. “It’s in your room, I think.”
“Go wait by the door, I’ll bring it to you,” Aaliyah says.
I do as I’m told, waiting in the dim foyer, thankfully away from prying eyes.
“It’s annoying when you do things like this,” Willow mumbles, her eyes falling shut again.
“What do you mean?”
“It makes it hard to hate you.”
My brow furrows. “Why do you have to hate me?”
“Because you don’t remember me.”
I frown as she nuzzles into my neck. I can’t fully enjoy what’s happening because of her odd confession.
“Here’s her purse,” Aaliyah says, setting it on Willow’s stomach. “Take care of my girl now, okay? Make sure she gets home safe.”
“I will,” I promise.
She smiles. “I know.”
I walk out into the chilly October air and head to my car, wondering why the girl in my arms despises me. She must have been half-asleep for the last thing she said, because it doesn’t make any sense. I see her almost every day. I couldn’t forget her even if I wanted to. I set her in my passenger seat, buckle her seatbelt, and gently brush away a stray lock of hair.
No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget Willow Delmont.
I walk around the front of my car then get in. Once inside, I start the car. Before moving, I glance at Willow, who’s sleepily staring at me.
“I thought you were out already,” I tell her as I start to pull onto the road. When I got here earlier, I parked on the edge of the curb so that I didn’t get blocked in. I knew I’d be leaving before everyone else, I just never expected it would be to take Willow home.
“You don’t know where I live,” she points out.
“That’s true. Mind plugging in the address?” I fish my phone out of my pocket, keeping one hand on the wheel, and hand it to her. “Password is 0-9-0-9.”
“Your jersey number is your password? That’s not very secure,” she says and I shrug.
“I don’t have anything to hide. Feel free to snoop to your heart’s content.”
“If you’re not hiding anything, then snooping wouldn’t be very fun,” she says, making me chuckle.
“You got me there. Address?” I prod, not wanting to get too far on the drive without directions.
She starts typing, and soon enough the map appears on my dash screen. Sniffles break the silence. I glance over to find her wiping tears away with her hands.
“What’s wrong? Is it your ankle? I can take you to the emergency room.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that it might be one of the last times I give that address to someone. I won’t live there soon.”
Oh-kay. A little dramatic for her to just be moving, but hey, she’s tipsy. At least she doesn’t act the way I used to. I’ve broken one too many pieces of furniture.
“You’re moving?” I ask and her crying worsens. That was the wrong thing to ask, apparently.
“I’m being deported,” she sobs. Shock ripples through me at her words. “I didn’t get my work visa application done in time. I’ve only got sixty days left. Well, I guess tomorrow it will be fifty-nine.”
Her tears are coming fast now. When I stop at a red light, I take off my jacket and hand it to her.
“Here, you can use this to dry your eyes. Or if you’re cold.” She takes it from me. I don’t get many crying women in my car so I haven’t considered having tissues in here.
“Thank you,” she mumbles and uses the sleeve to dab under her eyes. “I’m sorry for crying in your car. I just found out today, so it’s still raw. And my granny–” she cuts off, pressing the sleeve to her mouth.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to share.” Heaven knows she’ll regret it in the morning, along with everything else that happened tonight.
“My granny hurt her hip, that’s why I missed work. Now she’s going to be alone, all because I didn’t change my address. I’m so stupid.” She hides her face in my jacket completely now.
“You’re not stupid. You made a mistake. It’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “I’m sure there’s a way to fix all this.”
There has to be. She can’t leave the Lions. It won’t be the same without her. All the guys used to hate being in videos, now most of them love it because of her. The whole team and staff adore her.
Willow stays silent the rest of the drive, and I don’t push her to talk. Instead, I try to think of what I can do to help. Maybe there’s someone in the office who’s a Lions fan. I’m not against bribery when it comes to this. Or some kind of loophole she doesn’t know about. I could hire a lawyer for her–
I’m not yours to take care of, Kingsley. I cringe. Even if I could help, would Willow want me to? I glance over at her again. She’s curled up, using my jacket as a pillow against the door. An instinctual urge rises within me to protect her, to fix everything just to see her smile. I think that makes me the stupid one, but that’s how I feel. I guess I’m stuck hoping that one day she’ll feel something similar, or at the very least, not hate me. That is, if she stays in the country.