Love in Play Read online

  Dominique’s attraction to Jake was not only undeniable, but almost frightening in its intensity.

  From the covert glances she’d received and the way his hand had casually covered hers at various points of the evening, she’d say the feeling was mutual. Just like her bra size, Jake McDonald was definitely a triple D—dangerous, distracting, and now she could add, debonair. It was a good thing she wasn’t in the market for romance. Otherwise she’d be in big trouble.

  Jake took a step and closed the distance between them. “You feeling what I’m feeling?” Now Dominique’s throat went dry. His touch was like fire, scorching hot. Jake’s face broke out in a confident grin. “Yes, you’re feeling it.”

  “Look, Jake. I’ve already admitted that I find you attractive. But I don’t have time for or interest in a relationship.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Oh, so you just want to hit it and quit it?”

  Jake’s smile widened. “Basically. We’re both adults here and I don’t know about you but for me... it’s been a while. I’m attracted to you. You’re feeling me, so... why not?”

  Also by Zuri Day

  Lies Lovers Tell

  Body By Night

  Lessons from a Younger Lover

  What Love Tastes Like

  Lovin’ Blue

  Heat Wave

  (with Donna Hill and Niobia Bryant)

  Published by Dafina Books

  Love in PLAY

  ZURI DAY

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Dominique’s attraction to Jake was not only undeniable, but almost frightening in its intensity.

  Also by

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  LOVIN’ BLUE

  Copyright Page

  Football hero, everybody going got a football

  hero, hero everywhere

  He may be a rough and tough hero but

  He’s my lover and I love him a lot.

  He’s the guy on the winning team

  He’s got get up and go, oh, oh, my hero....

  Author Unknown

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big hug and thank you to my nephew, JaJuan Turner, the athletic director at Holy Name Catholic School in Kansas City. Your insight and suggestions made Jake’s character and the sports scenes come alive! To copy editor Brenda Horrigan and as always to my cheerleaders: the oh-so-fab editor Selena James and my awesome agent Natasha Kern. We’ve done it again, ladies! Take a bow....

  1

  “Mom, we’ve got a new coach!”

  “Uh-huh,” Dominique Clark absentmindedly replied, barely hearing her eleven-year-old son. Her mind was on a zillion other things: the upcoming model shoot, the rapidly approaching magazine deadline, her lovable gay assistant who’d just lost his man and therefore his mind, and right now the fact that there was nothing in the refrigerator to cook her son for dinner. Moments like these made this thirty-eight-year-old magazine executive feel that she was a much better career woman than she was a mom. It also made her value Tessa, her nanny/housekeeper who was out sick, all the more.

  “Justin, you want McDonald’s?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, let’s go.” As Dominique walked to the car, she texted one of the editors to ask about the article on being fat, fit, and fabulous. I wonder if we’ve heard back from Sean Combs’s people about buying the back page. She sent off a quick text to the advertising manager as well.

  All the while Dominique clicked BlackBerry keys, her son continued to prattle. “Did you hear me, Mom? We got a new coach! And he is so cool. He’s big and tall and can run really fast, and he used to be a professional football player like for real though, Mom, like in the NFL. He played for the Oakland Raiders, Mom. The Raiders... my favorite team! Mom!”

  “Justin! What?” Dominique buckled her seatbelt, put the car in drive, and headed for the fast-food-lined boulevard less than ten minutes from her comfortable San Fernando Valley home.

  “We got a new coach!”

  “That’s good, baby,” Dominique said, reaching to click the hands-free and answer her ringing cell phone. “Hello?”

  “He hasn’t called! I waited all day, just knowing that he would have left a baby-I-made-a-big-mistake message on my home phone. And that bastard didn’t call, Miss Dom.” Reggie fairly screeched the nickname he almost always used to address his boss. “He didn’t call!”

  “Reggie, you have got to calm down!” Dominique ordered in a quiet but firm voice. It was clear that her assistant, Reginald Williams, was no better now than before what she thought had been a successfully calming talk. “If a man can walk away from you, let him leave,” she’d admonished. Now, here was Reggie in a Boyz II Men moment making it so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

  “You’re only upsetting yourself while the man who can’t see your value and is therefore unworthy is off playing kissy face with some new dude.” Reggie’s cries began in earnest. Okay, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

  “Mom, you passed the McDonald’s!” Justin cried.

  I don’t have time for two kids right now! Yet many times that’s how Dominique felt when it came to her and Reggie’s relationship, that she was the mother he never really had. She made a right, did a quick U-turn and headed back to the Golden Arches.

  “Reggie, look, I’m sorry that you’re feeling so badly and I know you need to talk, but I have to go. Why don’t you take a nice, long soak and try and take your mind off what’s his name. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Silence. Dominique remembered Reggie’s last breakup and how some designer suits became cloth confetti thanks to his skill with sewing scissors. “Reggie, don’t even think about doing anything crazy like going over to that man’s house or out with your instigating friends. I need you bright and early tomorrow and the day’s going to be a beast. We’ll both need to be on top of our game.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be in tomorrow,” Reggie lamented between sniffles.

  “Don’t start with me, Reggie!”

  “I can barely breathe, Boss.” His voiced had now dropped to a raspy whisper.

  Dominique pulled into the drive-through and rolled down her window.

  “I want the number three, Mommy!”

  “Welcome to McDonald’s. May I take your order?”

  “I gave that man everything. Every part of me,” Reggie emoted, and then began crying again.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Dominique replied.

 
“Hello, are you ready to order?” The question crackled through the drive-through speaker.

  “Mom, I want the number three with a strawberry shake instead of soda.”

  “Just two weeks ago he sang “I’ll Always Love You” and said I was his soul mate!” Reggie held out the word like he was Don Cornelius in a Soul Train flashback.

  Reggie’s lost his mind and now I’m getting ready to lose mine!

  “Welcome to McDonald’s. May I—”

  “Hold on a minute,” Dominique barked into the speaker.

  “Mommy, I want a—”

  “I heard you, Justin.” Dominique threw the words over her shoulder. “Reggie, I’ll call you back.”

  Three hours later, Dominique sat back against the headboard of her king-size four-poster, canopied bed—the one she’d had shipped from Europe after seeing it in a magazine. Her home definitely was her castle, a fact that had been very important to this former South Central projects-dweller when she’d become able to afford a place of her own. This abode was understated elegance with a little opulence sprinkled throughout. Her bed wasn’t simply a place to sleep, it was a masterpiece—a place to be seen sleeping. It was made from rare pommelle sapele lumber, shrouded in silk, and draped with a politically incorrect chinchilla spread. Dominique had purchased this bed to celebrate her release from what she vowed would be the last nonproductive relationship of her life. She’d further vowed that no man would sleep in this bed unless he was “the one.”

  She sat there surrounded by photos slated to be included in a future Capricious edition, with several articles to read and approve. In this age of technology, Dominique still preferred to read the work in paper form, feel its weight in her hands, and use a red marker to highlight and comment. Glancing at the clock, she eased reading glasses away from her face and rubbed her eyes. Then she reached her hands to the heavens and gave her five-foot-nine, 175-pound frame a good stretch. She’d been up since six and now it was almost eleven. The long day had held few dull moments. She chuckled, recalling how her son had gone on and on about his new coach at school. What was his name? Jack? Jason? Whatever they called him, Dominique was glad that her son liked this new guy. Justin was an intuitive judge of character and didn’t take to just anybody. Good male role models were just what her son needed. Dominique often felt guilty at the lack of such men in her son’s life. She kept planning to get him involved in some type of mentor program, or a Boys & Girls Club, somewhere where he could be around strong men who looked like him. She wished his uncle could be more of an example, but her brother had not handled life well and had seen his nephew less than a dozen times in the last five years. Thankfully, her sister’s husband, Aaron, was a good man and an example to Justin, who spent time in their Inglewood household every weekend.

  And then there was her other son, Reggie.What am I going to do with that drama queen? After returning home from the drive-through she’d called him, refused to let him wallow in his own misery, and threatened him to within an inch of his life if he wasn’t gracing the desk in front of her office by nine AM. Dominique couldn’t remember when her and Reggie’s five-year relationship had gone from boss-employee to friends (or mother-son depending on the day or circumstance). But at various times he’d been the girlfriend she needed to talk to or the brother she never really had. Dominique remembered how heartbroken she’d been to find out that her last lover had dipped his hands where they didn’t belong. Reggie had been a comforting presence throughout that fiasco and Iyanla Vanzant, yoga, white wine, and buffalo wings had helped her heal. I was probably too hard on him, she belatedly thought regarding Reggie’s predicament. He was crazy about that man. But the publishing industry was relentless, giving no quarter to breakdowns and broken hearts. Reggie Williams would just have to put on his big-girl panties. They had a deadline.

  Dominique finished her work, turned off the lamp on the stand next to her bed, and slid down between luscious Egyptian cotton sheets. She adjusted the pillow under her head and snuggled the body pillow against her stomach. For a moment, more like a split second, she wished that there was someone there to wrap his arms around her, to knead her tight shoulders, or to hug her spoon-style. Dominique quickly replaced thoughts of a man with plans to have Reggie schedule a massage. Better to pay somebody to put their hands on her body, she figured, than take chances with a man who could grab ahold of her heart again and break it.

  2

  Jake McDonald cut a commanding presence as he walked out of the back door of Middleton Prep, crossed a lined asphalt racetrack, and stepped onto the grassy football field behind the school. At six five and 275, he stood out everywhere. Even without the height and solid build, his well-groomed head, smoldering brown eyes, luscious lips, and sparkling dimples would ensure that he got noticed. Jake McDonald was a triple threat—looks, talent, and personality. He’d been special his whole life.

  “Coach Mac! I’m ready to play!”

  Jake laughed and playfully slapped the shoulder of the energetic boy who’d become his shadow since the first day of practice a week ago. When he’d been hired as athletic director, boys like the one standing before him were the reason he’d also stipulated he be the football coach as well. So that he could change lives. He’d liked Justin Clark right away, had seen a bit of himself in the child’s eager, searching eyes. Just as Jake stood out in life, Justin stood out on the elementary school football field. Tall and big for his age, he was also one of the few boys of color at this award-winning suburban private school, where the annual tuition was more than some folks made in a year. He’d heard from other teachers that Justin was academically sound, but it was his talent on the football field that made him popular. Jake had gleaned from school records that Justin had brought home the gold in that region’s punt, pass, and kick competition and that kind of talent, along with his smarts and ready, infectious laugh, would help Justin Clark go a long way.

  Jake blew his whistle, rounding up the team from various parts of the field. The assistant coach, who was also the offensive coordinator, ambled over as well. Twenty-five boys dressed in a mixture of shorts, sweats, gym trunks, and T-shirts made a sloppy circle around Jake, giving him their undivided attention.

  “All right, team. These first practices are going to be all about conditioning, so get ready to run—sprints, routes, Oklahomas. And that’s after you drop and give us 100 push-ups, 250 crunches, and 100 squats.” Jake ignored the chorus of moans and groans, and continued. “And, since your verbal reaction tells me that what we’ve planned is not enough, we’re going to divide up into offense and defense to work on a few basic techniques.” Jake put his hand to his ear and listened. You could hear a mouse pee on cotton. “That’s more like it. Guys, if we want to be number one then we’ve got to put in the work! Practice, heart, and attitude is what it takes to rise head and shoulders above the competition. We’ve got to come hard or go home. Are you with me?”

  Twenty-five heads nodded and for the next two hours tried to give Jake McDonald and the other coaches everything they had and then some. Jake was impressed and let the players know how much he appreciated their hard work, which, of course, only made them want to work harder.

  “How does it feel?” The assistant coach, Shawn Gallagher, moved the folders from a chair in front of Jake’s desk and plopped down.

  “How does what feel?” Jake asked, handing Shawn a bottled water from the mini-fridge before sitting behind the desk.

  “Being a god.”

  Jake snorted.

  “Coach, Coach!” Shawn mimicked, his green eyes sparkling. “The boys love you, man, especially that Clark kid.”

  “Aw, well, what can I say?” Jake drawled, straightening invisible lapels. “I’m the man.”

  Actually, it had been a difficult time of adjustment when Jake retired from the NFL eight years ago at the ripe old age of thirty-two. He’d experienced an unexpected bout of fame and team-withdrawal—one moment he was part of a family whom thousands adored every Sunday, and the
next moment he was sitting in his home gym minus the cheerleaders and the roar.

  Shawn took a swig of water. “I noticed somebody else who wants to play on your team.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “I hope it’s that Burnett kid. I know his mind is set on basketball, and his father is pushing him to just concentrate on that and track, but I think that he’d make one heck of a running back.”

  “It’s not just his dad; Alvin isn’t interested in football. But I’m not talking about him.”

  Jake looked up from the player chart he’d been studying. “Then who?”

  Shawn’s smile widened. “The new fourth-grade teacher.”

  “The tall brunette with those long, sexy legs?”

  Shawn nodded.

  “She’s gorgeous, but I don’t think she’s interested in me. I saw y’all hanging out before the meeting started, and her looking at you goo-goo-eyed.”

  Shawn was a red-haired, green-eyed heartthrob with an infectious smile and charming personality everyone loved. “I wish, man,” he said. “Our conversation before the meeting was friendly chitchat. But during the meeting she was looking at you. Which is just as well, since I think Taylor might throw a few penalty flags if she caught me flirting with a colleague.”

  Jake laughed. “Your wife might have a problem with that? You think?” A reminder pinged on Jake’s computer. He clicked on his calendar. “Damn.”

  Shawn stood. “Forget about a hot date?”

  “Hardly. It’s this Hollywood educational benefit where I’ll rub shoulders with celebrities and influential movers and shakers... maybe rustle up a few deep-pocketed sponsors for our program.”

  “That’s definitely your arena, man. I’m not the black-tie type.”

  “Me either,” Jake said, putting away the folder and reaching for his duffel bag and keys. “But duty calls.”