Love In Play

by Zuri Day

Genres: Romance; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Best-selling author Zuri Day crafts sizzling romantic tales that leave listeners yearning for more. Love in Play finds the curvaceous
and wildly successful Dominique Clark finally feeling in charge of her life—until she meets Jake McDonald, her son’s gorgeous football coach. Their first encounter leads to several
passionate nights, but out of the bedroom there’s no issue they won’t butt heads about. Dominique’s good sense tells her to end it, but something in her heart says this game might be worth the risk.

Release date: May 26, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

“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.

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.”

Dominique ran her hand discreetly over her abdomen as she stepped into Hollywood’s W Hotel’s great room. Having grown confident in and comfortable with her plus-size figure years ago, she still thanked God for the body shaper that smoothed, toned, and highlighted the curves that flowed in all the right places. Her freshly done twists accented the high cheekbones in her otherwise round face and her auburn hair with gold tones sparkled under the light of the chandeliers. In this room of size twos, Dominique felt good about how she looked. She went to black-tie events all the time.

So why is my stomach fluttering?

Was it because of the stress of a deadline a week away, Reggie’s continued depression, or the fried catfish with jalapeño cornbread she’d had for lunch? No matter, Capricious rarely missed a PR opportunity and tonight’s event benefiting education was one that would get major press. When solicited last year, Dominique and the board had immediately agreed to be one of the night’s sponsors and she’d also agreed to provide complimentary subscriptions to one hundred lucky student winners. In an age when girls under sixteen were having plastic surgery and a size 10 was considered big, the magazine’s brass felt it more important than ever to tout their message: beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and in every Capricious magazine! So even with a looming deadline and the knowledge that she shouldn’t stay long, Dominique had braved an hour of LA traffic to show her support.

Secure that she was a walking ad for “fat, fit, and fabulous,” she looked around, recognized the organizer whom she’d lunched with last month, and headed in her direction.

Someone tapped Jake’s shoulder. He turned and saw a TV host he’d known for years, a beautiful blonde who was the ex-wife of one of his NFL buddies. They’d just started to chat when he saw someone else—a statuesque African American woman gliding across the room, her chin slightly tilted as she scanned the crowd. Her form-fitting copper dress showed pow out to here and bang out to there and as if that wasn’t enough to make a brothah’s mouth water, those thick, shapely calves would definitely do the job. Dayum! Who is that?

“Jake, did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, Madison, what did you say?”

“I was asking if you’d seen my ex lately. I heard he got divorced again, and quite frankly I’m worried about him.”

Jake answered Madison’s question but later that night if someone had offered him a million dollars to do so, he couldn’t have repeated what he said. Big and natural wasn’t normally his type, but there was something about the woman who commanded the room, as she’d walked through, it that touched his soul in a deep, almost primal way. Maybe Shawn was right. Not about the fourth-grade teacher but about what he’d suggested the previous week—that Jake get back into the dating game. Jake hadn’t dated seriously since relocating to LA a year ago. So maybe he did need to pull out the Big Mac skills and make a play. And maybe he needed to do so tonight.

Later, Dominique sat chatting with those on each side of her, enjoying the delicious second course of lobster bisque. The president of the foundation hosting the benefit had just done the welcome and an award-winning actor had delivered a succinct and humorous speech, and then underscored his belief in the importance of education with a check for $100,000. Several honor roll students from various districts—both privileged and at-risk—gave short speeches on what education meant to them, followed by a pop singer’s rousing performance of her latest hit single. Other well-known speakers graced the stage and awards were given. By the time a short, fifteen-minute film had ended, Dominique had finished her main course. She looked at her watch and decided to skip dessert. Having made an appearance and secured a few cards for future interviews and ad campaigns, she felt it was time to go.

She said good-bye to her tablemates, including the event’s organizer, and during a lull in the program Dominique stood to make her move. Walking alongside the wall and trying to be as inconspicuous as a woman who stood six foot two in heels could be, she kept her eyes downcast as she made her way to the double doors leading out of the room.

“Next on the program,” she heard as she was midway to her destination, “is one of the NFL’s shining stars, a man who knows firsthand how getting an education can change a life. Ladies and gentlemen... Jake McDonald.”

The audience applauded and, thankful for the noise and distraction, Dominique quickened her pace. She was almost to the doors when she heard his voice.

“Thank you, and good evening.”

The voice was deep like still waters and sweet like molasses. She’d reached the door, but turned to see the being from whom this captivating voice had emanated. The flutter that she’d felt earlier that evening returned full force and a little squiggle went from navel to nana in nothing flat. She was a sistah from the streets who could play it as cool as an ice cream float, but Oh. My. Goodness! The man’s very presence seemed to touch her even though he was on the other side of the room. He easily filled the tall, really tall, dark, really dark, and handsome, really handsome, bill...

But it was more than that.

Dominant. That’s the word that came to mind when she looked at him. And then, in a heartbeat, a few other words filtered in as did remnants from the ain’t-had-none-since-dog-was-a-pup conversation she’d had with Reggie the other night, when both had had probably one too many glasses of wine. But if she was going to do what she and Reggie had discussed, it would be with someone like the chocolate candy now commanding the room. For an instant their eyes locked, and held. The squiggle became a throb that caused Dominique to clench muscles that hadn’t felt action in months. She exited the room on shaky legs, walked across the lobby, and handed her ticket to the valet.

She thought of him. On the forty-minute drive home, while wrapping up work with returned phone calls and e-mails, and while taking a shower. Oh, especially then. Afterwards she performed her nightly ritual of getting in just the right position to welcome slumber—head pillow positioned just right, body pillow snuggled against her stomach. Eventually, finally, Dominique went to sleep. And dreamed of still water and sweet, sticky molasses.

“All right, guys, listen up.” Jake’s booming voice demanded quiet, and in a moment he had all of the eleven-year-olds’ undivided attention. “The first game of the season is always a very important one. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have fun. I want all of you to do your part, do what we practiced, and we will be successful.” Various expressions, from curious to excited, anxious to confident, showed on the boys’ faces. “We have to want it more than they do,” Jake continued. “It’s our heart that separates us from everyone else, because we want it more.” He looked into the eyes of each teammate and noticed that Justin’s gaze kept shifting from him to the bleachers just behind him. It’s a big day; probably looking for his father. “Don’t try and play outside yourself. Be you, do you, and win or lose, just be sure you’ve given it your all.”

Justin raised his hand. “But Coach, I thought winning was everything.”

“Winning is better,” Jake replied. “But giving your all is best. Any more questions?” Jake looked around the circle and when none of the other boys spoke up, he placed his hand in the middle of the circle. The boys piled their hands on top of his. “Who are we?” he demanded.

“Hurricanes!”

“What do we do?”

“Tear it up!”

“How do we play?”

“Hard!”

“What do we have?”

“Heart!”

“Then get out there and—”

“Get it done, work it out, tear it up!”

“That’s what’s up. Now, one, two, three!”

“Hurricanes!”

The boys ran onto the field. Justin glanced up to the stands once more and then turned to join his teammates near the fifty-yard line. Jake, who’d been watching Justin out the corner of his eye, grabbed his shoulder as he ran by. “Is your dad coming?” With a hand still on Justin’s shoulder, Jake turned and scanned the stands, which were fairly crowded considering this was an elementary school football game at eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning. When he heard no answer, he looked back at the student he thought might actually have potential in the NFL. “Justin?” For just a moment, he saw something raw and very familiar in the boy’s eyes.

“My mom,” Justin replied, pulling his eyes away from the stands and looking at Jake. He pasted a wide smile on his face, totally unaware that Jake had already seen the pain it covered. “We’re gonna win today, Coach,” he said with confidence.

Jake squeezed his shoulder and gave a wink. “Let’s go to work.”

Dominique looked at her watch as she found a parking spot in the crowded lot. Geez! Are all of these people really here to watch some kids catch a pigskin? Her heart dropped. She knew she was late, and hoped that she hadn’t missed too much of the game. Football is all Justin had talked about since school began. It had been like pulling teeth to get him to talk about subjects near and dear to her heart—math, science, and geography, for instance. The only thing he talked about was his beloved new coa. . .