Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love)

He opens the door to the closet, the big one from the first day, and we slip inside. Our bodies brush against each other in the dark as I fumble on the wall for the light switch. It clicks on.

He leans on the door. “What’s going on?”

I reach up and take his cap off.

“I’m running out of hats, babe.”

I huff. “Do you seriously call your girlfriends babe?”

He laughs, a full, deep sound. “No.”

“What do you call them?”

His eyes brush over me. “For you? Princess. What would you call me if it was real?”

“Beast—but only when we’re alone.”

“Why?”

I chew my bottom lip. Might as well say it . . . “Because you fuck like an animal.”

There’s nothing but silence; then a long shuddering breath comes from him. “Nova . . . the things you say . . .”

I glance away. I should be embarrassed to be so blunt, but it’s true; he devoured me that night, and when it comes to him, I have zero inhibitions. My head tells me to keep the walls up around us, but the other side of me—my stupid, weak heart—clamors to tell him things. You know how it is when you’ve gone through a friend drought, and you get a new one, and all signs point to a wonderful comradery, and you want them to know your secrets? Yeah. It’s like that with him. “I have the types of sex categorized.”

“And they are . . . ,” he says softly.

I shiver, aware of the tension between us. It’s always present—in the staff lounge, in the field house. Here. We’re two people who know how good the sex was between us, yet we’re pretending it never happened . . .

“Nova?”

I hold his gaze. “There’s the holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-he-put-that-there sex. There’s makeup sex, which can be slow or fast. Next is sweet I’m-so-in-love-with-you sex. There’s lazy I’m-so-tired-from-work-I-can-barely-have-sex-but-let’s-knock-one-out. There’s act-like-a-crazy-person sex, where you break the bed, knock lamps over, maybe roll around on the ground. There’s sad-goodbye I’m-leaving-you sex—not a fan of that one. There’s the anal-beads-and-whips, which can also be combined with holy-shit sex. Literally. There’s you-just-lay-there-and-let-me-do-all-the-work sex. Then there’s vicious I-can’t-get-enough-of-you sex. Beast mode from start to finish. You.”

His hand touches my shoulder, his fingers stroking my skin. “Nova—”

A bell rings, making us both start. He pulls back, and I push out a laugh.

“Anyway, moving on from that word vomit.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Ronan . . . you have lice.”

He flinches. “What the . . . no fucking way.”

I nudge my head at his cap in my hands. “There’s a little critter in your hat. He’s about the size of a seed, tan, and very fast. Here, look.”

“Those things are in my hair?” he calls as he scratches his scalp.

“I thought I saw something crawling in your hair in the lounge, and that’s why I wanted to leave and get you away from Skeeter. He’s going to freak. He’s going to hose down your office, the entire field house.”

“We can’t tell him. What do we do?”

We.

I laugh. “Darling, this is all you.”

“It’s not funny,” he mutters, shaking his hair out as he paces around the room.

“Don’t throw them around!”

He stops and puts his hands on his hips and glares at me. It’s what he does when he’s on the sideline. I could catalog many things about him: the way he raises his eyebrow—just one—the way his full lips twitch, the texture of his scars under my mouth. Most of all, I like how protective he is of me around Andrew . . .

“Nova! Are you listening? What’s the plan?”

I chuckle.

“I repeat, this is not funny,” he grouses.

“It kinda is.”

“Yeah, what if you have it? You like to wear my hats.”

“That was weeks ago. All right . . . a plan. First, you’re going to get my empty water bottle . . . the one I set on that shelf when we walked in. Then, we’ll catch the one in your hat and give it to Sonia.”

“No way in hell. Skeeter was right. Dump it on the floor, and I’ll stomp on it.”

“Normally, I’d be behind you one hundred percent, but Sonia is my only chick friend—besides Lois—and she desperately wants one under her microscope . . .” I smile tentatively. “Please.”

“No.”

I ignore him, my gaze on the louse. He’s crawling up the side of the cap, and I shake him back down. “He’s a feisty little bugger.”

“Look, the water bottle has a narrow opening. It was a decent idea—”

“I was working with what I had, thank you.”

He pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“If Sonia wants a damn louse, she can come get it herself. I’m not a procurer of menacing rodents.”

“It’s a bug.”

“It’s a pest, and I’m texting her now.”

“I love that you said procurer,” I say, mimicking his deep voice. “Your big brain is amazing—and has lice on top of it.”

“Real funny, Princess.” His fingers fly over the phone; then he looks up at me. “Question: Do they bite?”

“They’re biting your head for blood. They lay eggs on your hair called nits? I can’t remember it all. I had it once. Mama treated me for a few days.”

“A few days!”

“I’m sure Mama went overboard.” I stretch my arm way out and pat his.

“Sonia better get her ass down here as soon as—”

Sonia whips open the door and steps inside. “Show me the little wanker.”

“Shut the door!” Ronan calls.

She clicks it closed, a jar in her hands. In her excitement, she jostles into me, and the hat falls to the ground. I yank it up but . . .

“He escaped!” I get on my knees and search.

Ronan groans.

Sonia wails, then points at Ronan. “I need to find another one.”

He looks up at the ceiling. “Sonia, I swear to God, I am not letting you—”

“Pleeease,” she begs, her hands up in a prayer, the jar between them. “Come on. Let me. It will only take a minute, and this is your contribution to science. Think of the bright young minds that will benefit from your donation.”

His shoulders slump. “God, you’re ridiculous. Fine.”

We hunt around the room and find an old stool tucked away in the back corner. After pulling it to the center of the room, he sits on it. I pull out a little flashlight I have on my keys and waggle my eyebrows. “We’ll find ’em.”

Sonia gives me a side hug. “You’re the best mate ever!”

“Can you two stop the girl party and get your louse?” Ronan mutters.

“Grump,” I say with a grin; then, just to spite him, I turn music on from my phone: “You Got It,” by Roy Orbison. I’m so happy with my selection that I do a little shimmy, and Sonia joins me to dance.

Ronan glares daggers at us.

“So, so funny,” he bites out.

I click the song off, wiping the tears from my eyes. Who knew high school could be so fun? I love that he has lice!

“Let’s get this over with, Sonia.”

We get down to business. He bends his head over while I hold the flashlight, leaving Sonia’s hands free to pick up Ronan’s hair.

Skeeter opens the door, not looking up, his phone in his hands.

“Shut the door!” Ronan snaps, and Skeeter jumps, his eyes big as the door clicks behind him.

“Uh, Coach, is this one of your, you know, sex things?”

“I don’t have sex things! It was a bra! Just a bra.”

“There’s a good story,” Sonia hums. “What happened?”

“Ronan put on my bra. Red lace. It was very sexy,” I reply. “He likes to wear lingerie.”

Ronan heaves out a gusty breath. “Girls. Please. I have lice. Focus.”

Skeeter’s been silent, his eyes darting from Ronan to us. He pales and presses back against the door. “No, no, no.” He gulps air. “Coach . . . you . . . have . . . lice?”

“Apparently,” Ronan mutters. “One got away already. On the floor.”

“That’s it. I’m out of here—” he calls, his hand on the doorknob.

Sonia throws him a glance. “Best not. You might have it if you’ve sat in the same chair or worn the same hat. I’ll do a check. Just stay over there.”

He gapes at her. “You think I’m going to stay in this closet? I came in here to call my mom! She was going to tell me what’s for dinner!”

She shrugs. “You’re safe, Skeeter. They can’t fly or jump. They’re attracted to people with clean hair. Has your scalp been itching, particularly at night?”

Horror rises in his eyes. “I did wake up last night and scratched my . . .” He pinches his nose. “Oh my God!”

“Gotcha, you little bugger!” Sonia swoops a small thing into her jar, then twists the lid on tight. She glances around. “All right, that’s done. We need to check each other. Who’s up?” She snaps her fingers. “I have class in five minutes, and these things only live for forty-eight hours, and I don’t know how long it’s been alive, so let’s get this thing going.”

“Me! Check me!” Skeeter skates around Ronan and sits on the stool. Her fingers dance through his hair while I hold the light.

“So, um, is head lice—can it get on my, um, my privates?” Skeeter asks.

Sonia snickers. “That’s called crabs, and it’s a different parasite. They like your genitals and make you feverish or irritable. And itchy, of course.”

He breathes out a long exhale. “Thank God. I’d hate to put mayonnaise on my balls.”

“No mayo,” she says. “But if your privates are itching, get that checked out by a doctor.”

He flushes. “They aren’t! I was just trying to learn, you know, for science stuff, and I figured since you’re so smart, you’d know.”

She blinks. “You think I’m smart?”

He shrugs. “Hello. You were our valedictorian. I remember your speech at graduation. The opening line was ‘Live a full life . . .’ I don’t recall the rest.”

Amazement flits over her face. “I didn’t think anyone was listening.”

He shrugs. “We done?”

She gazes down at his head for a few ticks, her hands dropping to pat his shoulder. “You’re good, Skeeter. I don’t see anything.”

He moves to the corner of the closet, his eyes on me. “You’re next, Nova. I need to know who I can and can’t be around.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” comes from Ronan as he rubs his fingers through his hair, then looks at his fingers, as if one might appear there.

I laugh as I sit on the stool.

Ronan marches over to hold the light while Sonia’s hands card through my long hair.

She pauses, and the room grows quiet.

“What?” I ask.

“Lice, babe,” Ronan murmurs, satisfaction in his voice. From his phone, he turns on “Who’s Sorry Now,” by Connie Francis. Kudos to him for the oldie, but . . .

“You’re lying. I’m not itching,” I say and flip around.

Skeeter jumps back. “I saw it. Creepy-crawly was right freaking there in your part.” He points his finger at me and Ronan. “Y’all are contaminated and must be quarantined!”

I gape as my head suddenly feels itchy. I try to keep my hands down. I don’t want to touch them either.

“Skeeter, you need to check me,” Sonia tells him.

His eyes flare. “Me? No!”

“Yes,” she says. “You’re the only safe one!”

He grimaces. “Okay.”

Sonia sits on the stool as Skeeter swallows, then moves his hands through her hair. She lets out a hmm sound. Skeeter is oblivious.

“What’s next?” Ronan asks me quietly as he clicks off the song.

I exhale, twitchy. “We leave school, go to the pharmacy, then take care of business.”

“You’re lice-free!” Skeeter announces a few minutes later, then gives Sonia’s shoulders a squeeze. “We’re the lucky ones. Those two are in for a hell of a day.” He smirks, then helps Sonia up. She stumbles a little and falls into him and tilts her face up to his.

Skeeter gazes down at her . . . one second, two, three, four, five, six . . .

“Are they having a ‘We don’t have lice’ moment or ‘I’m into you’ thing?” I murmur.

Ronan smiles. “Let’s let them figure it out.”

We slip out of the closet and shut the door. He texts the principal to let him know we’re leaving, then sends a mass text to the coaches to handle his practices and do a head check of all the players. I get busy sending one to Sabine to catch a ride home with Lacey and stay until I can decontaminate our house. I don’t mention the situation. I’ll check her when she gets home.

“We have lice,” I say in a wondering tone as we walk down the hall.

“Little fuckers,” Ronan mutters.

Andrew turns the corner, looking only at me.

Ronan laces his fingers through my hand.

We step outside and head down the steps as he walks me to my car. I open it, and right before I slide in, I give him a long look, recalling Andrew’s gift in the lounge. “You left that rose on my desk the first day.”

He drapes his eyes over me, face completely straight. “Really.”

“Yeah, baller, you did. Really. And I like it.” I scratch my head, blow him a kiss, and then shut my door and crank my car.

“You are way too peppy about this,” Ronan mutters as we sit in his office at his house on the recliners.

I was humming “Jolene” but stop as I take in the pale-blue plastic shower cap thing on his head. Seeing a deliciously hot, virile man in a lice cap is up there as one of the best things ever.

We drove separately to the pharmacy, spent half an hour half-horrified and half-amused at all the different over-the-counter brands. We went with the strongest one, then drove to his house. Once we read the instructions, we realized we needed to put our clothes in a bag and change. He lent me a pair of Nike shorts and a Pythons shirt, which I shamelessly intend to keep. Hopefully, he hasn’t seen me sniffing it.

We cleared the island countertop and studiously reread the directions and got to work. I applied his lice medicine, and he applied mine. Now, we’re in his office, waiting for our forty-five minutes to be up. We’ve played darts and pool; then he gave me a tour of his memorabilia. He tells me he has more in boxes in a special storage unit that he hasn’t unpacked yet. My guess is they’re still packed because he doesn’t plan to stay.

The timer on his phone goes off, and he eases Dog out of the way and stands. “My master bathroom has two sinks. We can rinse at the same time. That good?”

I nod and follow him into his bedroom upstairs. It’s painted a deep gray, the duvet a soft white. I browse past pictures of him and stop.

He comes back to find me. “Those are my sisters and mom.”

It’s an old picture, and he’s maybe sixteen, still in that awkward stage of teetering between an adolescent and an adult. He’s handsome, his hair to his shoulders, a smirk on his face. His sisters are younger, and he’s got his hand clasped on either one. His mom is behind him, smiling, her arms spread wide around them as they huddle together. My throat prickles.

“You’re thinking about your mom?” he asks softly and puts his hands on my shoulders from behind.

I lean back against him, and my shower cap rests on his chest, but he doesn’t seem to care. The moment is spontaneous and uncomplicated—two people who fit together effortlessly. I sigh. Why does it feel as if we’ve known each other forever?

“A little. Mostly, I was just thinking about how happy you look.” I pause. “I want that one day. A family, kids . . .”

“You will—I mean, when you meet the right person.”

“What do you want?” I ask. “You know, besides football.”

“More football. Friends. And like you said, to live a meaningful life, and for me, I guess that means helping others. That’s what the bookstore is. I don’t technically own it or manage it. I donated it to the town after I bought it and requested they hire young people to run it. It’s good for the community and the kids. Someday I’d like to open a free camp for kids to come and learn football from pro players. It’s just an idea, I guess.”

I recall that literacy billboard he had in New York, his perfect face, that wide smile that said I own the world. Was he as kind then as he is now? I think so. Only now, he’s a man who keeps people at a distance to preserve his heart. The only exceptions seem to be Toby and the team. I’ve watched him on the field, the light in his eyes when he coaches. Will he miss that when he leaves? Will he miss me?

“Do you want a family someday?” I ask.

He tenses, and I turn around as his blue eyes darken, vulnerability in their depths. “I always wanted them, you know, before, but now . . . I can’t see it.” He looks away from me and shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip.

He and Whitney had plans for kids, and I wait for jealousy to hit me, but it doesn’t. Tenderness rises inside of me, for his pain. For his loss.

I’ve lost my parents but never a soul mate.

I smile. “We’d better get this off of us before it burns our heads.”