“Don’t want people to know you’re on a date?”
“It’s not that. My last boyfriend wasn’t affectionate in public.”
“Well, we’ll have to change that.”
I can only bring myself to say, “Okay.”
Julius hands the flat puck to me and tells me I’m about to go down, to which I snort.
I’m up four to zero when he finally scores. “I haven’t had to work this hard before.”
“You hate losing. Don’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little.” I hold my thumb and index finger close together. “But I get it. It’s your nature. You want to be successful at everything you do. I just happen to be the air hockey champion of Northwestern.”
Julius sends the puck flying, and I block his attempt at scoring. He throws his hands up, and I laugh. I think he thought he’d catch me off guard, but I’m onto his wily ways.
When the score reaches seven and the machine shuts off, I do a little dance to celebrate. Julius pulls me into his arms and kisses me. I let him, enjoying every minute.
“Rematch?” he asks.
“Anytime.”
“Excuse me, but are you, Julius Cunningham?” a little boy standing near us asks. I look at Julius and raise my eyebrow.
“I am,” he says as he crouches down to this little guy's height. “What’s your name?”
“Robert, but my friends call me Bobby.”
Julius’s large hand dwarfs this little guy's hand as they shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Can I have your autograph?” Bobby holds out a napkin and pen for Julius.
“Of course. Are your mom and dad here?”
Bobby nods, turns, and points. A young couple wave, and the father starts walking toward us.
“Sorry about this,” he says when he reaches us.
“It’s not a problem at all. Do you have a phone?” Julius asks the dad. He fishes it out of his pocket while Julius and Bobby pose for a series of photos. My favorite being when Julius sets Bobby on his shoulder.
“That was amazing,” I tell him after Bobby and his dad have left us. “You were so good with him.”
“The little kids, I don’t mind. Even the teens are good. But you get those older people, who act as if I owe them something because they bought my jersey or came to a game—they bother me. Oftentimes, they’re rude and demanding or think they can cut in front of a little guy like Bobby. Give me hundreds of kids like him, and I’ll sign and take pictures all damn day.”
Julius and I are about to leave when another child comes up to us. From there, a line starts. I stand by, taking pictures when asked and even posing for a few when someone recognizes me.
What catches me off-guard is when a young lady asks Julius if I’m his girlfriend. I didn’t say anything because I’ve never commented on my personal life before, but he had plenty to say. “Let’s just say, I want her to be my person.”
Eighteen
Julius
When something you’ve said without thinking of the consequences spreads like rapid-fire, the only thing you can do is run with it. I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted Autumn to be my person. I do. I love spending time with her, I’m attracted to her, and I can’t stop thinking about her. Should I have said it on our first date?
No.
Should I have said it to her in private? Yes.
Should I have waited, I don’t know another hour? Day? Week? Month?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Do I regret it?
No.
I blurted the statement out without thinking. Call it the heat of the moment or fitting for the situation. I do want Autumn to be my person, but I shouldn’t have said what I did to the people I did because within seconds, my words, in my voice, were all over social media. Unbeknownst to Autumn and me, someone recorded the impromptu autograph session at the pizza parlor and caught the entire exchange. I knew as soon as we got back into her car and my phone lit up, I had made a mistake.
Autumn and I live our lives in the media. More so her than me, it seems, because people really only see me on Sunday or if they happen to catch me out and about. No one is looking for me when they walk down the street or are buying groceries. But Autumn—she’s new in town and like a shiny new toy to people. Her personality is infectious, and everyone seems to love her. Honestly, I was surprised we weren’t stopped more during dinner. I saw people staring and pointing, and it wasn’t at me. Viewers like her. In fact, the station’s ratings are up for her time slot. Leon knew what he was doing when he hired a young, drop-dead gorgeous woman to do the weather. He brought in someone girls could look up to and gave men at home someone to gawk at. I’m just happy she’s interested in me because, like I said, I want her to be my person.
What sucks is our schedules. When she is free, I’m at the practice facility. When she’s working, I’m home. And since I don’t have a live-in nanny, it’s not like I can take the elevator down to Autumn’s floor when she gets home from work or have her come to my place. As much as I’d love to spend some time with her in my apartment, I’m not sure the kids are ready for that. Well, Roxy is. She’s infatuated with Autumn.
On the other hand, Reggie’s had a hard time dealing with his mother having a boyfriend. I don’t want to throw Autumn into the mix and really screw him up. I must tread lightly when it comes to my son, and I’m okay with that.
I rap my knuckles on his door and step in.
He looks up from his phone and quickly slides it under his pillow. My heart drops. There is something on there that he doesn’t want me to see. I hate the fact that he has a phone. He’s eight. He should be reading adventure stories or watching cartoons, not surfing the damn internet. It seems that no matter how many parental apps I put on his phone, he’s found a way to get past them. I blame his mother, and the ever-growing tech world.
I put my hand out in a silent demand for his phone. Slowly, he places it in my hand, and I motion for him to scoot over so I can sit next to him. I type in his passcode, which is my number and the year he was born.
The screen lights up with pictures of Autumn and me, exactly what I didn’t want to see but should’ve realized Reggie would find them sooner or later.
“Is she your girlfriend? Everyone says she is.”
Is she? I don’t even know if a label is needed these days.
“She’s a friend and someone I like.”
“What about mom?”
Weeks ago, I asked my agent to find me a family counselor, someone for the kids and me to speak with. He gave me a few names, but I didn’t do anything with the information.
“Bud—”
Reggie moves away from me and says, “I know, she’s not coming back.” He gets off his bed and goes to the window. “I hate her.”
“Reggie, come on, you shouldn’t say that.”
“Don’t you hate her, Dad? We were a happy family, and she had to ruin it. She has a boyfriend, and now you have a girlfriend. I hate her!”
I’m off the bed in a flash and holding him to my chest. He’s hurting, and I’m adding to the pain because of my big mouth. He has a point, but the last thing I want is for him to bad-mouth his mother or develop negative feelings toward Autumn. Of all the people involved in my messy life, Autumn and the children are the innocent ones. They didn’t ask for any of this.