Page 52 of False Start
The realtor, Adrienne, rolls her eyes at me when Bryant isn’t looking. The woman is trying my patience. I’m not a violent person, nor am I rude, but I won’t tolerate her behavior. “Next time you roll your eyes at me, we’ll be finding another agent.” I take a few steps toward her. “And next time you touch my husband, I’m going to break your ass in half. Capeesh?” I start for the door and Bryant follows after muttering something or another to the woman.
Outside in his brand new SUV, he laughs. “Rawr! Tiger! That was so hot. I’m not even going to lie, watching you go alpha made me hard.”
“I think we need a new agent.”
“I think you’re right. She’s now terrified of you.”
“I think we should work with a male agent.”
He opens the door for me and pats me on the ass. “I think we’ll do whatever makes you happy, boss lady.”
As he walks around the car, I wonder if I’m being irrational. Should I be comfortable enough in my relationship to be unconcerned with who lays their little hands on him. I trust him, so why does it matter?
“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks as we head down the highway to our hotel room.
“I’m sorry if I overreacted. She was being a bitch.”
“What do you think I’m going to do if a dude does the same shit? You think I’m going to take it for half a day before I say something? No. The first motherfucker to put his hands on you is answering to my fists. I’ll ask questions later.”
He makes me feel better about the situation. As we leave the subdivision of mansions, I notice a beautiful Spanish mission style home near the front of the neighborhood.
“Wow,” Bryant says.
“It’s for sale, but I bet I couldn’t sell enough organs to afford the down payment.” When he pulls into the drive of the house, I turn to him. “What are we doing?”
“Let’s have a look.”
The house has to be the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. “You can’t be serious.”
He points to a sign in the yard. “They’re having an open house. It doesn’t hurt to window shop. We can pretend to be far wealthier than we are.”
My parents were well off, but I’ve never had any type of money of my own. When Bryant was signed to the Spartans, they were kind with their salary offer. It’s probably more money than a young couple should have, and we won’t ever really want for anything.
There’s only one other car in the drive, which I assume is the realtor’s, so we park and head to the double mahogany front doors. There’s a large iron lion head as the knocker. “That’s cool as shit,” Bryant says. “If we don’t buy this house, we’re getting one of those.”
I laugh at his excitement. He’s so much like a boy at times.
And then the door opens and a very attractive man with cropped black hair steps out. “Bryant Hudson?”
“Yes, sir?” Bryant answers.
“You’re our new quarterback,” the man says. “Jim Newton,” he adds and sticks his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Jim. Are you a Spartan fan?” Bryant asks.
“Born and raised. I love them even when they suck.”
Bryant chuckles. “The testament of a true fan. Are you showing the house?”
“Yes, please come inside,” Jim says and steps to the side. “I’d love to show you around.”
We follow Jim through the house as he does his best to focus on the details of the light stucco walls and Spanish tile throughout the home. Each room seems bigger than the last as we walk through arched doorways. The house is so large and so empty it echoes when we speak. There’s a gym, complete with a sauna, a movie theater, a pool with a hot tub and grotto, and our favorite is the huge open eat-in kitchen. The home boasts 8 large bedrooms with ensuite baths, and four additional full baths. There’s a full basement that was used as a bar and pool room by the previous owners. A barber shop sits outside the master suite. The bedroom has its own covered balcony, and I can imagine us having breakfast in the warm California morning together before we start our days. As we walk through the kitchen again, I can imagine two laughing kids playing with Bryant while I cook a meal for the family. Or maybe we’d decorate cookies for each holiday and spend time swiping each other’s noses with sugary icing.
I gaze out of the back of the home to the pool and what appears to be a pool house as Bryant comes up behind me and wraps his arm around my middle. “What do you think?”
“I think this is entirely too much home for us.”
“It is, but we can afford it.”
