Playing To Win: An Elite Athlete Sport Romance Anthology

by Mignon Mykel

“You’re welcome. Thank you for a fun night. Good night, Samantha.”

  He was the only person who called me Samantha, other than my parents.

  I loved it.

  “Good night, Sam.”

  He leaned down into my SUV, into my personal space, and kissed me once more before backing away and shutting my door.

  I knew I’d be thinking about this night for many nights to come...

  I can’t sleep.

  I smiled at the text message and didn’t think twice about answering back.

  Me neither. Adrenaline.

  I held my phone above me while I laid in bed, waiting for Sam’s next reply. He didn’t disappoint, responding back shortly after.

  Definitely. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this high.

  I started to type a reply, when he came through again:

  High, like energetic. Excited about something new.

  Laughing, I erased what I’d put in the text field, and instead wrote:

  I understood what you meant.

  Good. Hey, something I’ve been meaning to ask you...

  Yeah?

  Cody’s wedding... When we met the other day, I felt like I recognized you but didn’t know where. Were you at the wedding?

  I was!

  ...why weren’t you in the bridal party?

  Honestly, I was a super bad friend and almost missed the wedding. But I’d told Nikki beforehand that it was a possibility, which is why I didn’t stand. I’ve always been bummed about that, because Nikki is my best friend, but she just had to go and get married during a heavy training period ;)

  I hit send and, because I hated feeling like a friend-failure, changed the subject. What are you doing tomorrow? I typed and sent before I could think better of it.

  Tsk tsk Samantha. No dates until we win the next game.

  Lol. Well maybe you want to come over here? Disguise it as hanging out with N+C?

  He didn’t answer as quickly as the last times, and I was suddenly worried that I’d read everything wrong. Surely, there was flirting going on here, right?

  Or not. Saturday is soon enough I hurriedly typed out.

  When he still didn’t respond, my feelings deflated like a pinned balloon. I rolled to my side, adjusted my pillow, and told myself to put my phone down for the night.

  I also told myself that I was fine.

  Even though I didn’t feel it...

  I was fine.

  The moment I put my phone down on my nightstand though, the notification light pinged. I tried to refrain from opening the message quickly, but I just couldn’t.

  His response was longer than I expected, but I read every word.

  I worry about what I feel for you, Samantha. I just came out of an eight year relationship. I shouldn’t be so ready to jump into another one, but I find myself thinking about you between the times I see you. I dream about you. I want to spend as much time with you as you’ll let me. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say all of it worried me. It worries me that I’m moving on too quickly. It worries me that you’re leaving. It worries me that my life is here, and you have at least thirteen more months where your life is more or less in California. Then who’s to say you’ll even be back. But fuck me, I’m a selfish bastard, and I still want all the time I can get.

  Shocked at his response, I stared at it before rolling back to my back, and typing out my own truths.

  I am myself when I’m around you, and I can’t tell you the last time I felt that way with a man. I always have to present myself in some way, or hold myself in a certain way. I can be loud and if you thought Nikki’s whisper was loud, you haven’t heard me whisper yet. I’ve been told I’m a loud whisperer. When I’m excited about something, it takes over my entire being. It’s why playing for USA has always been so appealing to me. It’s exciting. It’s a challenge. It’s the world’s largest stage.

  But with you, tonight alone, I laughed more than I have in the last year. I can’t tell you the last time I was kissed in the way you kissed me. Probably too long ago to really count.

  I hit send, and pushed forward with more.

  I like you, Sam Mayson. It scares me, how much I like you. It scares me, that I can see you and me being something solid. I’ve only known you for a few weeks! But I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. Yes, I’m leaving. But I don’t have to stay gone. If we do this... I will be back.

  I pushed send again before I could take the words away. I was ready to chicken out and turn my phone off, when his next response came through.

  You deserve to be kissed like that all the time.

  It was seconds before the next text appeared.

  And something tells me I’m going to have a lot of fun being the one to do it. Good night, Samantha Piper.

  Giddy, I sent him a good night, and turned my phone over, allowing myself to relax and fall into a soft, dream-filled sleep.

  6

  Sam

  “I’m so sorry,” I said into the phone, as I walked down the hospital corridor. “I was called in.” It was Saturday—the single day of the week I’d grown to love and looked forward to.

  But instead of seeing Samantha again, I’d been called in to the hospital to cover for a colleague on the night shift.

  “It’s okay. Honestly. Being there is, well, one, your job, but it’s also more important than volleyball.”

  “I was looking forward to a win,” I mumbled, nearing the elevator bank for staff. I was headed up to the tenth floor tonight to check on a few of my practice’s tonsillectomies and appendectomies. The surgeons in our practice had been busy today.

  Samantha’s laugh filtered through the line, and I fought the wave of longing.

  While I had gone over to the Brayshaws on Sunday, it was the last time I’d seen Samantha due to my clinic hours. We’d talked on the phone and texted, but I was aching to hold her again.

  I was kicking myself for making this date an incentive for a win.

  And heck, tonight had been a shoo-in. We were supposed to play Nikki and Cody who, while good, weren’t as good as us. Next week, we were up against the next best couple and it was probably the one match up I feared we’d lose.

  I’d had the evening planned for us. We’d go back to my place, where I’d make her dinner and she’d sip on wine. We’d make out on the couch and if the feelings were right, maybe take it a little further. Regardless if we had sex or not, she’d wake up in my bed, in my shirt, on Sunday morning, and I’d make her breakfast. We’d spend another day together, and make plans to see each other over the week. Most nights I was home by six-thirty. That was plenty of time to hang out.

  Instead...

  I sighed into the phone.

  Instead I was here, and the idea of a date with Samantha was now another week away, at minimum.

  “I was looking forward to a win too.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “But it makes the anticipation for next weekend that much greater.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it,” I chuckled. “I’m about to step into the elevator, so I’m probably going to lose you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” I moved into the open doors and pressed the tenth floor.

  “Okay. Have a good night, Sam.”

  “Good night, Samantha,” I said on time, as the elevator doors closed and the call dropped.

  I stepped back to the wall and rested my head back, closing my eyes.

  I sure hoped this night went by quickly.

  When I pulled my truck into the attached garage of my apartment, the only thing I could think about was sleeping.

  It had been a long night.

  So long, that there weren’t many hours spent in the sleep room.

  Far more hours spent on the floor.

  And I was exhausted.

  I’d learned through my parents that you should let your partner know when you were thinking of them—a text only took a few seconds of your time—so while the garage door closed behind me, I shot Samantha a quick text.

  I need
a nap like no one’s business, but maybe we can hang out tonight? Not a date ;) Just hang out.

  I wanted to tell her again that I missed her, but I sent that text to her two hours ago.

  I sent this newest message and, after removing my hospital shoes in the garage, walked into place, putting my truck keys on the key and coat hook that was secured to the wall. I’d only moved in a couple of months prior, and it was bare compared to the house Jacquie and I had shared, but this place was mine.

  Not a trace of who I was before Jacquie’s birthday.

  Honestly, I liked it that way.

  As I walked through the unit, I shed my top and untied my bottoms. One of the things I learned in my residency was that it was okay to wear your business attire on the night shift, but you’d be far more comfortable in scrubs.

  These scrubs were hospital issued, and technically, were supposed to be returned to laundry after wearing, but some mornings I just needed to pass off patients and get back home as soon as possible.

  Night shift was not for me.

  With my scrub top balled up in my hand, I walked into the bedroom—on my way to the master bath—when I stopped in my tracks.

  “Hi,” Samantha said from atop my bed, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. “Nikki and Cody have a spare key, and after talking to Nikki, she convinced me to be here for you today, even though you didn’t say last night was anything special. But I can go.”

  I shook myself from my stupor. “No. No, stay. I have to shower though. I’m not really awake enough to be a great host though.”

  “I was up most of the night.” She shrugged. “I could use a nap.”

  “Okay.”

  I went into the bathroom and showered far quicker than I typically did after a night on-call shift, but realized I didn’t have anything to sleep in.

  Nine times out of ten, I slept in the buff, but that was not happening this morning.

  I knotted the towel around my waist and exited the bathroom, moving to the dresser that was opposite the king sized bed I splurged on after moving in.

  “I forgot something to sleep in,” I apologized, looking over my shoulder as I spoke. Samantha was still in the same place I’d left her, and she smiled. Now, after the brief refresh from the shower, I could see that she was indeed tired.

  Why hadn’t she slept last night?

  I grabbed the pair of sleep pants that were at the top of the pile, and went back into the bathroom, shucking the towel and slipping the pants on. My toothbrush stared at me from it’s plastic holder, and I gave in, brushing my teeth too.

  When through, I headed back toward my bed, where Samantha still sat.

  “You can lay down, you know,” I said with a small smile.

  “I wasn’t sure if you had a side.”

  “Whatever one you’re not on.”

  When she frowned at me, I elaborated. “No, seriously. I sleep on both sides depending on my mood. It’s a big ass bed. You choose a side, and it’s yours.”

  She nodded then went to lay down on the right side of the bed. I hit the switch for the overhead fan before getting into bed beside her.

  I lay on my back, unsure what was supposed to be next.

  “C-can...” Samantha stuttered, and I rolled to face her. She was still on her back, her eyes locked on the whirling ceiling fan. “Can you hold me?” Her words were whispered, and I saw tears pooling in her lower lids.

  Frowning, I moved closer and wrapped her in my arms. “What’s wrong, Samantha?” Something was definitely up, if she was crying. “Why were you up all night?”

  She closed her eyes, which caused tears to spill, but shook her head.

  Allowing Samantha her silence, I pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her head. “Okay. Sleep. I’ve got you.”

  I slept for a solid five hours, waking to find Samantha still in my arms, in the same position I’d fallen asleep in. I leaned up to see if she was sleeping, and she appeared to be.

  Thinking that she needed the rest, I gently removed my arms from her sleeping form, and rolled out of bed.

  Not bothering with a shirt, I stepped out of my room and gently closed the door behind me before moving into the kitchen.

  I needed coffee.

  Strong.

  Black.

  I was in the middle of savoring my second mug when my bedroom door opened and Samantha walked through. Her ponytail was crooked from sleeping on it, and her clothes were wrinkled from being slept in, but my god, she was beautiful.

  A small whisper in the back of my mind told me I could get used to mornings like this.

  “Coffee?” I asked, holding my mug out in offering.

  Sleepily, she walked toward me and took the mug. She grimaced looking into it, but took a sip anyway.

  “Blegh.” She handed me the mug back. “It needs cream. And a container of sugar.”

  Chuckling, I took another sip. “What’s the point of coffee if you’re going to doctor it up so much?”

  “The warmth wakes you up.” She crossed her arms and brought her shoulders in as she yawned, placing the back of her hand in front of her mouth toward the end. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” I put the mug down and reached for her. I liked having her in my arms, surrounded by me.

  Samantha stepped between my wide-stance feet and when I wrapped my arms around her, she reciprocated.

  She even leaned into me again and closed her eyes.

  “Still tired?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry for surprising you this morning. But thank you for letting me stay.”

  “Of course,” I said gruffly, rubbing a hand up and down her t-shirt covered back. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  She kept her eyes closed, as if it kept her words from being true, but she whispered them anyway. “My mom is sick. It’s not good.”

  Immediately, my mind went to the most likely culprit. “Is it—”

  She shook her head before I could finish. “No. She has stage four lung cancer. Life-long smoker. She hasn’t been feeling well for a while, I guess, but refused to be seen. And now she’s... It’s...”

  Samantha couldn’t finish her words, as tears took over again. I held her tight as her body trembled and she let out her sadness.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” I murmured into her hair. We stood there for what had to be ten minutes before she sniffed and wiped her eyes. However, she didn’t step away from me.

  “She’s sixty-seven so obviously, this day or something like it was coming. I just wasn’t ready, you know?”

  “We’re never ready for the possibility of losing our parents.”

  Samantha was quiet for a little bit longer, and when she spoke again, that time she did pull away from my arms. “I know we’re only... I mean, we’re not... Hell, I don’t know what the hell we are. But I understand if this was all too much. I just feel safe with you, and I needed that. Just for a little while,” she said, avoiding my eyes.

  “Samantha.”

  I waited until she lifted those golden orbs toward me.

  “I like you. You like me. We’ve established that. If you want to put a label on it, then by all means, please do. Screw my worries the other night, because if that label makes you feel better for coming to me for something you needed, then fuck yes. If I need to be your boyfriend for you to feel like you didn’t overstep a line, then yeah, I’m your boyfriend. And just so we’re clear, you didn’t overstep anything.” When I realized what that sounded like, I winced and tried again, “I want to be with you, Samantha. Today, tomorrow, however long you’re here. And selfishly, maybe that label will make you feel like you have something to come back to.”

  7

  Samantha

  The universe is funny.

  One day, everything is going swimmingly, nothing is amiss.

  Then you say one thing, or do something, pretend something, hell, plan something, and she laughs at you.

  Pulls the rug out from under you.

  Makes you second
guess everything.

  Sunday, Sam and I decided to be official, regardless of my upcoming travels, his previous engagement, or the limited time we’d spent together.

  Monday night, Sam came by the Brayshaws for dinner, because even though we were dating, he was still holding on to that real date for our next win. Said it made the games more exciting.

  Tuesday and Wednesday nights, we texted in the evening, but he’d been tired from clinic.

  Thursday night, I told him we didn’t need to text because he was likely tired too, but he refused to cut our conversation early because he knew that my mom had gone in to see her cancer team that day.

  In the midst of me crying while typing—it wasn’t looking good for my mom, and I was having a hard time getting all the words into a message—Sam called.

  Confused, I sniffed and answered. “Yeah?”

  The line was silent for a moment, but then I heard his intake of breath. “My dad just called. My sister...”

  Immediately, my own pain sobered and my mind went to his youngest sister, Bailey, who was overseas. “Oh no,” I said, the words on a quiet, outward breath. “Is it Bailey?”

  His answering “shit” was mumbled on what could only be described as a male sob.

  “Hold on, Sam. Just, just hang on. I’m coming over. Okay?”

  Leaving the line open, I rushed to find my shoes, running out of the house without word to Nikki or Cody. The seven minutes to his apartment were the longest ever, even though I didn’t hit a single red light. The entire drive, with my phone on the seat beside me and the line still open, I kept telling him that I was coming, that I was almost there.

  When I reached the complex, I didn’t bother to look for a more convenient parking spot; I took the first one I found that was semi-near his building and scooped up my phone. “I’m here. I’m at the front of the building. I’m coming.”

  I raced toward the back where his door was, and by the time I got there, he was pulling it open. I ended the call and immediately threw my arms around him in the only way I knew how to comfort him.

  Sam wrapped his arms around my waist and there, in the doorway of his apartment, cried into my shoulder.