The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football

by Locke, Adriana

I exhale an aggravated breath and type out my next message.

  Me: I was invited to Lincoln Landry’s for dinner.

  Crew: That’s awesome.

  River: Hell, yeah!

  Me: Either of you fools want to come and go with me?

  I tap my foot against the floor while I wait for their messages. It doesn’t take long.

  River: What I wouldn’t give.

  Crew: I’d be there if I wasn’t on the other side of the world.

  River: You could just FaceTime me, and I’ll be your phone date.

  Crew: What about the blonde?

  River: Back off, Hollywood. I’m the date. I already accepted.

  Crew:

  Laughing, I get to my feet and pace across the room. The more time that passes after Lincoln’s invitation, the more the anxiousness turns into excitement.

  Me: About the blonde …

  Crew: Yeah?

  Me: Would it be weird to ask her?

  River: It’d be weird to ask her lots of things, but not this.

  Crew: Do you have her number?

  River: Well, I take that back. It depends on how you ask her. You could make it super weird. You’ve made easier things weirder. Come to think of it, this might be a risk.

  Me: Thanks, River. Fucker.

  Crew: Can we focus here?

  I stop moving and watch my friends banter back and forth while an ocean apart. It makes me feel good. Normal. Grounded.

  Me: So yes or no to the blonde, Crew? Yes, I have her number.

  River: I’ll just sit here and pout that you’re excluding me from this conversation.

  Crew: Ask her. What do you have to lose?

  River: HIS DIGNITY.

  Crew: River—so help me God.

  Me: LOL

  Crew: I say go for it, Hollis. Just shoot her a text. If she says no, she says no. No harm, no foul. But if things went well, why not just toss it out there? You need to check in today with her anyway. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

  River: Reality check—Hollis is not a gentleman.

  Me: Ok. I’ll think about it. Thanks, guys.

  Crew: You’re welcome.

  River: You’re welcome.

  Chuckling, I close the screen and take another look out the window.

  I know exactly what I need—a run. Something to calm down my nerves and clear my head before I do something that’s probably idiotic.

  I slip my room key into my pocket and head for the door.

  Six

  Larissa

  I pick up the plate I left sitting on the table after breakfast and shove it into the dishwasher. The piece of paper I was fiddling with as my bacon fried lays by the sink. I snatch it up.

  The drawing is incomplete. It’s a solid start to a garden design I’ve been dreaming about. Nice straight lines. Lots of open space. Tiered planters that I’m obsessed with. It’s a beautiful, clean vision I can imagine filling with flowers of all shapes and colors.

  Carrying the design with me into my bedroom, I flop on a chaise lounge to study the plan more closely.

  I’ve been sketching gardens and flower beds since I was a little girl. Bellamy and I spent a summer one year with her maternal grandparents in Rhode Island. They had the most beautiful backyard that seemed to go on forever—just like their love of all things that bloomed. I watched her grandmother move gracefully around the plants each morning. She was so gentle, so careful with the flowers and vegetables that she seemed like some kind of goddess. Her grandfather worked alongside her doing the heavy lifting and pulling … and watching his wife adoringly in secret.

  I came home, obtained a notepad and pencils, and went to town trying to capture that summer on paper.

  I still am.

  The sun coming through the window warms my skin. I set the paper down and sit quietly in the warmth of the rays. The light makes the wallpaper I hung last winter almost shine. Sebastian hated the idea and refused to help me. He also hated the navy background with the cerulean damask design.

  My heart sinks as I realize Sebastian not only hated the wallpaper but he also disliked most of the things that I love. At the root of it, he might have even disliked me.

  In retrospect, I’m not sure he had the capacity for the kind of relationship that I’m after. I want something wild yet stable. I’m after a connection to someone who extends beyond attraction or social circles. I want a love like Bellamy’s grandparents, and a marriage like Aunt Siggy’s and Uncle Rodney’s.

  I want something that’s going to last forever.

  And that terrifies me.

  A little ball lays in the bottom of my stomach, reminding me from time to time that the kind of love I’m after in life might not exist for everyone. It hasn’t come close for me—and not for lack of trying. Next to that ball lies another, slightly bigger one that houses the fear that I might find it someday, just as my mom found my dad. And that it might fall apart, just as it did between them.

  “I need to take a few months and breathe,” I mumble to an empty room. “Get back into classes and finish my degree. Bellamy is right. There’s no need to add all kinds of pressure on myself about this. What is meant to be will be.”

  I hope.

  My phone buzzes on the little table next to the chaise, and a text from my mom lights up the screen.

  Mom: I have you a date lined up for tomorrow night.

  I don’t acknowledge her message with a response. Instead, I ignore it completely.

  I stand and head to the window, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck. Stress builds at the bottom of my skull as I try to figure out how to deal with this stupid fundraiser. I know Siggy is right, and this does matter a lot to Mom. I know, too, that the holidays are even more problematic for her because it’s the time of year that she and my father separated so many years ago. I believe she stays so busy these last few weeks of the year so she doesn’t have to remember.

  You need to pick your battles with her.

  I nibble my bottom lip as I ponder choosing this battle. Fighting with her isn’t what I want; it never is. But it definitely isn’t the way I want to end the year.

  Maybe if I just humor her now and then set firm boundaries in January …

  The strain in the back of my neck eases just a bit.

  But what do I do about my plus-one?

  My body fills up with a warmth that overtakes me from head to toe as I think about Hollis.

  “His name is even hot,” I say with a grin.

  I turn from the window and mosey around my room.

  So get him to be your date tomorrow.

  A bubble of anxiety builds in my stomach as I contemplate Aunt Siggy’s suggestion.

  Taking Hollis isn’t a good idea. I know it.

  “If you want my number, I could give it to you in case you run into any more scenarios where you need a fake boyfriend. Or … whatever …”

  Did he really mean that? Or was he just suggesting a hookup?

  Given how he suggested that women complain when he only gave them five minutes, I’m going with a yes on the hookup.

  But asking him to go with me tomorrow would have a definite starting and ending point. It would be a simple extenuation of the five minutes from the other night. And we would be in the presence of loads of other people, including my mom and Jack, which will dampen all things fun.

  “And he’s not an athlete, I don’t think. I mean, he wasn’t wearing some stupid hoodie with a team logo on it, so he’s not even on my banned list,” I point out to myself. “What would it hurt to take him as a friend to an event?”

  My brain turns into mush when he grins. My knees give out when he smirks.

  Dear lord, that smirk.

  I moan helplessly.

  My phone rings, ending my daydream before it even gets started. I look down.

  “Hi,” I say as I answer.

  “Heya, Riss,” my cousin Boone says. “What are you up to?”

  “Pondering life and the choices
we have to make,” I say, sitting on the chair again.

  He laughs. “That’s deep for two in the afternoon.”

  I laugh along with him. “I’m guessing you’re doing something less … intense?”

  “You could say that.”

  The way he says it makes me wonder what exactly he’s referring to. But it also scares me too much to ask.

  Boone Mason is Aunt Siggy’s youngest son. With four brothers, it was probably a given that he would be a handful. When you couple that with the fact his brother Coy was only eighteen months older than him and a complete and utter hellion, Boone didn’t stand a chance.

  The three of us grew up together—four, if you count Bellamy—building forts in the woods and damming up the creek behind their house. We’d ride bikes, play home run derby, and hold fake Star Search contests that Coy would always win.

  We were the Four Musketeers until Bellamy and Coy decided they hated each other.

  “I spent the morning with your mom,” I tell Boone.

  He groans. “I’m so sick of hearing about her damn party. Did she poll you on snowflakes or icicles?”

  I laugh again. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Because when I went by there last night to see if I could smuggle any food out, she was asking me.”

  “Your mom isn’t giving you food anymore?”

  “Yeah. But sometimes, I feel guilty. I’m a grown-ass man. I shouldn’t be going to my mom's to get food, you know?”

  “Exactly how does it make it better if you smuggle it out?”

  He pauses. “I’m not sure. I think it just lets me keep some of my self-respect.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I say with a giggle. “We picked icicle, by the way. In case you care.”

  “I don’t. I assure you, I don’t.”

  I lean my head back on the chair and relax. Boone muffles the phone with what sounds like his hand and has a brief conversation with someone else. When he comes back, my mind is on Hollis again … and the fact he didn’t call last night.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I’m back.”

  “No problem.” I sigh, unsure whether I should bring up Hollis. I’m going to keep ruminating on him, so I might as well see what Boone thinks. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do guys think of girls who make the first move, even if she didn’t really mean it?”

  “Depends.”

  I wait for more.

  Still, nothing.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. That wasn’t what I meant anyway.” I shift around in the chair. “Let me rephrase this for you. What would a guy think about accompanying a girl somewhere if that girl had no desire to make something more out of it?”

  “Why doesn’t she want to do that?”

  “Because maybe she just wants a man to be a gentleman for once and look out for a friend for a night.”

  I do want that, but if I’m candid, I want a man to be genuine and kind and above blaming me for my inadequacies—the reason they all seem to leave in some way or another. God, I’m over that.

  “Because maybe she’s tired of being burned. Maybe she’s sick of finding herself in the same situations over and over with men who seem good at the start and then end up … tolerating her instead of loving her. Maybe she just wants to be alone for a while and break her bad habits so she can pick a guy with mental clarity, for once.”

  “Wow. Alright. Settle down.”

  “Sorry. That got a little aggressive there, didn’t it?”

  “A little,” he teases. “And by she, I’m assuming we’re talking about you?”

  “Obviously.” I sigh. “How would a guy react if I asked him to go somewhere with me as friends? Even if we aren’t friends. And the sizzle between us isn’t exactly friendly. Do you feel me?”

  He taps his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Well, I’m pretending we aren’t talking about you because that makes things … weird and potentially skews my response. However, if it were me and a chick who had the hots for me invited me somewhere, my answer, I suppose, would depend on how well we got along. And if it’s really a ploy to get us in a situation where we’re gonna fuck, but she feels good about it. Like oops, we just happened to end up at this place where there’s a bed, and the two of us, and we’ve had a couple of drinks.” He laughs. “That’s happened more times than you’d believe.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “You asked.”

  I sigh. “I expected you to be more … sweet about it, which I guess is my fault because when are you ever sweet?”

  “I can be,” he protests. “But only when it’s necessary. I don’t waste sweet behavior on just anyone, you know.”

  “God forbid.”

  “Not every situation calls for sweet behavior. Some women don’t even want that, I’ll have you know.” He laughs. “So who is the guy, and where do you want to take him?”

  Instantly, tension stretches across the back of my neck again. I place a hand at the base of my skull and squeeze.

  “I was thinking about taking a guy I just met to Jack’s Seahawks fundraiser tomorrow night. I don’t want to go, but Jack bought me a ridiculously expensive ticket. Two, actually. So I have to go and take a plus-one, or else he’s out like two grand.”

  “Want me to go?”

  “Didn’t you have some lewd love affair with Jack’s partner’s daughter or something a few years ago?”

  He pauses. “I don’t remember. Possibly. Sounds like it could be true.”

  “I think you did,” I tease him. “And I think it ended rather poorly.”

  “Oh. In that case, who are you considering? Because it ain’t gonna be me, pal.”

  A bolt of energy shoots through me, taking me by surprise. I get to my feet and pace around the room.

  “I met a guy last night. You don’t know him. He’s just here for a little while. A few days, I think he said. Anyway, he pretended to be my boyfriend so Sebastian would leave me alone, and we hit it off in a way that … let’s just say he’s handsome and funny and had great shoulders—”

  “This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well.”

  I snort. “Right?”

  He laughs. “Where did you meet Mr. Kryptonite?”

  “Paddy’s.” I stop midstep as I remember the excitement at being in front of him. A shiver rips down my spine. “Anyway, we had fun, and he was super cute. I thought I could maybe ask him to go with me tomorrow, but …”

  My voice fades. I’m not sure what to say.

  “But what, Riss?”

  “I don’t know. I just … I really feel like I’m in a place in my life where I need a little perspective.” I close my eyes and try to make myself clear. “I swore off men because I repeatedly choose the wrong ones—”

  “Facts.”

  I open my eyes and glare as if Boone was standing in front of me.

  “But Bellamy says it’s not men but relationships that are my problem,” I finish. “That I put too much pressure on myself or something. I don’t know.” I wince. “There was a raccoon analogy. It’s all fuzzy after that.”

  “Leave it to Bells with the random analogy.”

  “This one was a doozy. Anyway,” I say, trying to stay focused, “I feel like I’m screwing myself over after having just declared last night that I’m going to be single for a while. I made that decision sober and clearheaded, so I know it was a solid choice. Yet here I am, not twenty-four hours later, contemplating asking a guy to go with me to this event.”

  “He could say no, you know?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he would.”

  The idea of him saying yes doesn’t help. It makes my insides all tingly.

  “Riss, just … reality check here, okay? This guy, whoever he is, isn’t even from Savannah, right? It’s not like you’re asking to date him or have his child. You can still be single for all intents and purposes if that’s what you want and take this dude with you.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re ri
ght.”

  The weight on my shoulders begins to lift, and I realize how much I’m pressuring myself.

  I’m turning into my mom.

  Finally, after what feels like forever, Boone laughs.

  “Has it ever occurred to you, ever, that you can be just friends with a guy who you aren’t related to?” he asks. “What I’m hearing—and correct me if I’m wrong—is that you just presume you’ll end up fucking this guy because that’s what always happens.”

  “You haven’t seen him, Boone.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Riss.”

  I laugh. “Okay. Yes. You’re right. I presume things would escalate between us. And I just … I don’t want to do that. I mean I do, but I shouldn’t. I need to do what’s right for me as a whole person. I need to lead myself to victory here and not just, well, you know. To the bedroom, I guess.”

  “I happen to find one-night stands quite victorious from time to time.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course, you do.”

  Boone sighs into the phone. “Look, Jack will kill you if he paid that much for your tickets and you don’t use them.”

  “I know. And Mom has already tried to hook me up with some random guy. Again.”

  “Ew, no. Your mom has awful taste.”

  “I know. Trust me. I’m half afraid to show up with Hollis as friends because she’d still be trying to parade me in front of her little picks like a dog in a dog show. Then she’ll decide who I’m the best with and invite me to lunch that, presto! she can’t make, but her man of choice will just happen to be there.” I groan at the thought.

  My cousin makes a sound that resembles blowing a raspberry. It makes me giggle. It’s his deep-thinking sound, and it doesn’t happen often.

  “I got it,” he says, his tone kissed with finality.

  “What do you got?”

  “Your solution. Hear me out,” he says. “Call up the guy from Paddy’s. You want to see him anyway. Tell him you need a plus-one to this fancy bullshit event but ask him to tell everyone you’re dating. You’ve done that before anyway, so he won’t think you’re nuts … or not any more nuts than you were last night.”