The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football

by Locke, Adriana

  I don’t know what I expected Lincoln Landry’s house to look like, but this exceeds any expectations I might’ve had.

  The house is grand, the biggest fucking house I’ve ever seen, with clean black shutters and window boxes full of some sort of green plant that drapes over the sides of the boxes. Lawns extend along both sides of the structure that would be perfect for football games. To cap off the vision is a Tennessee Arrows team flag flying proudly from a flagpole near the front porch.

  “Quite a place, huh?” I ask, shifting the car into park.

  “Yeah. It is. Who lives here?”

  “This guy used to play baseball for the Arrows,” I tell her. “That’s a professional baseball team. His name is—”

  “Lincoln Landry.”

  I raise a brow.

  If this girl turns out to be a sports fan on top of being hot and funny and willing to spontaneously do shit like pretend to date a guy, then I’m done. I’m taking her home and calling it a night. I’ll be sure that the universe is pulling a trick on me, and that’s she’s really a dude. Or the host of some reality show. Or working for an ex-hookup and going to poison me.

  “I know him,” she says simply.

  “You like baseball?”

  She sighs. “No. I know him. Personally. Well, sort of. My cousin Coy used to play baseball with Lincoln a long time ago. They were on the same high school team together and played ball all summer. I used to go watch with my aunt Siggy.”

  “You know this guy? I mean, I know it’s a small world and all, but … really?”

  She laughs. “It’s a small world, but it’s even smaller down here.” She studies me for a moment. “Where are you from, anyway? Your accent doesn’t scream Georgia.”

  “I’m from Indiana. Land of corn and coal.”

  “Sounds delightful,” she jokes.

  I shift in my seat to face her. “So back to this you knowing Lincoln thing. You’re telling me that a girl I randomly met in a bar knows the professional baseball player I’m here to see. And that’s completely random?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “I beg to differ,” I say, still unable to process this new information. “Anyway, are you ready to go in?”

  She holds up a finger. “Before we do that, I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot, Shooter.”

  She makes a face but continues. “Why are you coming here? Not that it’s crazy or anything, just … random, as you say. I’m just curious. Humor me.”

  There’s a right or wrong answer here. I can see it in the curiosity in her eyes and the way she nibbles on the end of her fingernail.

  “Well,” I begin. “He has a Catching-A-Care program that … I don’t know what all it does, honestly. But there’s a banquet I have to go to next week here in Savannah, and he invited me for dinner tonight to get to know me or something.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Not what I mean. Who are you, Hollis? In adjectives.”

  I glance quickly at the front of the house before looking at her again. She sits next to me with her eyes squeezed shut, and if I was a betting man, I’d swear she was whispering a prayer.

  “Adjectives?” I sigh. “Okay. I’m a man. Handsome. Charming. Studly. Humble,” I add for good measure.

  She opens her eyes long enough to give me a look of disapproval. The way her nose wrinkles up is adorable.

  “I’m a student,” I tell her, pausing to see when she’ll have had enough. I’m also not sure if that’s an adjective, but whatever. She doesn’t stop me, so I continue. “Ferocious. A football player—”

  “Ugh,” she groans immediately.

  “What?”

  “I knew it,” she moans, hitting the headrest with her ponytail.

  I have no idea what’s happening here. I only know she’s slightly freaking me out.

  “Larissa?”

  “I should’ve known.” She looks at me, resolution in her eyes. “You’re an athlete.”

  It’s more of an accusation than a statement, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’ve been accused of many things in my life but never of being an athlete. It’s usually more of a positive connotation, a conversation starter.

  “Yeah. That’s what I said,” I deadpan.

  She smacks her lips together. “Everything is starting to make sense.”

  “I’m glad it is for one of us.”

  She glances toward the door and then back at me.

  “It’s too late. We’re already here,” Larissa says.

  “It’s too late for what?” I run a hand through my hair. “What are you even talking about?”

  “It’s too late to have you take me back home.”

  I flinch. “What? Why do you want to go home?”

  “Because you play football.”

  She scrunches up her face in a way that I think is supposed to express her dislike of my sporting habits but instead makes me laugh. This further annoys her.

  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she asks as she grabs the door handle and steps outside.

  I scramble to get out. Before I can get around the car, she’s already standing at the front.

  I grin at her. “I need to know why me playing football is such a problem for you?”

  “Just because.”

  We start up the walkway to the house. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but I don’t get the feeling she’s mad at me. Just … at the football player in me.

  I don’t know what to do, so I laugh.

  She stops at the top of the stairs and sighs.

  “Look, do you remember last night when I told you I had sworn off men right before I met you?” she asks.

  I nod even though I don’t actually remember. I’m not about to fight Larissa on this. Not with her already riled up about something I don’t understand.

  “Well, I didn’t swear off all men, Hollis. Just one specific little category of them.” She takes a deep breath. “Athletes. I promised myself I was not even entertaining the idea of being with an athlete in any way, shape, or form.”

  She turns away from me and rings the doorbell.

  I take a step forward and nudge her with my elbow. When she looks at me, I smirk.

  “Does this mean you were entertaining the idea of entertaining me tonight?” I ask.

  “Ugh,” she groans, looking at the giant chandelier hanging over our heads.

  “Because, if you were, I’m technically not an athlete anymore. My season is over. So if you wanna …”

  Before I can get the thought out, the door swings open. Lincoln greets us with a broad, genuine smile.

  “Hey, Hollis,” he says, extending a hand. It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming, man.”

  We shake hands. Lincoln steps to the side to allow us to enter his home. I look at Larissa and wait for her to enter first.

  “Don’t I know you?” Lincoln asks as she walks by.

  She smiles up at him adoringly. “Yes. I’m Larissa Mason. Coy Mason’s cousin.”

  He tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s right. Coy Mason. How the hell is he, anyway?”

  “He’s okay. He’s Coy, so you know how that goes.”

  “That I do. Just saw him on the television a couple of days ago on one of those entertainment news reports, actually. And I hear him on the radio all the damn time. Danielle loves his music.” Lincoln shuts the door behind me. “How do the two of you know each other?”

  “We met in a bar,” I say, figuring it’s best to leave it simple and as vague as possible.

  Lincoln looks at Larissa and winks. “I won’t tell your cousins that you’re picking up men in bars.”

  She grins. “I’d appreciate that.”

  He turns and heads down a long hallway, motioning for us to follow. “Come on. Let’s get some food.”

  The house smells warm, like apples and cinnamon, and it’s precisely what I imagine the homes smelling like in the old fifties sitcoms I watch late at night.

/>   The hallway is decorated with pictures and random art pieces that make no sense to me. Music, I understand. Abstract art? Not even a little bit.

  A living room sits to our left. It’s painted light yellow and has oversized green couches facing a fireplace. On the right is a long dining room that looks like something out of a magazine that I would flip through at the doctor’s office. It’s immaculate, yet you can tell by the little touches of personal effects that people live here.

  I look down at Larissa to see her watching me. She smiles.

  “Hollis, Larissa, meet my wife, Danielle,” Lincoln says as we enter the kitchen.

  A woman much shorter than Lincoln is standing in front of a counter. Pizza boxes are lined up behind her as she watches us walk in.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Hollis,” she says. After wiping her hands on a white towel, she tosses it over her shoulder. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”

  Her energy is a bit shocking as she heads my way, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I half-assed stick my hand out in case she wants to shake it—in case that’s what I’m supposed to do. But she bypasses it all together and pulls me into a hug.

  My body goes stiff as I look over her head at her husband. I keep my arms at my sides.

  She pulls back and smiles before turning to Larissa.

  “And you,” Danielle says, “have to be Sigourney Mason’s daughter? Niece, maybe? I know I’ve seen you around.”

  “Siggy is my aunt,” Larissa says easily. “Although we’re both blond with green eyes, so you’re not the first person to ask if we’re related.” She takes a bottle of wine out of her purse like some kind of fucking magician. “We brought you this.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Danielle coos, taking the wine from Larissa. She sets it on the counter. “I just love Siggy and her shop. I go in there all the time—”

  “She’s not lying,” Lincoln chimes in.

  Danielle rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just upset I put him on a budget.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the look on Lincoln’s face. He glares playfully at the back of his wife.

  It reminds me of Kim and Philip, the last foster family I stayed with. She definitely called the shots in that dynamic. It was hilarious because Philip was loud and slightly obnoxious, and Kim was this tiny little thing. But she could bend Philip to her will without saying a word.

  There was something extraordinary about their relationship. There was something special about their family as a whole.

  And the whole memory of them feels like a stake being shoved right through my heart.

  I shake away all of that and focus on what Lincoln is saying.

  “Hollis, come on over here and fill your plate,” he says. “We aren’t fancy around here. Just make yourself at home.”

  I glance over my shoulder. Larissa and Danielle are in an animated conversation about jewelry, and I don’t really know what to do. Do I just grab a plate and put pizza on it? Do I need to wait for someone to give me a plate? I don’t know how to make myself at home in a place like this.

  Larissa catches my eye. With the skill of a master, she scoots away from Danielle and toward me without missing a beat.

  “I prefer rose gold,” she tells Danielle. “But I really don’t love expensive jewelry. I’m always afraid I’ll lose it, and the stress isn’t worth it to me.” She stops next to me. “Are you hungry?”

  I nod.

  She pats me on the shoulder. “I heard your stomach rumbling in the car.”

  She’s lying because I’m not even hungry. But I appreciate how she seems to know that I’m a bit out of my element here.

  I watch as she finds the plates stacked next to the pizza boxes, something I clearly missed. She hands me one. We fill our plates while Danielle grabs us drinks, and then we all find our way into the dining room.

  “How are you enjoying Savannah, Hollis?” Danielle asks as we sit down at the table.

  “I haven’t had a lot of time to sightsee yet, but it’s really nice so far. I love all the moss hanging from the trees.”

  “That’s what Savannah is known for,” Danielle says.

  “Who came down with you?” Lincoln asks. “It’s always so interesting to see who guys your age bring with them. You can tell a lot about a person by their entourage. Sometimes they come with parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles. Sometimes it looks like a whole damn gang. Other times, they bring their wives and sometimes even their own kids already.”

  Lincoln takes a big bite of pizza.

  I take a deep breath and blow it out quietly. “I came by myself. It’s just me.”

  “Oh,” Danielle says but tries to cover her surprise up as quickly as she displayed it. “Sometimes people come alone too. I quite like a little trip by myself sometimes. This guy I’m married to can get overwhelming.”

  “Bullshit,” Lincoln says.

  I sit with my pizza untouched on my plate. The Landrys are so friendly and welcoming, but it feels a bit like some kind of interview. And I don’t love where it seems to be heading.

  My foot taps against the floor, matching the beat of a Post Malone song. Larissa’s hand falls to my thigh, and I stop moving.

  I look at her. My leg feels like it’s on fire, the heat extending out from the weight of her palm on me.

  I’ve only actually touched her when we were screwing around in front of her ex. It was silly and fun and in front of the world. But to have her hand on me under the table in a way that feels resoundingly more personal—it feels different.

  And good. How the hell does she do that?

  “Tell us about yourself, Hollis,” Danielle chirps. “What are you going to school for?”

  “Business administration,” I say. “Just like every other athlete in the world.”

  Lincoln laughs. “Let me guess, minor in communication?”

  “Music appreciation, actually. I try not to communicate with anyone I don’t have to.”

  Lincoln’s laughter grows louder, and I chime in even though I’m not kidding.

  “What about you?” Danielle asks Larissa. “Are you going into the jewelry business like your aunt?”

  I turn to face my date. Larissa’s cheeks flush. A strand of hair has fallen out of the high ponytail she had it in, and I’m jealous of the way it flirts against her lips.

  She removes her hand from my leg and clasps it against the other one in front of her.

  “No,” she says. “I’m actually graduating in May with a degree in landscape architecture. I was afraid I’d end up hating it by now, but I think I love it more every day.”

  “That’s how I felt about working in the Children’s Hospital,” Danielle says. “And I think that’s how you felt playing baseball, right, Lincoln?”

  Lincoln swallows a bite of pizza. “Yeah. Absolutely. I wanted nothing more than to live and breathe it. Until I met you, of course.”

  Danielle swats at him again, making him chuckle.

  “Are you wanting to live and breathe football?” Lincoln looks at me. “I think it really comes down to that.”

  “I’m just not sure.”

  “What’s your family telling you?” he asks. “My dad was all for me going pro. My older brother Graham was all against it. It was quite the contentious conversation for a while.”

  My face gets hot as I lick my lips. My gaze falls to my plate because I don’t really want to look at either of them.

  I force a swallow down my throat. My spit feels like it’s on fire.

  This is a question I’m not good at spinning. It’s too direct, too intense.

  Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I think my parents would be pretty happy if I went to the league. I mean, it’s a pretty big deal.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be proud of you either way,” Danielle says.

  She keeps talking, but all I see is her lips move. I don’t hear a word. My brain is too busy replying to her silently because th
ere’s no way I can, or will, verbalize how wrong she really is.

  I’m not going to tell her that going Pro would be the only way I figure my parents might bother to remember they had me. And then, even if they did, they’d only try to find me to see if they could benefit from it somehow. I can’t sit here and share that the last time I saw my father was a rainy morning when I was six years old, and the last time I saw the woman who gave birth to me involved a couple of ounces of dope.

  Danielle sits across from me, her hands flying through the air as she tells my dining partners a story. I watch her, the sound muted by my errant thoughts, and wonder for the briefest moment what life would’ve been like with someone like her as a mother.

  I can imagine her hugging her kids with the warmth she hugged me with tonight. I bet Danielle has cookies for them after school and does their laundry. She probably even tells them a story at bedtime. I’m sure she remembers their birthdays and even lets her kids believe in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny instead of telling them the truth to prevent any expectations of presents or baskets.

  I don’t tell her either that there’s a hole inside me—a cave so dark and deep that sometimes it threatens to suck me in. The abyss gets wider during the holidays. It gets darker around my birthday in April because no one sits at the proverbial table to celebrate with me.

  Hell, there’s not even a table for anyone to sit at.

  “Hollis?” Larissa whispers. She lays her hand on my arm.

  I snap out of my daze and look at her pretty face. Only then do I realize I’ve missed something, and everyone is looking at me.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Lincoln just asked you if you have any siblings,” she says softly. The tenderness in her gaze makes my chest feel like it’s caving in.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I do. I have a little sister named Harlee.”

  Who I haven’t seen since I was six.

  Larissa’s hand drops to my thigh again, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. The contact grounds me and gives me something to focus on—her.

  “Anyone want dessert?” Lincoln asks as he gets up from the table. “You like cake, Hollis?”

  “I love cake,” I say without taking my eyes off Larissa.

  She smiles at me—a genuine gesture that’s void of pity. And I cling to that for dear life.