Back in the Game

by Lisa Scott

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  Back In The Game is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Interactive fiction by Lisa Scott

  ISBN 978-1-941847-13-8

  Cover art by: Nicole Chelsey

  © 2014 Lisa Scott. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  This story is not intended to be read front-to-back. Please start at the introduction and let the choices guide you through the story.

  Introduction

  If you need to return to a choice you made previously, you can find them here.

  Jeff escorted her to the door.

  They go home together.

  Will bed rest save their baby?

  Will they survive the loss?

  About the Author

  Back In The Game

  By Lisa Scott

  Georgia Tucker finished her appletini while sitting in a cloud of perfume, hairspray, and estrogen on overdrive. "I'm not ready for this," she told her friends as they primped in her bedroom. Her throat felt like it was closing, and not from the cosmetic pollution. "I know I promised, but it's too soon. I don't know how things work these days. I never did." She drew in a shaky breath. "Matt and I got together in tenth grade. I've never even seen another man's -"

  "They all look the same," Marly interrupted. "More or less."

  "Sometimes there's more, sometimes there's less," Krya said.

  "More, if you're lucky," Marly added with a wink. "And we're going to a charity event, not a strip club. You'll be fine. Want another drink?"

  Georgia nodded and handed over her empty glass. "I don't know if I can do this."

  "It's been more than a year," Kyra said softly.

  "It feels wrong." Everything felt wrong - the thick eyeliner she never wore, the fancy updo, the painfully high heels Kyra had brought her. Before Matt died, a typical Friday night was take-out Chinese and a Netflix binge on the couch together. It certainly didn't involve a push-up bra or pantyhose. Sweats and cozy socks were more her speed.

  Marly sat on the bed next to Georgia and handed her another drink. "A Bellini, since you're catching up on a decade's worth of trendy drinks." She patted Georgia's knee. "Honey, I knew Matt, and he's probably raising hell up in heaven because you've put your life on pause. He would want you to move on, and going to this party is an easy first step. The Athletes for Kids Night is the biggest event of the year. Everyone will be there."

  "You've been turning us down for months," Kyra said, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder. "It's time."

  "I'm forty-two. That's too late to start over." Georgia took a long drink.

  Marly sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I did not hear you say that."

  Georgia shook her head. "It's pointless. No one will ever compare. Matt was one of the good ones."

  Kyra knelt beside the bed and grabbed Georgia's hand with a squeeze. "He was, but there are other good guys out there."

  "Right. And that's why you two are single," Georgia said. "So many good guys, you don't know which one to choose."

  Marly smirked, one of her black spiral curls grazing her cheek. "Why don't you try out a few bad ones then?"

  "An event filled with professional athletes? I'm sure they're all bad." Georgia wrinkled her nose, thinking of the tabloid stories she'd read about some of the locals. "No thanks. If I were ever to date again, and that's an 'if' bigger than my butt, I just want a nice guy like Matt."

  "Fine. I'll keep all the nasty football players busy tonight," Marly offered.

  Kyra patted Marly's hand. "Such a good friend. And don't worry, if it's lame, we'll go somewhere else."

  Georgia crossed the room to her jewelry stand and pawed through a drawer filled with earrings. "I don't know, what if Ashleigh needs me? What if there's a problem with the baby?" She held a pair of hoops to her ears.

  Kyra shook her head. "Try something dangly. And your daughter isn't having her baby for what, six months? Besides, her fiancé is probably hand-churning her ice cream right now and feeding it to her on a golden spoon."

  It was true. Georgia hadn't expected her daughter to be pregnant at nineteen, but at least she had a great guy who loved her and wanted to raise the baby as a family. Georgia liked Mike and felt confident he'd be good to her daughter.

  Marly made a face. "And I hate to say it, but you should probably try to find someone before you're officially ... a grandmother."

  Georgia fell back on her bed and groaned. "Stop! I'm in denial. When we had Ashleigh so young I didn't factor that in - that I could be a grandmother" - she whispered the word - "at this age."

  "You don't look like one. And you look far too hot to stay in tonight," Marly said, pulling her up off the bed.

  Georgia glanced in the mirror. She did look good, but it had taken a lot of work. They'd spent a long time straightening her hair before pulling it up into her fancy do, and it'd taken incredible effort to tug on the shapewear required to fit into her hot little dress. She wouldn't want to go through all that again. Georgia tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. She should just get this over with. Kind of like a blood test. Her friends would just keep bugging her every weekend until she went out with them. "Fine, let's go." She was certain this was the only time she'd be barhopping with them.

  * * *

  The nightclub was hot and noisy and dark. It was hard to believe people went there for fun. Marly danced her way through the crowd toward the bar while Kyra took Georgia's hand and pulled her along.

  "It's too crowded. We're not staying long, right?" Georgia shouted. The pulsing lights and pounding music were already giving her a headache.

  "What?" Kyra asked.

  "When are we going to leave?"

  "You want to eat?" Kyra shouted back. "It's not that kind of party. Just drinks!"

  Georgia sighed. At least she wouldn't have to worry about making small talk with anyone. No one would be able to hear her.

  By the time they caught up to Marly, she was holding three beer bottles over her head. She danced her way back to them, handing out their drinks. Marly shouted something that Georgia couldn't understand and led them toward a table away from the DJ booth.

  "Isn't this fun?" Kyra yelled.

  "Tons," Georgia said, tipping back her beer. It wasn't very good, but it was cold and wet and gave her something to do as she stood there feeling awkward as hell.

  Marly bounced in place, bobbing her head from side to side in time with the music while Kyra scoped out the room.

  Oh, Netflix. It should be just you and me tonight.

  Marly pointed at the dance floor. "Oh, my God. It's Parker George!"

  Kyra squealed. "He's still so hot."

  "Who's Parker George?" Georgia asked.

  "Retired running back for the Clarkville Warriors," Marly said.

  Georgia looked where Marly was pointing and saw a guy at least six foot
five, built with the muscle of two men. "Good luck with that. He's surrounded by at least six women."

  "Soon to be seven," Marly said, setting her empty beer bottle on the table. "Wanna make that eight, Kyra? Maybe nine, Georgia?" Marly crooked her finger, beckoning Georgia to join her.

  "No thanks," Georgia said. "Remember, nice, regular guys are my speed."

  "I'm sure Mr. George is very, very nice," Kyra said. "I'm on my way!" Kyra turned to Georgia. "Guard our table?"

  "With my life," Georgia said, relieved that her chances of breaking an ankle in these shoes had just dramatically dropped since she'd be staying off the dance floor.

  She looked around the bar at the people dancing and laughing like this was actually fun. Did anyone else think this was as enjoyable as court-ordered community service must be? Seriously. Picking up garbage on the highway would be more pleasant. Quieter, too.

  Between the cocktails and the beer, she had to use the bathroom, even if it meant losing the table she was supposed to be "guarding." The line was out the door, of course. When she got out, someone had snagged the table. So she stood there with her arms crossed, scoping out the room for anyone else as uncomfortable as her.

  While Marly and Kyra danced, the swelling crowd pushed Georgia back to the wall. Someone stepped on her foot. Someone else sloshed their drink down her dress as they walked by.

  She glanced around the room, hoping to find a terrace or patio where she could step outside and breathe.

  Or scream.

  After texting the girls that she was headed out for some air, she weaved and bobbed her way through the crowd, encountering far more sweaty armpits than any woman should be forced to face.

  Flagging down a cocktail waitress, she ordered another appletini - the discovery of that drink was one good part of the evening - and stayed glued to a big pillar near a window as she waited for her drink. Surely, there had to be other people who did not enjoy this kind of thing. Where do those people all meet up? she wondered. That's where I should go.

  When the waitress returned, Georgia asked, "Do you sell earplugs?"

  The waitress laughed. "Wouldn't be a bad idea."

  Slurping her drink, she circled the perimeter of the room, desperate to find an exit. She spotted a swinging door and slipped through it. But it didn't take her to a patio. It was a small, empty room. And someone was already in there.

  "This is for employees only," he said. He was a few inches taller than Georgia and looked a few years older, too. Handsome, with blond hair and dark chocolate eyes. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and the collar was unbuttoned. Probably in here taking a quick break, she thought.

  "Mind if I stay here for a minute? I just need to get away from all that."

  "Be my guest." He smiled at her and she tottered back. He gripped her arm. "Are you all right?"

  "Too many drinks. Too high a pair of heels. It's not the best combination. I don't know how everyone else manages it."

  "You usually wear sneakers when you go out?" he teased.

  "I don't go out. This is crazy. Totally not my scene. My friends made me come, and now they've ditched me for some football player." She wrinkled her nose.

  He chuckled. "Oh, yeah. There's a few of them here tonight. You've got something against football players?"

  "Just not my type. They seem full of themselves, rude, like they're better than everyone."

  He nodded, rubbing his chin. "I agree. What is your type?"

  "I don't know, I was only ever with one guy. So, someone just like him? But that's weird, right?" How many drinks had she had? She counted them in her head. Four? No five. She groaned.

  "Guess he was a lucky guy."

  Her eyes stung. "He was." She shook her head. "And now here I am. Back on the market after decades. I had my first cosmopolitan earlier tonight. Can you believe that? I'm about fifteen years late on that one. It's like I'm a VHS tape that got shipped out with the latest Blu-rays."

  He tried holding back a laugh. "Now that's not true."

  "It is. It's like I've been in a time capsule. I've got nothing pierced besides my ears. They were double-pierced once, but the second holes closed up. And a tattoo? When did that become mandatory?"

  "In 2010. It was all over the news."

  "And did you know women are shaving it all off? Why? I don't want to do that. Am I supposed to do that now?"

  His eyes went wide and he said nothing.

  "I'm sorry. I've had too much to drink. Can you get me another one when you're back on your shift?"

  He gave her a puzzled look and then laughed. "I don't work here."

  She raised an eyebrow. "But you said it was for employees only."

  He shrugged. "It is. I just needed a breather. I'm not much of a barfly these days, either, but I do like the charity work the group does."

  So there was one other person in the bar who'd been dying to get out of there. "I don't like this scene," she said. "Or maybe I just came out too soon."

  He crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

  It was so easy to unload all her fears on a man who'd be in her life for only ten more minutes before she found a cab and called it a night. And it was good practice for chatting up a guy.

  Clasping her hands in front of her, she looked down. "My husband died about a year ago. Cancer."

  He set his hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

  "Me too. He was a great guy." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.

  "And this is your first night out since then?"

  "Oh, I've been to the movies with friends. Dinner, that sort of thing. But this is the first night I'm supposed to be looking." She did air quotes around the word. "Like that! I bet no one does that," she made another set of air quotes, "anymore."

  "Don't worry. I think we're stuck with those. And the first night of looking," he paused and made air quotes, "is bound to be horrible. But the second time will be better. By the eighth time you'll be an old pro."

  "You think it's going to take eight times out before I meet anyone?"

  He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. It's going to get easier."

  "How do you know? Did you lose a wife?" She noticed he wore no rings. She also noticed again how good-looking he was, with his close-cropped hair and the cheekbones sharp enough to cut. And his deep, husky voice was killing her.

  "No, I've never been married. But everything gets easier each time you do it."

  She bit her lip, considering his words. "I'd think going out and being disappointed would make it harder each time."

  "You'll find someone."

  "How do you know?" she asked.

  "My buddy died a few years back and his wife, Anne, was right where you are. After a few false starts, she found someone, and they got married. But she was a wreck when she first went out, too."

  "I wouldn't say I'm a wreck. Am I a wreck?"

  He gave her a gentle smile. "You're having a hard time."

  She stared at her feet. They'd probably have bruises and blisters the next day. She'd gone through all this trouble for what? To whine to a stranger? She looked up at him. "Would you kiss me?"

  He stared at her. "What?"

  "If you kiss me, then I haven't just been with one man my whole life. Maybe this will be easier next time." She lifted one shoulder with the suggestion.

  "So, I'd be like a confidence booster."

  "Exactly. Oh, wait. Does that make you feel used?" she asked. "Because I do think you're hot. I don't want to kiss you just because you happen to be the only guy in this very tiny room."

  He laughed. "I think I'll live. You sure you want me to? You're pretty drunk."

  She ran her fingers across her lips. "You think I'm pretty when I'm drunk?"

  "You are pretty. And I've never seen you not drunk. But I bet you're always pretty, drunk or not."

  She blinked at him a few times. "What?"

  He smiled and took a step toward her. "You sure you want a kiss from a stranger?"r />
  She nodded, and her heart was kicking up a storm in her chest. She was attracted to this guy. It was thrilling to feel an emotion besides the heavy weight of sadness. "I want to kiss you more than anything."

  * * *

  They stood just inches apart. Jeff knew he should get out of there. This wasn't just a drunk woman looking for a good time. He'd been in this situation before. The mess with Anne had been hard to handle. He was truly glad she'd found a new future after losing Greg. It was just that Jeff had thought Anne's happy ending would've been with him.

  And now here he was, contemplating a kiss with another beautiful, heartbroken woman? Yes, he should go. Nursing someone through a world of hurt can leave you damaged yourself. But he couldn't run off on this lovely, sweet, nervous woman, not after she'd laid out her secrets for him.

  She ran a finger down his cheek. "You're very handsome."

  "Thanks." He studied her, wishing her words weren't having an effect on him. She was drunk and lonely, and she was looking to find her dating feet again. Any man would seem handsome to her right now.

  But the fact that she didn't recognize him was very appealing. There was no shortage of women who wanted to hook up with an ex-NFL player. He'd been with many who wanted nothing more than a crazy story to tell their friends. That was all fun at first, but it had gotten old a long time ago. He'd never expected to be single at forty-four. He always imagined himself with a wife and kids. Somehow, he had neither.

  "You're far too beautiful to be so lonely," he told her. She had the most intriguing orange-red hair, like a sunset. Her pale skin was flawless, her lips full, and her big blue eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Her husband had been lucky to wake up to that view every morning.

  Georgia rested her other hand on his shoulder. "You don't have a girlfriend, do you? I wouldn't want to kiss someone else's man."

  He shook his head. "It's been a while since I've had a girlfriend." And that was by choice. Not that he didn't hook up here and there. But after Anne, he no longer knew what he wanted. He'd been so certain about being Anne's fresh start that he'd gotten in deeper than he'd realized. She'd talked about wanting kids, which was what he wanted, too. He'd even proposed to her - the only time he'd ever done that.