by Claire Adams
The team was still on the field, still shouting and cheering, as I made my way down from the stands. Professor Grant had given me an ID and Press pass for the campus newspaper, so no one blocked me on my way to the sidelines where everyone was milling around, clapping Zack on the back. One of the defensive linemen grabbed him by one leg and another took him by the other and they lifted him up in the air on their shoulders.
“We good….We good…” the team was chanting, jumping up and down.
I approached the coach, who was off to the side, watching the antics of the players. “Hi,” I said, waving my hand slightly to catch his eye. He turned and looked at me, for a moment scowling—until he saw my press pass. “I’m from the campus newspaper; I am supposed to be interviewing Zack about the game.” I tried to keep my voice level—even as I had to shout—in spite of how anxious I felt.
“Zack! Get over here. Interview time.” The linemen put Zack back onto the ground and he loped over, grinning until he caught sight of me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely below a shout.
“I’m not happy about it either, but I was assigned to interview you, so here I am.”
Zack rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said, raising his voice so the whole team could hear him, “Just because we had sex a while back doesn’t mean you can stalk me.”
“I’m not stalking you,” I said firmly, even as my cheeks burned with a blush. “I told you why I’m here. If it weren’t for the stupid newspaper assignment I wouldn’t have watched the game at all. I don’t give a good Goddamn about you.”
“Oh, is that why you dumped a tray of food over my head?” He didn’t shout that part—and in his deep scowl I could see he was still angry about it; almost as angry as I had been when I’d done it.
“I dumped a tray of food over your head because you were being an asshole.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look. Just answer the questions and let’s get this over with.”
The coach let out a sharp whistle. “Everyone but Zack—hit the showers!”
The team started to file towards the entrance into the lockers, and I waited until they passed. Zack was obviously irritated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking around with a hardness in his eyes in spite of the ready grin on his lips at the praise from his passing teammates.
I took my recorder out of my purse. I was going to get this over with. “I want to record this so that I can make sure that I quote you accurately, is that okay?”
Zack sneered. “Are you sure you don’t want to record it so you can do something weird with it? Let me see your press pass. Is it even real?”
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t about to let him get me angry.
“Here’s my press pass. Look, Zack, let’s just get this over with, please? I don’t want to deal with this any more than you do.”
“Let me see your questions.” I begrudgingly handed him my notebook with the questions I had already thought up. “Nope, not answering that one. Not answering that one. This one’s good, but not answering it either.”
I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. “Zack, you’re acting like a child.”
“Zack, you’re acting like a child,” he parroted back, pitching his voice high. “Jesus, Evie, you’re always so serious.”
“You’re the one who was just yelling at me in front of your teammates over something that happened days ago!”
I nearly threw my press pass on the ground, my frustration mounting every moment. Zack’s dark eyes glinted with amusement and I got hold of myself, clenching my teeth and taking a deep breath until I could calm down.
“You’re kind of cute when you get angry, you know,” Zack said, grinning at me unabashedly. “Of course, it’s less cute when you ruin a perfectly good meal and a perfectly good outfit.”
I took another deep breath and snatched my notebook from his hands. “Okay.” I smacked the notebook against my leg a few times, speaking slowly and carefully, barely keeping my frustration under control. “What is it going to take for you to answer the freaking questions?”
Zack looked at me for a long moment and I thought—for a heartbeat or two—that he might actually relent and treat me like a regular person.
“I will answer your questions and give you a great interview on one condition.”
I pressed my lips together. If he demanded that I have sex with him again I was going to refuse, and I would find some way to make it okay that I didn’t get the interview. Or maybe, if he demanded it crudely enough, I would find whatever gaps I could in his pads and hammer at them with my fists until he relented.
“What condition is that?” Zack’s eyes were glittering in the stadium lights as he smiled.
“You have to let me take you on one date.”
The demand startled me. I had expected that he’d ask me to have sex with him, or tell me I had to do something humiliating, or something like that. Even that he’d ask about Jess and hook him up with her. I hadn’t expected anything like a date. I didn’t want to go on a date with Zack; if there was anything I could possibly want less than to have sex with him again, it was the idea of going on an actual date with him. I’d been angry at him in the back of my mind ever since I’d stormed out of the dining hall.
Still, I knew that I absolutely had to get the interview. I needed to turn in the best possible article for my first assignment, and even as angry as I had been before, I knew there was no option if I couldn’t somehow manage to get Zack to talk. If I turned in an article about the game that included “Quarterback Zack was unavailable for comment,” I would be tossed from the newspaper before the edition even came out.
“Fine,” I said, holding out my hand to shake his. Zack was still grinning as he shook my hand to seal the deal.
I half-expected him to continue messing with me throughout the interview; certainly, his idea of an effective way to get a girl to go on a date with him left a lot to be desired. How could I have ever liked him, I wondered? But instead of continuing to make my life miserable, Zack led me over to the bench and told me to sit down. He recorded his acceptance of the fact that I was recording his answers, and we got into the interview immediately. He answered completely, giving me details and insight into the team that I wouldn’t have even imagined I could get. He told me about the fact that they’d been practicing with this game in mind most of the season, that they knew that the other team was their steepest competition within the conference, and that they knew that even with all their planning it was good odds that that might not win.
“We want to finish the season undefeated. I mean, all teams do, but we’ve only got one more game in the season left. So we’re going to be working hard to make that happen. An undefeated season…kind of a big deal.”
By the time Zack was called back to the lockers to clean up and head out, I had finally regained some of my composure. I managed to thank him, and shook his hand again. “Remember,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. I hated the idea of going on a date with him, but I would keep my word.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day I sat at my desk in my room, trying to listen to the recording of the interview I’d done with Zack without paying any attention to the fact that it was him. I wanted to transcribe the contents of the digital tape and then insert the quotes I needed into the article I was already writing. My email pinged, and I switched out of my word processor. It was from Lisa.
As I’m sure some of you are feverishly working on your articles last minute, the email read, I’m sure you’ll all be very glad to know that due to some issues at the printer, we won’t be able to send the paper to the presses until Tuesday, so you all have until Monday evening at 6 to get your articles in.
It was a relief to know that if I got too tired working on it, I could just go to bed and finish before my morning classes; but I was determined to at least get the interview transcribed.
Just when I was getting into my groove aga
in, my phone buzzed. “Oh God, what now?”
I looked at the screen as it lit up—it as a text message from Zack. Maybe, I thought with a little bit of hope, he was texting me to cancel. The date had seemed like a silly idea anyway; it was just sex, there was no reason for him to ask me out—or to demand I go out with him as the price of giving me the interview I needed. I opened up the message.
Hey…get ready to come downstairs. I’m on my way. You promised me a date.
I was nearly done with the article; I had gotten all but the last few quotes transcribed.
Where are we going?
I looked in dismay at my outfit. I knew that Jess would tell me it was the exact wrong thing to wear in a situation like this—but she was off somewhere on her own date. I hadn’t expected that Zack would claim his date so soon. I couldn’t imagine Zack would take me anywhere fancy without giving me at least a little bit of notice. My phone vibrated again.
It’s a secret. Be downstairs in 15.
I stood up quickly and dashed to my closet. I changed out of the comfortable, broken-down jeans and tee shirt I had been wearing and into a skirt and leggings. I kept the shirt—it was one that I’d had since I’d been in high school, and I thought that it might make it a bit easier for Zack; that is, if he remembered it. I realized that I really had no idea of the ways in which Zack had changed since we’d been apart—except for the fact that he was apparently a much better lay than he had been when we’d been together.
****
When Zack pulled into the putt-putt golf course fifteen minutes away from campus, I almost laughed; not because it was silly—although it was—but because it surprised me that he had even remembered it. We used to go to one of the other locations for that franchise when we had been dating in high school.
“Okay,” I said as he chose a parking spot and switched off the ignition. “I am at least a little bit impressed that you took the time to remember this.”
“Do you remember how often I beat you?”
I rolled my eyes, smiling in spite of myself. “You cheated. And when you didn’t cheat, I beat you.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Zack said, getting out and shooting me another grin.
I shook my head and slipped out of the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. I had to admit that the choice of a date that harkened back to our relationship rattled me a bit. What was he up to? I couldn’t think that Zack didn’t have some kind of bigger game in mind. But if he had just wanted to get back at me for dumping food on him, why would he pick somewhere pleasant?
I was fully prepared for Zack to try and ruin the memories I’d had of our relationship dating each other in high school. Instead, he insisted on paying the fees—even buying us each a beer to take out onto the path. I started to relax but never fully let down my guard; it was hard, because Zack seemed to be determined to be as charming as humanly possible. He joked and smiled, and I couldn’t quite keep myself from feeling the little frisson that went through me when he touched my arm, or brushed against me moving to the tee. I reminded myself that it had just been sex for him—that there was nothing between us. I also reminded myself to be on the lookout for any sign that Zack was going to try and get his revenge on me for dumping food on him.
“You know,” he said, lining up his shot at the fifth hole, “I have to admit that I was kind of a jerk to you the other day.”
“You mean yelling at me in front of your team?” I didn’t bother clarifying that it was only yesterday; there was no point in it.
“No—although that was kind of an asshole thing to do, too. I mean, not talking to you after we had sex. It was just a one-off thing but I shouldn’t have just totally gone off the radar.”
“Well I didn’t really call you either,” I admitted, watching his golf ball hit the bumpers and end up a few feet away from the hole.
“Yeah, but I should have at least checked to make sure that we were okay—like, we have history.”
“Oh, is this suddenly the kinder, gentler Zack?” I rolled my eyes and watched him sink the putt.
Zack grinned. “You used to think I was charming.”
“You used to be charming.”
Zack laughed and gestured for me to take my turn. I looked over the course. If I could hit the bumper just right, I could sink the ball in one—putting me just slightly ahead of Zack. I lined up my shot and got into position, looking from the ball to the part of the bumper I wanted to hit. It wasn’t impossible. I went to hit the ball, bringing the club back carefully.
“You know, you were actually kind of hot when you were angry that day.” Zack’s comment interrupted my putt and my ball bounced, not rolling into the hole but instead veering just beyond it.
“You’re cheating!” Zack grinned and followed me to where my ball came to rest. “Jerk.” I was trying not to smile—it was difficult to really be angry at someone for a no-stakes putt-putt game, even if they were cheating.
“You used to cheat all the time back in the day. You tickled me once!”
I sank my putt and shook my head at Zack with a grin, reaching in and taking out my ball. “I never had a need to cheat. I have always been the better putt-putt player.”
Zack snorted. “So then why do I have a ribbon that you made proclaiming me the putt-putt champion of the world?”
I laughed. “Because you insisted I make it the one time you beat me fair and square—and even then I’m not sure you didn’t find some way to cheat.”
“Aw come on, Evie. You and I both know that if I had cheated you’d have figured it out. You’re the smarter one of the two of us.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little warmer at the compliment—even if it was nothing but the truth. Zack wasn’t stupid; he was smart himself, but even in high school he’d gotten himself into scrapes that I’d predicted long before would get him into trouble.
“You’re right about that,” I said, letting myself get a little cocky.
I went first at the next hole and managed to get it in two—but I was still one point away from Zack. It was strange how easily we’d fallen into old habits, and how easy it was to imagine it was just like high school again; I was almost tempted to ask Zack if he was planning to take me out to Dairy Queen after—but there was no DQ nearby.
We kept up our good-natured argument about which of us cheated more in our previous rounds of putt-putt, and which of us was actually the better player naturally; eventually, Zack stopped me at the 10th hole. “I have an idea.”
“That’s the signal of a disaster coming,” I joked.
Zack grinned and tousled my hair playfully. “You say you’re naturally better than me at putt-putt. Well, prove it. If you win this game, I won’t make you go out on another date with me—I won’t have anything to do with you anymore.”
I smiled. “I kind of like the sound of that.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about it in truth; part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t have to deal with the jumble of my feelings—but part of me had actually liked spending time with Zack. Then I remembered the altercation in the dining hall and then the more recent embarrassment of his yelling at me in front of his teammates. Even if he had apologized for both, they didn’t point to a guy I wanted to spend a lot of time with.
“But if I win, you let me come back to your place after.” I considered it. Even if my feelings toward him had warmed a little bit, I had no intention of sleeping with Zack again any time soon, especially after hearing around campus—discreetly—that he was a player. It was clear to me that he didn’t take any of it seriously, and I had to wonder why he’d even bothered with the date at all. I knew I was better at the game than he was. I could win. I was only one point behind—and we had another 8 holes to go.
“Okay. Deal.” I extended my hand and he shook it. “You agree, though: no cheating. If you cheat, the deal goes out the window.”
“No cheating, just pure athletic skill.”
I nodded again. We played in earnest, still talking and chatting, but seriously
competing at the same time. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to never have Zack see me again, but I certainly wanted to prove myself against him, I wanted the advantage. And it was clear that all he was interested in was another easy lay; why else would he have made the conditions for his win that he could come back to my dorm? I was going to show him that I was no easy lay—he’d already burned that bridge. Even though I was good, Zack was legitimately good as well, and each of us got ahead and then behind through the next eight holes, until we came to the last one—where we were tied.
“Feeling the pressure, Evie?” Zack asked me.
“Nope, I’m just trying to decide if I should delete your number from my phone completely since you won’t be calling me anymore.” I grinned as I said it; if I hadn’t deleted his phone number when we broke up in high school, or after the spectacle in the dining hall, I certainly wasn’t going to delete it now.
“Big talk from someone who’s destined to lose.”
Zack lined up his putt. It was a windmill obstacle—the most difficult kind. Zack had never managed to get the ball through the windmill in the first attempt when we’d been dating before, so I had a certain amount of freedom, I thought. Normally I could get through the windmill, but it took me a stroke or two to get the actual putt sunk.
“What happens if we tie?”
Zack shrugged. “We go back to your place, and after that you never have to speak to me again.”
I laughed and shook my head. Zack took his shot; somehow, and I will never know how, he managed to get it through the hole in the windmill just short of being knocked aside. I groaned.
