Got Game?

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Yes. You showed up. With your damn smile and your wine. I told you I had a boyfriend. I told you I didn’t want to get into this with you.”

  “I heard you. But I also felt you kiss me back when I said I only wanted to kiss you goodbye.”

  “It was a cheap trick!” she fired at him.

  “Like hell. You wanted me and you know it. You’re feeling guilty you cheated on your boyfriend and now you want to take it out on me.”

  The pillow was now a tight ball in her hands. “I didn’t cheat. Technically. I don’t know. Robert and I haven’t… we just started dating. You can bet that if I were involved with someone sexually this would not have happened.”

  Kenny doubted that. They had this thing. Trying to fight it was like trying to stop the sun from coming up.

  “What about you and Erica? Doesn’t she mean anything to you?”

  “Yes,” he barked, angry that she would even mention Erica. “I’m not sleeping with her if that’s what you mean. We’re taking it slow. I’m thinking of maybe getting serious with her.”

  Tessa laughed, but there was no humor in it as she plopped down on the bed. “You’re such an ass, Kenny. You don’t think about getting serious with someone, it just happens. One minute you’re dating and the next minute all you can do is think about that person. It’s called love and it doesn’t obey timetables and preconceived plans.”

  Kenny sat on the bed with her. She looked so sad and it was killing him. He hadn’t come over to make her sad. He’d come over… because he knew he could. Because he knew how she would make him feel, not just during sex, but after too. Like he was on top of things. King of the world.

  A scary idea crept up on him. So frightening he almost didn’t want to put it into words, but it seemed like the explanation for why she was so sad. “Is that it? Are you in love with this guy?”

  Tessa looked at him and sighed. “I’m in love. Yes.”

  “Holy shit. I didn’t think… I wouldn’t have, you know, pushed you.”

  She shook her head. “It was my fault. You were right. I feel guilty and it’s easier to blame you. Robert’s a good man. A decent man. He deserves somebody who… it doesn’t matter. I know what I have to do. You need to go.”

  Kenny stood up and finished dressing. He pulled his shirt on and stepped into his sneakers and when he turned to still see her sitting on the bed he was overcome with an emotion he couldn’t place. Maybe sadness. Definitely regret, but he didn’t know what the hell he was regretting.

  “Are you saying this is it? I mean, forever?”

  She stood up and faced him, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her hair was a crazy mess around her shoulders and he could see tears in her eyes. She was breaking his heart.

  “Regardless of what happens with me and Robert, yes, this is it. I can’t keep doing this, Kenny. I need to get you out of my life and you need to stay out. Don’t talk to me if you see me on the street the next time you’re home. Don’t come over if you happen to be in town some time next winter. Just go away.”

  The punch to his entire system was like nothing he ever felt before. His heart turned over in his chest and he was pretty sure he was going to puke his guts up in the next few seconds. “Tessa, we’re friends,” he said, trying to make her understand, whether or not they had sex, he still needed to know she was there for him.

  “Really? Have you ever called to say hello? Have you ever sent a Christmas card? When you came over did you ask about my mother or my work or my life? Do you care about any of it?”

  “I care,” he insisted. He hadn’t asked her about any of it because damn it he’d wanted her. Bad. He’d wanted her the second he saw her and maybe more because she had dared to flaunt a principal in his face. He wanted to show her the sex would always be different between them, special. More special than anything she did with fucking Robert.

  Walking over to him, she laid her palm over his heart. The touch, so gentle, so like her, made him hurt all over inside.

  “It’s been nice knowing you, Kenneth Carr. You have yourself a good life.”

  “Please don’t do this.” He flinched at the raw quality of his voice. He heard himself begging and hated it, but he knew he would do it again. He would beg her not to cut him out of her life.

  “I have to,” she whispered, the tears falling down her cheeks. “I’ll never get out from under you if I don’t. Please go. Please, Kenny.”

  There was nothing else to say. Nothing to do. He felt hollowed. Like the Tin Man. Why the hell that dude ever wanted a heart, he would never know.

  Numb, he made his way downstairs and out the door. He drove home but if anyone asked him, he would have no recollection about the ride. Autopilot had kicked in and taken him down all the familiar roads he had traveled so often. It was later than he thought. The house was dark. A night owl, he might have thought Reilly would still be up but after a day like the one she had with Pierce, she was worn out.

  He was grateful. The last person he wanted to talk to about Tessa was Reilly. No doubt she would stick up for Tessa and call him about a dozen horrible names for going over to her place to begin with. She accused him of leading Tessa along, but Kenny knew it wasn’t true. In the beginning, sure. She was sixteen. He was eighteen. She had a crush on him and he didn’t do anything to stop it. When he came home from college that one time and realized that she was all grown-up, he figured what the hell.

  Then it just became a thing. Now the thing was over and he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t accept that he was never going to see Tessa again. Never going to touch her, kiss her, slide inside of her. She was part of him. Part of his life.

  A person like that just didn’t go away forever.

  She was mad. She had a thing going with a new guy and maybe he messed it up. But she would get over it. Assuring himself what had sounded like the end, wasn’t really the end, made him feel better. He made his way into the house and navigated the creaky wooden steps like he used to when he was a teenager all the way to his room. Stripping, he crawled between the sheets of his bed. With his arms over his head, he stared up at the ceiling and told himself Tessa had just been emotional.

  What they had was too good. Too real to vanish. However, he did acknowledge showing up on her door and expecting sex wasn’t necessarily classy. He did care about her life. He wanted to let her know they were friends. He was going to have to step it up.

  He’d already missed Christmas. But he was pretty sure her birthday was coming up. He’d send a birthday card and some flowers. He’d call her and wish her a happy birthday. That’s what friends did.

  Smiling, he closed his eyes and visualized once more what she looked like naked and then recalled in detail the exact moment when he’d made her come.

  Friends, yes. With benefits.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Luke, wait up a second.”

  Luke was straightening his tie, ready to walk into the booth he would call home for the next several hours. It was Saturday, the third day of the Pro-Am and the action was heating up between Mark Staddler and Sinjin Rye. He’d already jotted down a number of salient points regarding their play, and some stories he’d picked up about the two along his golf travels for commentary on the broadcast. Given the competitive nature of the two of them, he figured they were in for a dog fight for the next several hours.

  Luke spotted his co-announcer chasing after him. Jim Mercuro was the newest lead sportscaster for ABS. He handled football in the fall as the anchor on the ABS morning show and in the winter took over as co-announcer in the booth for most golf tournaments that were broadcasted on the network. He understood the game of golf, and was very good about drawing Luke out to speak at those moments when Luke found himself too absorbed in what was happening on the course.

  TV-handsome with the nondescript features of someone who blended well in a person’s living room, Jim made his dark blue suit look almost as good as Luke’s.

  “What’s up, Jim?”

>   “I found out you know Reilly Carr and, in fact, are pretty tight with her.”

  “We’re close,” Luke answered.

  “That’s great. It’s the story of the season so far and we’re going to have the scoop. I’ll want to wait until later in the afternoon to bring it up. Most folks don’t start tuning in until around four on the weekends. We’ll go with any time after five for maximum effect. Just answer everything I ask you.”

  “Hold on a second, Jim. I don’t know that I’m that comfortable talking…”

  Jim laughed over his concern. “What are you talking about? You know the drill. I’ll ask about Reilly and you can give your impressions, opinions, whatever. You can say you were there when she made the decision. Look, I’m not asking for some scandalous dirt. You don’t have any scandalous dirt, do you?”

  “No!”

  “I’m asking for some straight answers about her game and any predictions you have of what might happen. Give it the personal touch. The audience will love it. This girl is about to become a household name. What you say about her now is going to count toward how people think about her.”

  If Luke hadn’t believed Jim was being honest about just realizing that Luke knew Reilly more than professionally, he might have thought he’d been played. Giving him a chance to present Reilly to the public in a positive manner did sound like an opportunity. However, Luke had been in the business a bit too long to believe Jim’s motives were altruistic.

  As far as the media was concerned, sports were a much closer relative to entertainment than they were to news. Juicy gossip, horrible scandals, drugs both on and off the field. These things brought in ratings. The only time people wanted to feel good about their athletes was during the Olympics, because those athletes were doing it for the love of their sport and not the millions of dollars in salary and endorsements that motivated the rest of the sporting world.

  Luke could imagine some of the questions he might come up with. But as long as he was smart about what he answered and how he answered it, he should do all right. Jim was right about this being an opportunity to give people a picture of Reilly, the person as opposed to Reilly, the story.

  The tournament went as expected. Rye and Staddler were in the final pairing and it was every bit the battle Luke had expected it to be. Of the two of them, he would have ranked Staddler as the purer golfer. His swing was effortless, his control over his iron shots was unprecedented and his putter rarely failed him. But it seemed any time he went head to head with Rye, Rye managed to find a way into Staddler’s head. Luke had heard rumors Rye was a smack-talker in between the ropes. In a sport where, “Nice Shot,” were typically the only two words exchanged between opponents, Rye had apparently developed a reputation for commenting on his opponent’s poor shots, poor lies, and the worst - missed putts.

  That type of jawing certainly wasn’t the norm in golf. Football, basketball even baseball. Not golf. It was a game for gentlemen played by gentlemen. But Rye didn’t come from the privileged golf club class. It was well known and often spoken about anytime he was in the hunt for a tournament that he’d learned the sport through a summer camp program aimed at the poor. His natural ability had taken him through college on a scholarship and since then he’d been almost unstoppable. He’d won several tournaments, gotten close during a few majors but had yet to crack the elite club of major winner. Staddler already had two majors under his belt, but in neither case did he have to compete directly against Rye to win them. People were hoping this would be the year. It was all that was talked about until recently.

  “Nice shot,” Jim commented as he looked on the monitor replaying Rye’s last drive. “In the middle of the fairway with a perfect opportunity to go for this green in two. Currently, he’s got a two-shot lead over Staddler and with the holes left, unless he makes some mistakes, Rye is going to be tough to beat.”

  “I agree. Rye really plays a mental game out there and when he’s focused like he is now, it’s rare he makes mistakes,” Luke added.

  “Okay, while they take their walk down the fairway let’s talk about the other great story in our sport these days. Reilly Carr. I understand you know Reilly personally, Luke.”

  The director in the booth made a hand gesture, which was the cue to indicate the camera was now on them. Luke smiled and turned so he half faced Jim and half faced the television audience as he’d been trained to do.

  “I do know Reilly. Very well. I went to college with her brother and caddy Kenny Carr. Kenny and I played together on the Stanford team.”

  “Tell us about the decision she had to make. Was it hard for her? Or was it simply a given considering where she fell in the new ranking system?”

  “No, it was definitely hard for her. She had to consider a lot of different things unlike any man who might have been ranked the same.”

  “A girl playing in the American, it is quite a stir. How is she handling the media pressure?”

  Luke smiled. “Well, first I wouldn’t necessarily call Reilly a girl. She’s certainly older than that. She’s tough and competitive. She knows how to face down opponents on a fairway. I doubt she’s going to be intimidated by a few extra cameras and people in her face.”

  “You speak highly of her,” Jim noted. “But seriously, do you think she has any chance to compete with the top-ranked male golfers in the world?”

  Luke knew he had to expect this question, and the truth was he couldn’t imagine Reilly being able to hold her own against the likes of Staddler and Rye. They simply hit the ball too far for her to always be playing catch up. However, it didn’t mean she couldn’t handle a large portion of the field. “I think she’s going to impress a lot of people with her game. And I think she has a legitimate shot, depending on how the course is playing, to make it to the weekend.”

  “Really?” Jim seemed taken aback by Luke’s response. “Well, there you have it, folks. Two-time American winner, Luke Nolan, is betting on Reilly Carr to make it to the weekend. It would be quite an achievement if she could pull it off. Has she asked for any advice from you?”

  Luke let out an honest chuckle. “No. I doubt she’ll seek help from me. But she’s working with her old coach now, trying to squeeze a few more yards out of her swing. Now that she’s made the decision to play, she’s going to give it her all.”

  “We wish her good luck. Frankly, the way we’re seeing Staddler and Rye hit the ball today, she’s going to need it. These guys can really put it out there.”

  It was a nice lead back to the broadcast. Mentally, Luke went over everything he said and decided the short interview had been a positive one. Jim had thrown up a few softballs, and he’d been able to give some pretty standard answers. It did occur to him he was going to be asked more and more about Reilly as the event drew closer. He probably should talk to her about what she did or did not want let out there for general media consumption.

  Luke smiled. He loved the way he’d so nicely convinced himself he would have to talk to her again. The truth was he’d only left her a few days ago and already he found himself anxious. Anxious about how she was handling the new surge of reporters, this time from outside the sports world. Anxious about how she was getting along with Odie. Anxious for her.

  Anxious for her or missing her?

  It was hard to tell. He’d never missed her before. They’d gone as long as a year without seeing each other and it never occurred to him to miss her. Probably because he knew she was out there in the world. Somewhere. He was pretty sure it was the same for her. Their time apart didn’t matter because it was always as if no time had passed when they were together.

  Lifelong friends. Part-time lovers. Did he really want to mess with that and turn it into something that could eventually end? He wasn’t sure, but he figured the best plan at this point was to go with his gut. It worked when making club selections for those in between distances, it could work for this, too. He’d leave first thing Monday for Little Creek and let it go from there. She might not ask for hi
s advice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t force her to listen to it.

  The round was finishing up. Rye putted for par on 18 to solidify his two-shot lead over Staddler going into tomorrow’s final round. Tom Buckley, who had been following the two on the course for shot coverage, caught up with Rye as he was walking off to sign his card.

  Luke sat back in the booth, knowing the camera was off him and watched on the monitor as Tom conducted the interview. He could see Rye grimace, and Luke could appreciate the sentiment. After a good round, all a golfer wanted to do was sign his card and go home. If it was a bad round, that meant hitting some more balls. Either way, the five-minute interview was always somewhat of a nuisance, but it was part of the job.

  “Sinjin, good round today.”

  “Thanks, Tom. I hope I can keep it going for tomorrow.”

  “You and Mark were trading some pretty sharp barbs out there.”

  Sinjin shrugged. “It’s all in good fun.”

  Tom tilted his head, but didn’t pursue the comment. Luke wondered what the hell had been said out there. “Tell me, we just had Luke Nolan commenting today about the upcoming American and the fact that for the first time, a woman is going to be playing. What are your thoughts on Reilly Carr’s 38th place ranking and her decision to play?”

  “I don’t have thoughts about Reilly Carr. Frankly, I think the rank is a joke. She’s a girl. She plays with other girls. She should be ranked among girls. If she’s crazy enough to show up, she’s going to look like a fool out there.”

  “You don’t think she should show up, then?” Tom prompted.

  “I think she should stay home and bake some cookies. It will be a lot more fun and a lot less humiliating for her. Excuse me, I’m done discussing this.”

  Rye walked off and Tom was left for a second looking like a guppy out of water. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to get out the words, “And back to you. Jim.”