Team Player: A Sports Romance Anthology

by Adriana Locke

  “I, um, I’m moving back—I moved back,” she corrects, nodding her head once.

  I don’t say another word. I don’t move a muscle. I just stand in place and listen to my heart beat so hard, like it’s chanting her name so she’ll turn around and look at me.

  Her shoulders pull back as she pivots, turning her body so she’s facing me. Finally.

  Remaining impassive is impossible as I take in the girl I once thought I’d marry. She’s more beautiful than ever with her porcelain skin, full lips, and intense brown eyes. I look ridiculous standing in front of her, not saying a word, but all I can do is tell myself to remember she’s not mine.

  “How are you?” I finally ask, shoving my hands in my pockets as a security measure. They’ve been sweating since the minute I realized she was really here.

  “Good. Fancy seeing you here, of all places.” She flinches as she says the words, a throwback to the fight that finally ended things between us for good. She takes a step toward me, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Cross…”

  Her eyes flood with a mix of emotions swirling so hard I can’t separate them out. I could do what people do—pick out the one I want to see and roll with it—but I’m not most people, and I’m not a pussy.

  “You look good, Cross,” she whispers, quieter this time, studying me.

  “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  She shakes her head, running those ring-free fingers through her hair. “That’s a nice thing to say. Total lie, but nice, anyway.” She laughs.

  “Why is that a lie?”

  “Look at me.”

  “From where I’m standing, time couldn’t have been any sweeter to you, Kallie girl.” A smile tickles my lips as her cheeks flush. This is the girl I remember and, if I’m not careful, the one I’ll once again be jacked up over in a heartbeat.

  “Look at you being all charming.”

  “It’s a new trick I picked up while you were gone. I figured I needed to round out my game a little.”

  “How’s that working out for you?” She tries to play her question off like it’s routine banter, but I know her too well. She’s digging, prying, asking what I’ve been up to without having to ask.

  “Win some, lose some,” I say, looking her in the eye. Rocking back on my heel, I narrow my eyes. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Am I winning or losing right now?” My mouth fights the twitch of a smile crawling up my lips.

  She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’d say if we’re taking into consideration the previous rounds, it’s a split decision. This round doesn’t look bad, but the ones before it weren’t too pretty.”

  Trying to hide my amusement at this girl using, of all things, a boxing metaphor on me to describe our relationship, I shrug. “I don’t think all the previous rounds were bad. I distinctly remember winning a couple of them. Hell, I thought I had the thing won a couple of rounds ago.”

  “You almost did,” she says carefully, her voice steady now. “But that slip in the last round cost you the whole fight.”

  “I didn’t slip,” I insist, taking a step toward her. “I had a bad game plan.”

  “I can only score it as I see it.”

  There’s a blip of pain in her eyes as her uncertainty fails to mask the wavering in her voice. The sound batters my heart, just like it did when she and I were together and I’d see a similar look on her face. I hate it.

  We stand in the middle of Crave and don’t say a word. The only sound is the shaky breaths escaping her sweet, full lips. A part of me wants to fight with her, tell her how stupid she was for walking out of my life and destroying everything I had planned for our future. Another part of me wants to toss her to the floor and fuck her so deeply, so completely that she remembers the connection and chemistry only we have together. Yet, there’s another piece of me that wants to grab her and wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close if for nothing but to make sure she’s all right.

  “You said it’s a split decision,” I say, standing so close to her, our chests are almost touching. She smells of vanilla and the shampoo she always uses, the one in the red bottle. I fill my lungs with the scent of her and blow it out slowly. “Does that mean there’s still a fight?”

  She tucks another strand of hair behind her ear. “The bell rang on this fight a long time ago, Cross.”

  “Maybe the scorekeeper was wrong.”

  “Maybe—” She’s cut off by the sound of Nora and Machlan behind me. She looks at the floor and takes a step back, like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t.

  Looking over my shoulder, I shoot a glare at my best friend. “What’s up, Machlan?”

  “I hate to bother you two, but I gotta get this place ready to open. You can use my office, if you want.”

  “I think we’re ready to go,” Kallie says, peering around me. “You ready, Nora?”

  “If you are.”

  “Kallie, wait.” There’s no denying the eagerness in my voice, but I’m too focused on not letting her out of here without some sort of commitment to worry about it.

  She keeps her sights set on Nora. “What, Cross?”

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask. “Or tomorrow night?” My mind races through my calendar, trying to figure out on the fly how I’ll rearrange my appointments if she takes me up on one of my offers.

  “I’m pretty busy…”

  “Oh, you are not.” Machlan smirks, leaning against the bar.

  “Stay out of this,” she says, flashing him a look. “This has nothing to do with you, Mach.”

  “Everything that happens inside my bar has something to do with me,” he teases. “So, let’s cut the shit: you really have nothing to do but you’re still pissed off about something that happened years ago. Sound about right?”

  “Enough,” I say, firing a warning shot at him.

  He laughs. “Fine. Just thought I’d help you two get to the point. See you tomorrow, Nora?”

  “Yup,” she says before looking between Kallie and me. “I’ll be outside.”

  My eyes lock with Kallie’s as the door latches behind Nora. “Name the place and time and I’ll make it happen.”

  “Make what happen?” She sighs.

  “Coffee. Dinner. A fucking slice of watermelon from Dave’s Farmstand, if that’s what you want,” I joke…kind of.

  “Is that still open?” Her eyes sparkle, the easygoing Kallie I remember starting to come back. “How many watermelons did we eat from there over the years?”

  “I think the two of us kept him busy.”

  “Do you remember when Peck tried to make his own watermelon moonshine?” She laughs. “He was sick for a week, and then you all were trying to find a nurse to check him out so you didn’t have to tell his mom.”

  “I forgot about that.” I chuckle. “He was sick as hell. Lance finally found a nurse somewhere.”

  “Leave it to Lance.” She giggles, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “We loaded Peck in the back of Walker’s truck and met her at the Four-Way Bridge to get checked out. What a mess that was.”

  “Does Walker still have Daisy?” she asks, alluding to the big black pickup Walker has driven since his senior year of high school.

  “I think Walker will drive Daisy until he dies. He loves that truck,” I say, shaking my head. “But back to the watermelon—Dave closed it down a while back. His wife got put in a nursing home.”

  Kallie’s face falls. “She was so sweet. That makes me sad.”

  “I see Dave sometimes over at Crank,” I say, referring to Walker’s car repair shop. “Ran into him at Goodman’s gas station a couple of days ago too. He asked about you.”

  “Why would people ask you about me now?” She considers this for a long moment. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”

  “Maybe it seems perfectly normal.” Unable to resist any longer, I cut the distance
between us in half. With a calculated move, I raise a hand and touch the side of her face. She sucks in a breath, her skin warm and smooth under my calloused palm. “This seems perfectly normal too.”

  “Cross…” She pulls her cheek away, her chin dipping to her chest. “I can’t with this.”

  “You’re right,” I say, stepping back. Her gaze shoots to mine, surprised etched on her pretty features. “This isn’t the place. Meet me at the gym tonight at six. We’ll grab something to eat and take a ride or go for a walk or sit on the mats and shoot the shit.”

  Before she can decline, I head for the door.

  “Cross! I didn’t say—”

  The door shutting behind me as I walk outside cuts off the end of her sentence.

  “She giving you a hard time?” Nora laughs.

  “Never.” I chuckle, shaking my head.

  “I think she’s a little shocked.”

  “One question,” I say, turning around and walking backward toward my truck, the sun warming my face. “Did you know I was here?”

  “Well, I knew Machlan wouldn’t have my check until Monday, and I also know you drive the silver Dodge Ram parked right over there, so you figure out what I did and didn’t know.”

  A laugh I haven’t felt slip past my lips so easily in years bellows out. “Nora, I owe you one.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Chapter 3

  Kallie

  “Do you still want to go to Peaches?” Nora asks. There’s a forced easiness to her tone, like we just didn’t walk all the way to the car and drive almost the entire way to my mother’s house in silence.

  “No.”

  Every step we took from the bar had me wanting to look over my shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of Cross. Every mile we pull away has me wanting to yell at Nora to turn around.

  My head spins with the offer to see him again. My cheek sings with the memory of his touch. My heart aches as it absorbs the instructions from my brain to not forget the bad in favor of the good.

  The endless partying with Machlan.

  The two times I had to bail him out of jail for reckless driving and disorderly conduct.

  Failure to take anything seriously or make a plan for the future.

  A chill rips through me despite the warm summer sun.

  “I really wanted a margarita,” Nora says, turning toward my mother’s house. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Peaches?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re not hungry or you’re mad at me? I’m really feeling like ‘I’m not hungry’ is a passive-aggressive and untrue response.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” I say finally, watching the bright green grass roll by. “Although I know that was a setup.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” I laugh. “You totally set that up.”

  “What can it hurt?” She sighs, turning into the driveway. “I know it’s none of my business, but…”

  Her forehead is creased and her knuckles re-grip the steering wheel. Settling into the soft leather seat, I lean my head against the headrest. The adrenaline recedes, leaving me with a sluggish, almost hangover-style feeling in place of the excitement from a few minutes ago.

  “He always asks about you,” she says softly. “I never told you that because it felt like it didn’t matter, but he does. Every time I see him, he says hello and then his features fall a little bit and he asks how you’re doing.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “He’s not a bad guy, Kallie.”

  “I know he’s not.” I groan, closing my eyes. “He’s not a bad person, he’s just not someone I can be with.” The words land on my own ears and my spirits fall. “And that sucks.”

  “Maybe he’s not the guy you remember.”

  “Leopards don’t change their spots, Nora,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt and grabbing my purse. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Call me tomorrow. Let’s do lunch or something.” She touches my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “Me too. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Climbing out of the car, I shut the door. Nora honks the horn twice before pulling onto the street.

  My mom’s home sits in front of me, a little white square with dark green windows. There’s a carport on one side that offers little protection from the wind in the winter, and my stomach twists that I’ve not been able to get it replaced yet.

  “Someday,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to the front door. It opens before I get to the top. “Hey, Mom.”

  “I thought I heard a car out here. I’m not used to having visitors.” She smiles, letting me by. “Did you have fun with Nora, honey?”

  “Yeah. We walked around town, and I talked to Ruby at the library. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”

  “Kallie Rae!” She laughs as she follows me to the kitchen. Pictures of me from various ages line the walls of the hallway. “See anyone else?”

  “Machlan.”

  “How is he?” she presses.

  “Good.”

  Pulling out a chair, she drops into the seat. “I saw him a few weeks ago at the post office. Good-looking boy.”

  “He’s all right,” I say, shaking my head.

  “All right? Sometimes I’m not sure you’re my child.” She chuckles. “If I were your age, I’d have snapped up one of those men in a heartbeat.”

  Turning away, I look out the window over the sink. The small back yard is tidy, her trash and recycling cans in a neat line by the gate. My old brown swing set still sits by the fence in the back, and the picnic table where I had dozens of chats with my friends growing up is in need of a good dose of paint.

  All of these things are better topics than dating, or Machlan, or the one I know is coming: Cross.

  My mother loved him like he was her son. She made sure he had homemade macaroni and cheese when he was over for dinner and always had his favorite soda in the fridge. When we broke up, she supported me, but I know down deep, she wishes things had worked out.

  Maybe I wish that too.

  Maybe wishes are pointless.

  “We could get some paint tomorrow and redo the picnic table,” I say.

  “I wouldn’t be able to move for a week.”

  The room gets quiet. The quieter it gets, the louder I hear my heartbeat.

  “I’m supposed to go to my women’s club meeting this evening with Dina. Do you want to go?” she asks. “Or did you make plans with Nora?”

  Glancing at the clock, I see I have an hour until Cross asked me to meet him. My chest rises and falls, my fingers tapping on the counter.

  “Well, you’re invited if you want to come.” She groans, getting out of the chair. “I’m leaving in about an hour. Let me know if you want to join, honey.”

  Her steps get softer as she pads down the hallway, and I’m left standing in the kitchen with nothing but a decision to be made.

  Kallie

  Slipping on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top after my shower, I make my way into the living room. The hardwood floor creaks as I traverse the room and plop unceremoniously onto the plaid sofa. The remote is on the other side of the room and I don’t have the energy to get it. Besides, the quiet is something I kind of love.

  Living in the city made me forget what silence really is. There are no tires squealing or sirens blaring, just an occasional dog barking from the house across the street.

  The room is filled with mementos of my life that could only be collected by a mother. A frame hangs to the right with every school picture I ever took. An art piece I created in fifth grade is propped up on a bookshelf, and a trinket we bought on a vacation at Lake Michigan sits next to the television. Each one of those things has a memory of Cross tied to it.

  My heart sinks as I squirm on the sofa. There’s a hole in my chest that seems to have reopened since I pulled back into Linton, a big, gaping crevice that I was able to fill well enough in Indiana with work and hobbies and remembering things how I cho
se to remember them, but now? It’s not that easy.

  I had to force myself to get into the bath and shave my legs so I wouldn’t run to the gym to see him on a whim. I washed my hair twice and then used a conditioning mask just to kill time. By the time I got out, I knew he would be gone.

  A low rumble from the other side of the wall sounds through the air. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up and listen. It trails to the front of the house and stops. There’s a long pause, then a squeak, and then it starts again. Jumping up and heading to the front window, I peer out of the curtains.

  My breathing halts, my hands shaking as they hold the lace fabric out of the way.

  Cross is dragging my mother’s trash can from the back of the house to the street. He lines it up next to another one and brushes his hands off. Without looking up at me, he disappears into the back yard again.

  “What the hell?” I whisper, dropping the curtain.

  Finding my sandals, I slip them on and scurry to the kitchen door. When I step into the yard, he’s latching a cable through the handles on the doors of the shed in the back corner.

  Wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and a red t-shirt, he looks tall and lean and as broad as the shed. A darkened spot between his shoulder blades flexes and pulls as he works the cable. The fabric pulls tight along his muscles, giving me an idea of their definition and making my knees weak.

  He turns around abruptly, catching us both off guard.

  “Hey,” he says, stopping in his tracks.

  “What are you doing here?”

  There’s a smile that flashes briefly, but it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. “I’m not here to bother you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Cross…” A lump takes root in my throat as I step across the soft grass. Sitting on top of the picnic table, I look at him still standing by the shed, just a few feet away.

  So many summers we hung out back here in a swimming pool that’s since been removed. We played badminton when I went through an obsessive stage with that game and watched the fireworks from a big trampoline we sold in a yard sale the summer before I left.