The Surprise

by Alice Ward

  “I guess if we’re supposed to meet again, we will,” I teased.

  His eyes smoldered and he dropped his voice an octave. “I eat dinner here every Wednesday around this time. If you decide we’re meant to run into each other again, you know where to find me.”

  He’s serious. He’s actually interested in me.

  My smile softened and I dropped my tone to match the seriousness of his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.

  “Till next time, then,” he offered with a grin.

  “Till next time.”

  I walked out of the diner, filled with emotions I didn’t understand. I loved Ben, and I wanted to build a life with him. But when Ethan asked for my number, I regretted not being able to give it to him. I took the long way home, trying to sort out my feelings.

  I’m exhausted and my head isn’t on straight. Ben and I haven’t had much time together since school started. That’s why I got so caught up in Ethan’s flirting. I didn’t cross any lines. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, I don’t need to see Ethan McAlister ever again.

  ***

  On the second Friday of the school year, I reached a milestone in my class. Not one single child cried about missing their parents. I rewarded myself with a hot bath, followed by a night in bed with a bottle of wine and a week’s worth of television. I turned my alarm off before I drifted off, determined to sleep in Saturday morning. My friend Melissa had other ideas. She called bright and early at seven a.m.

  “This better be good,” I mumbled into the phone.

  “Good morning, sunshine. I’m sorry to wake you. I thought you’d be up by now.”

  I pushed myself up against the headboard and reached for the bottle of water on my nightstand. My mouth tasted like sour wine and a dull throb filled the back of my head.

  “Monday through Friday, I would be. On the weekends, I sleep,” I reminded her.

  “Right, I’ll try to remember that next time.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied through a yawn. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m about to go watch the Stallions practice. I’m interviewing some of the players after, and I have an extra press badge.”

  The Stallions were Portland’s new professional football team. The city had been petitioning the powers that be for years, and eighteen months ago, they finally gave their formal approval. The Stallions were owned by Victor Montez, Oregon’s wealthiest citizen. Montez had spent his career building an empire of casinos. He’d moved to Portland after selling out to Montgomery Enterprises, an even larger chain of destination resorts. Rumor had it that he’s a hot head and incredibly difficult to work with. Sportscasters insisted he was exactly who you’d want in charge of a startup team.

  “You’re going to the stadium?”

  “Yes. Phillip was supposed to go, but his kid has the chickenpox. He’s never had it before, and the last thing he wants to do is walk into practice like Typhoid Mary. Bill threw it to me, said it was my chance to prove I could hold my own with the sports desk. I know it’s short notice, but I have an extra press pass and I thought Ben might like to tag along and fanboy out while I get my interviews.”

  “Aw, man, he would have loved that. But he’s working at the club today.”

  “Even better. You can come with me and we can gawk at the hot football players,” she suggested and I could almost hear her waggling her eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. It sounds like fun. But I had such a long week. I was really looking forward to doing nothing today.”

  “I promise you won’t have to do anything physically or mentally exerting,” she pleased. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. You don’t have to do anything but sit in the stands and soak up the sunshine.”

  “Okay,” I finally agreed.

  “Great. We’re supposed to be there at noon, so I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

  “I’ll see you then. Thanks for inviting me, Mel.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you soon.”

  I ended the call and let the phone fall to my bed. I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and then dove back between my sheets. I chased two Advil with the rest of my water and told myself I was just going to close my eyes until the throbbing stopped. I woke up three and a half hours later.

  Shit, shit, shit. Melissa will be here in thirty minutes and I’m still in my pajamas.

  I threw open my closet door and grabbed my go-to boyfriend jeans and a blue and grey raglan t-shirt. I stuffed my feet into black Converse and trudged back to the bathroom to check my reflection. The extra hours of sleep hadn’t done anything to improve my bloodshot hangover eyes and my long hair hung limply around my tan face.

  Screw it. I’ll just throw on a hat and a pair of sunglasses. It’s not like I’ll run into anyone I know. But I’ve got to stop making a habit of leaving the house like this.

  I swiped a light layer of powder over my face and tied my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. From there, I moved on to the kitchen, brewed myself a cup of coffee, and rifled through my fridge for something that would pass for breakfast. I settled on a yogurt, which I ate over my sink. My doorbell rang just as I set my second cup of coffee to brew.

  I opened the door and Melissa greeted me with a broad smile and a bag from the Eight Street Bakery.

  “Cinnamon chip scone,” she explained, thrusting the bag into my hand. “I thought you might need a pick me up. You sounded exhausted when I talked to you this morning. Please tell me you were able to get back to sleep. I felt like an ass for waking you.”

  I tossed the bag next to my purse on the coffee table and turned back toward the kitchen.

  “I just woke up about half an hour ago,” I explained. “Let me pour my coffee into a travel cup and I’ll be ready.”

  “We have a little time, if you want to finish your makeup.”

  I didn’t even get insulted at the hint. “I’m just going to throw on a hat and sunglasses. There’s no point in doing my face when everyone’s eyes will be stuck to you,” I insisted. “You really do look fabulous.”

  Melissa held a hand to her flawless chocolate complexion and smiled back at me. “Do you really think so? I finally had a reason to use my ‘on camera’ makeup my Mom gave me when I landed the job at the station. I was a little worried I’d gone overboard.”

  “I think you look perfect. After today, the viewers will be insisting that you cover the sports desk. You know as much, if not more, than the men and you look three times as good doing the commentary.”

  The motivation behind my comment was easing Melissa’s obvious nerves, but that didn’t make the words any less true. Melissa grew up in Portland as the only girl in a family of eight kids. She was also the baby and spent her childhood cheering her seven older brothers on from the sidelines of their various athletic events. Melissa paid attention and by the time she was twelve, she was offering her brothers’ coaches pointers during practices.

  And Melissa wasn’t just smart. She was also drop dead gorgeous. Her skin was smooth and clear, the color of coffee with just a hint of cream in it. She had dark, doe-like eyes, beautiful, perfectly straight teeth, and the kind of body most people could only achieve with the help of a plastic surgeon: curvy and alluring, without an ounce of extra fat.

  “I’m ready when you are,” I announced, stepping back into the living room with my coffee. I tossed one of Ben’s club ball caps on my head and slung my purse over my shoulder. I held my coffee and scone in one hand and locked the front door with the other.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally getting some airtime,” Melissa said, her words brimming with anxiety. We buckled ourselves into her Subaru and she backed out of her parking space.

  “I’m so proud of you, Mel. I really think this will be your big break. Just try to relax and be yourself during the interviews. The rest will take care of itself.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, navigating through the city. “I need to think about something else. Distract me. What’s been g
oing on with you?”

  “Same old, same old. I’ve settled back into my school routine. And I think most of my kids have gotten the swing of things. Aside from that, I’ve just been spending time with Ben and hanging out with Uncle Walt. He’s met a woman and retired, by the way.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened. “She must be one hell of a woman.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet. We’re supposed to have dinner on Tuesday.”

  “Do you think he’ll finally get married?”

  “I don’t know. If you asked me last week, I’d have sworn he’d stay a bachelor his entire life. But now, I’m not so sure. I guess time will tell.”

  I stared out the windshield as the stadium appeared in the distance. “It really is an amazing building,” I observed.

  “I can’t believe we get to be some of the first people to see the team on the field. My brothers are going to shit when they find out about this.”

  “Ben too,” I agreed. “But I’m glad he’s working and I get to be here on your big day.”

  “Me too.”

  Melissa pulled into the stadium’s parking lot and eased into a spot near the front entrance. There were only a few dozen cars in the massive lot, and I knew most of them had to belong to the players. Melissa killed the ignition and pulled two press passes from her glove compartment. She passed me one of the stiff, laminated cards and I pulled the lanyard over my head.

  “Are you ready for this?” I asked, my voice enthusiastic and supportive.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready. My camera crew isn’t here yet, but they can meet up with us inside.”

  We climbed out of the car and made our way to the main entrance. We were greeted by an official looking man wearing a headset. He took one look at our passes and directed us to the press seating near the fifty-yard line.

  After finding our seats, Melissa and I spent the next hour watching the players scrimmage on the field. As I watched the game, I felt the strangest sense that I knew one of the quarterbacks.

  That’s impossible. I’ve never met anyone capable of playing professional football. Last night’s wine is messing with my head.

  About fifteen minutes before the practice wound down, Melissa’s camera crew showed up and shot some footage of the team in action. I’d assumed the after practice interviews would take place on the field and was shocked when Melissa pulled me toward the locker room.

  “I can’t go in there,” I insisted. “There will be strange men showering, and changing, and God knows what.”

  “Oh come on, Emily. Don’t be such a prude. We’re all professionals and the players are expecting us. No one’s going to be naked.” She pulled me into the room before I had a chance to make any more objections.

  To my relief, all of the players were clothed from the waist down. Some still wore their pads and jerseys, but most were lounging around bare chested. The sight was distracting, to say the least.

  Larry Davis, the head coach of the Stallions, approached Melissa with a smile and an extended hand. I shuffled behind her cameraman and did my best to blend into the wall.

  “Thank you so much for having me, Mr. Davis. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, and then maybe interview a few members of the team,” she explained.

  He released her hand and gave her an indulgent grin. “Let me guess. You’d like to have the first local interview with our new star quarterback.”

  “I’d love to talk to everyone on the team,” Melissa assured him. “But, of course, if Mr. McAlister is willing, I’d love to speak with him too.”

  McAlister? Quarterback…? No. It can’t be.

  “I’m willing to speak with you,” a familiar voice boomed through the room and my face flushed hot as I fought the urge to look toward the voice.

  “Thank you so much,” Melissa answered, a note of gushing in her tone.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Ethan warned. “I’ll talk to you now and I’ll throw in a sit down after our first home game… on the condition that I can have a few moments alone with Emily. Just to talk, of course.”

  This isn’t happening. It’s the wine. I’m home asleep in bed, and this is all just a terrible dream.

  I looked up from the locker room floor; every eye was on me. Melissa’s mouth had fallen open in shock while the rest of the team seemed amused by the exchange. I cleared my throat and finally met Ethan’s charming, apologetic gaze.

  “Where would you like to talk?” I asked him, forcing a smile that was brighter than I felt.

  “Why don’t we step back out to the stadium? Melissa can find us there when she’s wrapped up the other interviews,” he suggested.

  I exhaled deeply. “Lead the way.”

  Melissa mouthed a quick thank you and turned back to the coach. Ethan walked past his teammates and led me back into the stadium. I was still recovering from my surprise at seeing him and was at a complete loss for words. He didn’t seem to mind the silence though. We sat down and stared at the field for a few moments before he finally spoke.

  “You said if we were supposed to meet again, we would,” he reminded me. “So what do you call this?”

  “I don’t know,” I hesitated. “I guess I’d call it a coincidence.”

  I wanted to believe that’s all it was, but I didn’t. I loved Ben, I reminded myself. At the same time, I felt the strangest pull toward Ethan. And when I looked at him, my heart soared with not only attraction but an odd sense of familiarity. The way it would after seeing someone I loved after a lifetime apart. I didn’t understand my feelings, and that terrified me.

  “I’d call it more than that,” he argued. “I think fate is trying to tell us something. You’re destined to give me a tour of this city, Emily Kinkaid,” he teased.

  We both knew he wanted a lot more than a tour, though for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. I was sitting in front of him looking my absolute worst for the second time in a week. He was a professional athlete, surrounded by groupies and cheerleaders on a regular basis. Yet, he wanted me.

  “I still have a boyfriend,” I reminded him.

  “I still don’t care,” he insisted. “I’ve decided he’s not good enough for you.”

  I let out a quick laugh. “Oh yeah? And I assume you are?”

  He nodded. “Yes. And before you shoot me down, let me plead my case. First off, I am incredibly attentive. This boyfriend of yours seems to leave you on your own an awful lot.”

  “Maybe I’m an independent woman who likes her space,” I suggested.

  Ethan stared into my eyes, his face full of understanding. “I can tell you’re an independent woman. But I think that’s more out of necessity, not choice. You’ve spent a lot of time alone in your life, haven’t you?”

  I nodded, amazed by how well he seemed to know me. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time alone, too. It’s a pretty common story. My parents divorced when I was eleven. Dad sent checks until I was eighteen, but he stopped showing up for his weekend visits when I was in junior high. Mom married a pompous ass who I still can’t stand, and I avoided them both as much as possible.”

  “That must have made for a lonely childhood.”

  He nodded. “But lonely was better than pissed off and bitter. So what’s your story? I shared mine.”

  “My uncle raised me. He was a pilot, so he was away a lot. And we moved almost constantly, which made it hard to make friends.”

  Why am I telling him this? I don’t even know him.

  Ethan cleared his throat and stared out at the field. “I understand you’re involved with someone, Emily. I admire that you don’t want to do anything to disrespect that. But I feel the strangest connection with you. I hope you’ll consider being my friend, if nothing else.”

  “I think I can do that,” I agreed, knowing it was the last thing I should do. “As long as you understand that we’re just friends.”

  “I promise I won’t cross any lines.” He held up a pinky and
waited until I hooked mine with his. I let it go quickly. So quickly, his smile widened. “We probably don’t have much time until Melissa’s ready for me. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “I’m a teacher, remember?” I replied, digging through my purse. I pulled out a handful of pens, crayons, and highlighters, along with a small spiral notepad I used to jot down lists of classroom supplies and ideas for lesson plans. Ethan grabbed a black pen and took the notepad from my hand.

  “I’m writing down my cell number,” he explained. “A lot of people would pay a lot of money for this, so I’m trusting you here. And I’m putting the ball in your court, so to speak. Call or text whenever you need a friend.”

  He closed the notebook and passed it back to me.

  “I will,” I promised, opening the book again. I scribbled my number on a black page, my heart racing. I knew I was flirting with fire. I tried to convince myself I had nothing but good intentions, that Ethan and I would just be friends and Ben would be okay with it. But the longing growing within me said otherwise.

  “I don’t like sports metaphors,” I told him, ripping the page from the book. I passed him my number with a smile. “No balls, no courts. When you need a friend, you know how to reach me.”

  Ethan gave me a satisfied grin and tucked the paper in the waistband of his football pants. I was about to ask him where he’d lived before Portland but heard Melissa’s voice from behind.

  “Are you ready for me?” she sang.

  I turned and watched her descend the stadium steps, her cameraman trailing behind.

  Ethan and I both rose and I stepped onto the staircase. Melissa moved past me, to sit beside Ethan. The cameraman continued two rows down and angled his lens up at their faces. I slid into a seat across the aisle and listened to the interview with rapt attention. The handsome quarterback intrigued me, to say the least, and I wanted to learn as much about him as possible.

  “Congratulations on your contract with the Stallions,” Melissa began. “What message would you like to give your critics regarding their claims that nepotism played a role in your coming to Portland?”

  Nepotism? What is she talking about? I should really do a better job of keeping up with the local news.