Exploring the Rules: An Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “Ness,” I say, shaking her. My patience wears thin as I catch sight of the alarm clock, which tells me it’s nearly noon. “Vanessa.” I shake her again.

  She groans incoherently.

  “Wake up,” I tell her. “We have places to go. Things to eat.”

  She grumbles something that sounds like a threat before burying her head under her pillow.

  “I’m going without you,” I warn her.

  Nessie raises a hand and blindly waves.

  I want to tell her she’s going to regret spending the entire day sleeping.—that the pictures of mine she’s going to see later are going to make her wish she’d gotten up and walked around and saw everything New Orleans has to offer—but I know doing so would make me sound like our dad, and after how much she drank last night, a dark and comfortable room is likely exactly where she wants to be today.

  I grab my purse, checking to ensure I have my portable charger, wallet, and phone before escaping out to the smaller living room upstairs.

  The room has been untouched, which is kind of a shame. It feels like either option is a loss at this point: spend time in this beautiful city I’ve never seen and have dreamed of visiting for years or spend the day in a hotel room that is fancier than anything I could have ever imagined. It’s not an easy decision.

  I run my fingers gently over the telescope as I pass the window. The sky’s a bright shade of blue with fluffy white clouds that seem so perfect, they almost look fictional.

  Downstairs, the kitchen has a tray of Danishes, muffins, and bagels that make me regret not having come down sooner, but after finding Cooper in a similar state as Vanessa, I spent my morning finalizing my plans for the day and taking a long shower in our en suite that had been designed by gods. The shower has five showerheads and expensive products, all in elegant French script, that smelled better than any hair salon I’ve ever visited.

  I take a croissant and practically moan when my first bite exposes rich dark chocolate in the center.

  I wipe my crumbs from the counter, grab one of the key cards lying beside the tray of food, and head toward the elevator that will bring me to the lobby.

  When the doors open, the perfumed air greets me along with the brightly polished floor. The atrium taunts me, calling for me to discover all that a luxury hotel offers its guests—how the other half lives, as Cooper put it. But, I opt to explore it later tonight when I don’t have the distraction of a full and untouched list on my mind.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Robinson.” Natasha, my inspiration to attempt appearing elegant and put together this morning while I got ready, greets me with a smile. My khaki green shorts with the cute belt now seem simple, and my white tank top with patterned buttons down the front scream their discounted price as she wipes a piece of imaginary lint from her fitted purple blouse with an elegant and sexy neckline that she paired with a killer black pencil skirt. “How was your evening? Did you have a nice time at Taste?”

  “It was amazing,” I tell her. “That was the best shrimp I’ve ever tasted.”

  She smiles, but it lacks friendliness and sincerity. “Wonderful. I’m so glad to hear that. Can I help you with something? Do you need a car? A reservation? Would you like to visit the spa?” I swear she looks from my hair to my bare nails.

  “Thank you, but I’m just going to head out and do some sightseeing.”

  She nods. “Perfect.” Maybe it’s a coincidence that she walks me all the way to the front door, but it almost feels like she’s escorting me, like she doesn’t trust me to be in here unattended.

  I smile at her before moving through the revolving doors at the front, determined not to let a stranger spoil my day. After all, this is pretty high on describing a perfect day for me: sun, summer, a new city, and a plan.

  The air is thick with humidity and feels warmer after the coolness of the hotel, but I welcome it, knowing I’m about to endure ten months in the Pacific Northwest where I’ll be homesick for the humidity and warm summer days.

  I pull up the map app on my phone that’s already programmed with my destinations, and follow narrow streets lined with a canopy of oak trees with thickly wavering branches covered in broad, green leaves that shield me from the sun. When I cross the street, large plots are marked with mansions that are set back from the road. Pristine yards with crepe myrtles and their two-toned trunks and millions of blooms, brightly colored bougainvillea, angel trumpets, and hibiscuses are artfully planted among massive magnolia trees with giant waxy leaves that are almost as beautiful as the homes tucked behind them.

  It feels like I’m on a movie set, each block an image of perfection and money that turns into a new wave of history. I come to a stop in front of giant cement structures that are equally eerie and beautiful and surrounded by a black wrought iron fence that I follow to where the doors are propped open. The fence winds its way up into an arch that reads: “Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.”

  I’ve never seen an above-ground cemetery, and like everything else in this city, it screams of intrigue and history, forcing me to add another item to my to-do-later list so I can remain focused on my current sightseeing list.

  I walk by row houses that lead me into a more industrial district, where the heat isn’t as charming, and when a driver slows down to yell something from their window, I wish I’d made Nessie or Cooper come with me.

  It takes me a full hour to reach my first destination: Jackson Square. I’m so glad I read the suggestion to approach from Decatur Street to see the park with St. Louis Cathedral in the background and the statue of President Andrew Jackson at the forefront. It’s picturesque; something from a postcard that has me standing in place for several long minutes, taking in the view before I snap a picture and send it along with a quick text to Mom and Dad.

  I spend the afternoon checking each item off my list until my phone rings, and Nessie’s face appears on the screen, her tongue out.

  “Hey.”

  “How’s sightseeing?” she asks.

  “I’m moving here,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Me too. I’m pretty sure that bed is a cloud.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re still in it.”

  She sighs happily. “Actually, Cooper and I went and tried bubble tea and walked around the Garden District.”

  “Bubble tea?”

  “Add it to your list. You’ll love it. Also, the Garden District is fab. It’s so beautiful.”

  “The French District is pretty amazing as well. You won’t believe some of these pictures I’ve taken. Did you know the city was under French rule, then Spanish, and then French again before America purchased it?”

  “Did you know the hotel makes a jambalaya with shrimp and has an outdoor pool with a full bar where they come to your beach chair and take your order?”

  “So, you’re telling me you stood me up to hang out with your crush and then sunbathed like a celebrity?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m eating the beignets I bought you as we speak.”

  She laughs. “When are you on your way back? Tyler and Cooper made plans for tonight.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “A masquerade club. I looked it up, and it says it’s super hard to get into, and we have VIP passes.”

  “We aren’t going to do the bar and club scene every night, are we?”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that question. Where are you? How far away are you?”

  “I’m back at Jackson Square. I basically made a giant circle today and came back to get more beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde.”

  She repeats my location to Cooper.

  “Tyler’s going to send a car to get you.”

  “I can take an Uber or a Lyft or something,” I protest.

  “Too late. He’s already calling someone.”

  “How will I know which car it is?”

  She repeats my question.

  “He said it’s the same car that dropped us off l
ast night.”

  “Did you tell him I can’t remember what car dropped us off last night?”

  “Nice. Black sedan.”

  “I feel like it’s necessary to tell you I see six nice, black sedans right this very second.”

  “Don’t get into the wrong one. You may not get to sleep on our cloud bed again.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “I was kidding. Stay on the phone with me.”

  I do, but it turns out to be unnecessary because the same driver from the night before finds me sitting on my park bench, fingers still sticky with powdered sugar, and calls me by name.

  “I’ll see you in fifteen,” I tell Nessie and dust off my hands. I grab the paper bag filled with beignets and my purse, and follow him to the car.

  “Thank you,” I tell him as he opens the door for me.

  He nods. “Ms. Robinson.”

  “You can call me Chloe.”

  “You can call me Miles.” He smiles before closing my door.

  “How was your afternoon?” he asks, and unlike this morning when Natasha asked me about last night, Miles makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, like he’s genuinely interested to hear my answer.

  “It was amazing. This city is filled with so much history and beauty and food. I think I could spend two weeks here and still not see everything.”

  He chuckles, navigating us carefully through traffic. “I’m glad you were able to come visit. Maybe on your next stay at the Banks Hotel you can stay longer.”

  “Oh, I…” I stumble over my thoughts, trying not to sound rude or like the freeloader I kind of am. “My best friend is also best friends with Tyler. I don’t really know him. This is kind of a weird set of events that has us staying here, but we’re very grateful for the experience,” I tack on. “The hotel is amazing.” We drive past the same path of oak trees, the sky darkening to a deep shade of violet behind them.

  “Thank you so much for coming to get me. I really appreciate it,” I tell him.

  “It was my pleasure. You’re here for one more full day?”

  I nod.

  “If you want to see something kind of fun, there are quite a few haunted tours. I recommend heading back into the French District, but there’s one on the edge of town that starts at a mansion and will bring you to the cemetery you were admiring. I’ve heard it’s a lot of fun.” He pulls up to the hotel where someone immediately comes to open my door. The trek that took me over an hour earlier this afternoon takes us only fifteen minutes, all of it in air-conditioning.

  “Thanks again, Miles.”

  He grins. “Have a good night, Ms. Robinson.”

  The hotel lobby is busy tonight, which makes a pang of regret slip to the front of my thoughts. I wish I’d taken the extra hour to explore the hotel when it was still quiet and mostly empty this afternoon.

  When the doors to the suite open, that regret lessens with the reminder we still have two nights and a full day here.

  “Chloe!” Nessie calls my name from where she’s perched on the couch. “Are you hungry? Tyler made reservations for the steakhouse downstairs.”

  I clutch the white bag of beignets that are bleeding grease and promising the same delicious sweetness I experienced earlier. Inside the living room, Chloe is in a bright yellow sundress, but her hair is done for a night of going out. Cooper is on the couch, scrolling through his phone, dressed in a Brighton tee and shorts. “Not really. I feel like I ate my way through the city like The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “You have to make room for something. Tyler says he wants our feedback on the environment and any food we eat.”

  “He’s not coming?” My voice goes too high, my relief audible.

  Cooper gives me the side-eye. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to him.”

  “It might,” I answer instead of trying to argue the fact that I have been trying to be nice.

  He tries to hide his smile and look annoyed, but I see through him.

  “I am nice to him,” I say.

  “You’re civil,” Coop argues.

  “Civil is nice.”

  Again with the side-eye.

  “He means you act a little bitchy when you’re around him. Sterile, if you will,” Nessie says.

  “Civil and bitchy are on opposite ends of the field,” I point out.

  She scrunches her nose. “Not always with you.”

  I look at Cooper for him to disagree, but instead, he shrugs.

  “How do I come across as bitchy?” I ask.

  “It’s not that you’re bitchy, it’s just you aren’t friendly—warm,” Nessie says. “You like your rules and your schedules, and you sometimes get a little … uptight. Rigid.”

  “I went out last night. Drank. Danced. Collected beads.”

  “For a while…” Nessie says.

  The weight of Ricky’s words replay in the forefront of my thoughts: uptight, cautious, serious. Those were some of his favorites to describe me, even from the beginning when he said them with a smile like he thought they were cute and endearing rather than points of contention like near the end of our brief span of dating.

  I drop my head back, but before I can arrange my thoughts, the elevator doors open, and Tyler steps into the hotel room, dressed in a white dress shirt and a blazer that highlights the broadness of his shoulders. His dress slacks fit so well I have no doubt they were tailor-made, and his shoes are as stylish as they are expensive. The only thing that’s not perfect is his slightly disheveled hair that looks like he rode up on the elevator doing a scene from a hot romance novel—effectively making the imperfect feature only more perfect. His angular jaw is tight, his blue eyes emotionless. In his hand is a large brown bag with handles.

  “Everything okay in the lobby?” Coop asks him.

  Tyler steps forward but pauses before he gets too close.

  Why am I considered uptight and bitchy, but no one mentions how he comes across as a complete asshole most of the time?

  “It was nothing. A misunderstanding with management.” He extends his arm, revealing a shiny, silver watch. “Our reservation’s in an hour. We can go from the restaurant to the club.”

  Questions pop into my thoughts about the masquerade club—where it is and what we should wear—but all of them seem to follow the narrative of the old me. The uptight me.

  Tyler’s gaze flashes to the bag in my hand. “You made it to Café Du Monde.”

  I glance down at the crinkled bag and nod. “Yeah. Thanks for sending a car.”

  He nods dismissively. “You should have taken one when you left. Tomorrow, just let them know where you want to go. Someone will take you.”

  Would it be rude to say no?

  “It was a nice walk,” I say instead.

  He nods, and that short spark of interest that I saw when he noticed my bag dies as he excuses himself and heads toward the stairs.

  “Double standard much?” I grumble to Nessie as she stands so we can get ready as well.

  7

  Tyler

  Cooper’s story about a sports headline becomes jumbled as the girls step into the living room. At first sight, they’re harder to tell apart tonight. Chloe, who usually stands an inch taller, is the same height as Vanessa, but her hair is down. Vanessa’s is still tied back as it was before they went to get dressed, and she’s wearing a black mini skirt and a black top that nearly causes me to owe an apology to Cooper for checking out her cleavage. Beside her, Chloe’s wearing a dress that looks like sin. It’s made of black lace and keeps tearing my attention to different areas of her body to see if I’m seeing an illusion or skin. Her red lips flash as a warning sign to stop staring.

  Cooper lets out a low whistle. “Look at you two clean up.”

  Vanessa smiles. Chloe … well, she tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. I want to laugh, assuming this is because of Cooper’s reaction or an annoyance due to something that happened before they came downstairs, but t
hen Chloe pulls in a breath as her eyes track down the front of herself. When she looks back at us, I spot the vulnerability that has her gaze wavering between Cooper and me. She’s uncomfortable. Nervous.

  I can’t imagine why or how because she looks like perfection wrapped in lust and tied up with every sexual fantasy.

  “We need a picture,” Vanessa says, waving us over. We move in closer to fit on Vanessa’s screen, Chloe doing her best to inch away from me.

  Vanessa takes a series of photos before we retreat for the elevator, where the sweet and citrusy scent that follows Chloe hits me like a tidal wave.

  I think back to freshman year and Cooper telling me his best friend was a girl. He was dating Claire Mayfair at the time, so I’d chalked up his immunity to Chloe as respect for Claire, not realizing for months that it was actually because he’d fallen for the other sister.

  Dinner is a repeat of last night—the manager and head chef greeting us and telling us about the menu, massive amounts of food, and fellow patrons staring—only tonight, rather than questioning glances about why we’re receiving preferential treatment, the sisters are drawing all the attention.

  The manager brings a bottle of a dry merlot that is supposed to enhance the flavors of the aged steaks and fills our glasses.

  “Could we also get four Vieux Carré?”

  “How do you know all these drinks?” Vanessa asks when the manager leaves.

  I grin. “In England, alcohol isn’t so taboo.”

  “Why’d you choose to come to college in America?” she asks, lifting her wine glass.

  “Because I’m American.”

  This seems to draw Chloe’s attention from looking around the restaurant and over the menu to me. “You are?”

  I nod. “I have dual citizenship, but I’ve spent half my life in America.”

  “You guys spent time over here because of the hotels?” Chloe asks.

  I shake my head, smiling because I know they’re about to balk with surprise. “My mum’s American. She’s from Ohio.”