Mr. Sportsball

by K. P. Haigh

  He pauses. I don't have a guess, so I just shake my head.

  "Coaching sucks." Baron laughs as he says it. "Or at least coaching anything above grade school does. You work a ton. Everyone is on your case about the result of the game, when all you really want to focus on is growing your players as individuals and as a team. You never get enough time with your own family, and half the time, the fans hate you."

  "So, furniture, huh?"

  He smiles. "Yup. Furniture doesn't have opinions on your ranking."

  "Me and furniture both."

  Baron interlaces his hand with mine again. "That's part of why I'm drawn to you. You're not interested in the version of me that shows up on the covers of magazines or in headlines about last week's game. You don't care about Bear, the football player. When you choose me, you're choosing the real me, the part people don't care about come Sunday night's game."

  I wrinkle my nose. "Well, those people are silly. This part of you is better."

  "You think so?" The way he asks makes me think he's been Bear Richards for so long, for so many people, he isn't confident that Baron Richards is good enough for public consumption.

  "I know so." I turn in toward him, pressing myself into his chest. "I'd like you even if you lived in a shack and built furniture day in and day out."

  Although, maybe it could be a shack with a really, really solid coffee-making setup.

  Baron beams down at me. "Good, cause I like you. Photographer, adventurer, book-reading sports-hater." He leans down, brushes his lips against mine, and whispers, "I like you a lot."

  A smile blooms on my face, spreading out toward my fingers and all the way down to my toes. I feel like a flower opening up toward the sun, and I like the way the warm light feels on my skin.

  If this is adventure, I'll take it. I'll take it all.

  It only takes Baron six hours and twenty-three minutes to text me after dropping me off at my studio back in Ann Arbor.

  I had a really nice time with you last night.

  Yeah, I'm pretty sure yesterday wasn't a first date. First dates are supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable, and instead of trying to figure out how to let Baron down gently, I'm already trying to figure out how I can see him again.

  I get now why a girl leaves her sweater at a boy's house on purpose. It's not crazy; it's giving the universe a little nudge in the right direction.

  I thank my lucky stars Baron is not a typical guy who waits three whole days to say something. I would have broken down after about twenty-four hours and done it myself.

  That doesn't mean I can't act cool. I quickly type Me too and my phone whooshes it through the airwaves. I toss it onto my bed with feigned nonchalance.

  But I can't seem to focus on a single thing in my apartment. Instead, I start to bounce like a kid waiting in line for the bathroom.

  I can’t stop thinking about him, and as much as I wanted to write him off for being a football player, he broke through every last strand of my resistance this weekend.

  I want to spend time with him, and I’m pretty damn sure a flock of cheerleaders isn’t going to show up at my door and laugh in my face for believing he wants that too.

  He’s real. This is real. And I have the butterflies to prove it.

  My phone dings again and I race to grab it off of my comforter. Thank God no one can see me right now; I'm sure I look like an idiot.

  I have to fly out tomorrow for a work thing this week. Can I see you when I get back?

  My heart skips across the surface of my emotions and then drops. He wants to see me again! But, I have to wait.

  I know there's some dating rulebook somewhere that says I need to say I'm busy, but a full week already feels like an eternity. I don't want to add more unnecessary waiting on to that timetable.

  Sounds great.

  I toss my phone back on my bed and do a little moonwalk around my apartment. Okay, so my Jackson skills aren't that good, but it's a solid knockoff.

  I get to see Baron again, and I am going to spend every minute of the next week dreaming about that brown-haired, blue-eyed Greek god and how my body feels like it's taking a trip around the universe when he kisses me.

  Hey calendar, are we there yet?

  Baron texts me on Friday night, asking if he can pick me up the next afternoon for a date.

  I don't even think twice. I just respond with a yes, and my phone immediately dings back at me. He tells me to bring clothes that can get wet.

  I check the forecast. It says partly cloudy, but with our track record, I wouldn't be surprised if we started a thunderstorm all by ourselves.

  The minute I see his Prius pull up outside, I race out of my apartment and down the stairs. I should probably exercise more restraint, but it's been six whole days since I saw him last. We sent a few texts back and forth every day, but nothing is as good as seeing him in person.

  I open the passenger door and slip in, taking a long sip of the man sitting in the driver's seat. Damn, he's refreshing. Nothing about him is overdone, from his cropped dark hair to his plain t-shirt and hiking shorts, but everything about him makes my heart start to race and my brain release happy chemicals. My body wants more of him. Right now. Preferably in the upright and locked position.

  He leans over and his lips graze my cheek. "Hi, beautiful."

  "Hi," I whisper back, leaving my eyes closed for a second longer than normal.

  "You ready?"

  "Depends on where we're going." It's a coy lie, and we both know it. More and more, I find myself willing to go anywhere with him.

  He shifts the car into drive, and I can see the hint of a smile on his face. "The best part is not knowing."

  I can't help but smile back. Yeah, I guess it is.

  We don't go very far before we pull up to the parking lot of a place I would know even if my eyes were closed and I could only smell and hear it. We're at Kent Lake. I used to come here all the time growing up.

  The sun is starting to peek through the clouds and the chill in the air is starting to soften. Even though the calendar says it’s June, it always takes Michigan a second to catch up.

  We rent a canoe and within fifteen minutes, we're out on the water. Every muscle in my body relaxes. Being near water is calming; being out on the water is pure bliss.

  "Happy?" Baron asks.

  "I don't think you could have picked a more perfect spot."

  "Good." He smiles to himself, and I am thankful we have two glorious hours where we're stuck sitting across from each other. Dark sunglasses are suddenly the best invention in the entire world—I can stare at him with abandon for every single second of this canoe trip.

  "I have to admit though," I say with a hint of teasing, "it's kind of freaky how well you pick out dates."

  His eyebrows crease together. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I grew up going here." I motion toward the lake. "And that first night, you were going to take me Pinball Dave's, right?"

  He nods his head.

  "When I was younger, my parents and I used to go to the same pizza joint every Friday night. They had pinball and Pac-Man and Street Fighter. I saved all my quarters for those nights. How do you know me so well without knowing me at all?" It's uncanny.

  "Lucky guess," he replies with a soft shrug. "That, and Googling the best date ideas in Michigan. Google is kind of like my wingman. I mean, it got me to that animal shelter. I feel like I owe it a drink or something."

  What did people do before the Internet? Miss out on the best dates of their lives, apparently.

  We are both so entranced in our conversation, we don't notice the massive tree limb reaching out from the shore, right in our path.

  "Baron, watch out behind you!"

  He turns around with an agility I'm sure has been honed since day one of his football career. He catches the branch without thinking, but our boat keeps moving forward, sending his center of gravity off-kilter.

  I lift my paddle out of the water, but he still has a ho
ld on his and it tips our boat to the side. For a second, I think if I just lean in the opposite direction, I can keep us upright. Then, I remember that I'm sitting in a boat with a professional football player—I am a pebble to his boulder.

  He lets go of the paddle and the tree at the same time, but it's too late. We crash into the water, and the entire boat flips bottom-side-up.

  Just as my head pops up above the water, I see Baron swimming toward me. A second later, he wraps his arm around my waist. His feet must touch the bottom because his legs are completely still.

  I automatically wrap my legs around his waist, and I don't mind my body's natural instinct here. I feel every single wet inch of our bodies pressed against each other, and tipping our canoe over suddenly seems like the best idea of the day.

  "Are you okay?" His eyes are wide even though there's water dripping down his face from his drenched hair.

  "Yeah," I say with a laugh. "We just can't help but get soaking wet around each other."

  Baron's eyes flash with heat for a second, and I realize what I just said. My brain is stuck on a single track around this man.

  "Well, I wouldn't mind a repeat of the other night, but I think they might mind," Baron says with a nod of his head toward the shore. There's a beach not too far from our capsized location, and there are a couple families playing on the shore with their little kids.

  Fine. I guess we won't corrupt any young minds here.

  "Come on, I think there's a boat launch just over this way." I untangle myself from Baron's arms and swim until my feet touch the bottom.

  We get the boat out of the water and carry it back to the rental return on our way to Baron's car. This is the second time I’m drenched and without a change of clothes, but at least I brought a towel. I pull it out of my bag and wrap it around myself. Even though the sun's out, the air still has a hint of bite, and I shiver involuntarily.

  Baron walks over to me and pulls me into his chest, rubbing his hands up and down my back. I wish there were about three less layers between us right now, but I'm not going to say no to this physical contact. It's heating my body up from the inside out.

  "We can climb inside, turn on the heat, and have an indoor picnic?" he suggests. The tone of his voice crackles just beneath the surface. I don't think either one of us wants a console stuck in between us, but my stomach rumbles loudly before I can suggest another option.

  We get inside the car, and Baron pulls out a reusable grocery bag from the back. He starts to pull out about ten different cheeses, crackers, olives, hummus, and grapes.

  Ohmygod. It looks amazing. "My stomach really likes hanging out with you." I look over and catch his crisp blue eyes. I feel as if I get lost at sea every time I look at him.

  "It's not dinner," he reasons, "but I figure this is kind of like an appetizer. You know, in case we don't make it that far, that fast."

  I like where his mind is at, and just as I contemplate ditching the appetizer course and going straight on to dessert, my brain screeches to a stop.

  Wait. Dinner. Crap. Today’s Saturday, which means it’s dinner night with my parents, and I completely forgot to tell them I won’t be able to make it.

  I run through my options: don’t call and risk them sending out a search party, or try to discreetly text my mom.

  “So do we have dinner plans or are we winging it?” I ask, creating a conversational distraction. I unwrap the towel from around my shoulders and reach back to stuff it in my bag while feeling around for my phone. Got it.

  “I have a few ideas, but we should get dry first,” Baron says with the charm of a smile pulling at his eyes.

  My skin tingles. I know exactly what kind of ideas he has and I want to explore everything his imagination has dreamed up, but first I need to make sure my face doesn’t show up on the side of a milk carton anytime soon. I try to unlock my phone without looking, but my fingers aren’t any more coordinated than my brain right now.

  I click the home button again.

  “Sorry, I didn’t understand that,” a robotic voice echoes in the car.

  Shit buckets. I’m pretty sure I’m all dry now because my face is on fire.

  Baron chuckles. “Trying to find an escape route with your phone already?”

  My face only burns hotter. “God, no. I just…I was so excited about today, I forgot I had dinner with my parents tonight. I was trying to be sneaky about texting them, but apparently, I suck at covert operations.”

  “You don’t have to cancel on your parents.”

  “No, really. We do this every week. It’s no big deal.”

  Baron gives me the look I was expecting when I bashed football during our very first conversation. “Well, I’m not going to let you break your record. Besides, family time is sacred. I’ll drive you there, and then I can come pick you up when you’re done and we can have dessert.”

  I try to think through a way to call my mom and Jedi mind trick her into canceling dinner.

  “Trust me, I’ll make sure dessert is well worth it.” Baron’s smile is light, but his eyes are intense.

  Damn, I don’t think I’m going to win this one. Fine. “There better be some whipped cream involved.”

  He laughs to himself as he starts up the car. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”

  I like the sound of that. I like the sound of that a lot.

  We pull up the long driveway up to my family's old farmhouse. Some families pass down jewelry or china settings; my family passes down a house. My great-great grandparents on my mom's side built it, and it's stayed in the family ever since.

  Baron slows down and rolls down his window. I start to ask him what he's doing, but then I look over and see an arm waving at us from one of the massive flowerbeds that bookend each side of the driveway.

  So much for making a quiet entrance.

  My mom gets up and walks over to the car while peeling off her thick green gardening gloves. She's wearing an oversized sun hat, but even with the shade, her skin is kissed with freckles. She's in her fifties but still looks thirty-five; whenever I tell her that, she gives me a great big hug and tells me it bodes well for my future.

  She reaches a hand out to the window and gives Baron a welcoming smile.

  "Hi." She leans to the left and catches my eye. "Who's your date?"

  Thanks, Mom.

  "Umm, this is my friend, Baron." Is it okay that I just called him my friend? Football player I met in a bar doesn't fit, and it is way too early for any remotely romantic labels.

  Baron jumps in to help my fumbling. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Bell. I was just dropping Monty off."

  My mom crinkles her nose at the formal name. "Please, call me Elaine, and tell me you're staying for dinner."

  I jump in before Baron can react. "Mommmmm." I draw out the word as if I'm sixteen and she won't let me have the keys to the car.

  She raises her eyebrows at me. "What? We have plenty, and you can't let a boy drive you home and not feed the poor guy."

  Baron laughs under his breath. He isn't looking at me, but I'm sure he can see me squirming out of the corner of his eye. It feels as if little spiders are crawling all over my skin, and I don't know whether to close my eyes and wish them away or to send my body into a full-blown shake attack to try to fling them off.

  "It's okay. I need to get home anyway," he says casually.

  My mom stops looking at me and shifts back to Baron with a pure mom face. "Do you have any plans tonight?"

  He shakes his head. I want to yell, You're walking into a trap!

  "Well, you do now. Pull up to the house and park. You're staying for dinner."

  Yup. Baron, you just got mommed.

  My parents are fascinated by the fact that Baron plays professional football—they've been asking him questions nearly nonstop about the rules and tactics. I zone out and focus on the smoked brisket my dad made instead. I love it when he makes barbecue in the summer. He spends all day slow-cooking the meat, and he makes three differ
ent homemade sauces to go with it: classic, mustard, and vinegar.

  I look over and notice that Baron's barely been able to get through half of his plate. This is one of my dad's best briskets to date, so I'm pretty sure it isn't for lack of trying on Baron's part.

  "Come on, you guys. Let the man eat." Baron looks over and gives me a small grin of thanks. I give him an apologetic smile in return. Sorry dude, you thought you were just driving a girl home; you didn't know you were going to have to explain the ins and outs of American football to two sports newbies.

  I didn't even realize my parents cared about sports—it wasn't a topic of conversation growing up. I don't think I realized sports were a thing people did outside of recess until I was in third grade and somebody brought in a signed football from the Detroit team for show and tell.

  I still didn't understand it was something you could get paid to do until well into middle school. I thought people still had jobs at desks in offices and then went to the stadium on the weekend and played because they were good at it and enjoyed doing it.

  I know. I was strange. Everyone liked to point that out.

  My mom's focus falls on me. "So, how did you two meet? Did the paper send you out to do sports coverage?"

  I almost snort. Olive knows better than to ever send me out for a sports assignment. She tried that once, and all she got were blurry pictures of people running. I'm a photographer, but that doesn't mean I have any idea how to take pictures of people moving fast and doing something I don't remotely understand.

  "No. We, uh, met at a bar." It's such a normal start to a meet-cute story. Two kids meet in a bar…and that's where it stops being normal. Two kids meet in a bar. One of them plays sports. One of them hates sports. The story should have ended there, but it kept going. It's still going.

  I'm as surprised as anyone.

  Baron finishes his bite and jumps in. "I was intrigued. Your daughter was reading a book in the middle of a loud sports bar."

  I feel the need to defend my position. "They have the best wings, and I was meeting Andie there."

  Baron smiles. "I had to talk to her."