Keeping Score

by Alyssa Kale

  I smile knowingly, because this friend date was always going to be more for me, but I’m trying to appease her. “It’s a friend date, remember?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she replies. The way she’s nibbling on her bottom lip, I know she’s trying to keep herself from smiling. She fails, because I see it when she turns her face away from me.

  Eddie comes back out and talks us through the ingredients and recipe. Oddly enough, his twang lessens the more excited he gets about cooking. Regardless of how different the paths we took are, Eddie has been a good friend, and I’m happy he’s found a career that fulfills his artistic abilities.

  The further we get into the process, I realize I’m just along for the ride. Sophie peppers my friend with question after question, and he eats it up. They’re in their own world, and I realize I definitely made the right choice for tonight’s date. Friend date. As I watch Sophie laugh and smile at Eddie, something occurs to me. I want to be the one to put a smile on her face.

  When our meal is complete, the aromas of fresh rosemary fill the space, and my stomach growls in appreciation. Settling onto stools, we take our places at the large farm-style table that extends along the wall on the far side of the room. I guess it’s too much to ask for Eddie to leave us alone, but I don’t think Sophie would let him if he tried. I kind of hate my friend right now. I can’t blame the guy; she’s pretty irresistible, and the way she keeps emphasizing our friend date, he’s kind of stuck with us.

  The meal is delicious, and I can’t believe we cooked it. Maybe if I took Eddie up on his offer to come to my house and teach me to cook, I’d be eating like this all the time. Of course, cooking for yourself isn’t nearly as exciting. Our conversation flows, and I vow to kill my friend when he starts telling Sophie stories about our childhood.

  After finishing our dinner, Sophie tries to help clean up, but Eddie’s staff appears like little clean-up fairies and handle the job. Unfortunately, my planning didn’t go further than this moment. I hoped we would have a good time, but on the off chance we didn’t, I didn’t want her to feel obligated to hang out longer.

  I help her into my truck before climbing in on my side.

  “So, anything else you want to do?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, but I’m having a blast, so I don’t want to go home yet,” she admits shyly. Thank goodness.

  “Me neither.” We could go back to my place, but is that too date-ish? Too early? I decide to take my chances. “We could go back to my place and watch a movie or something—” She starts to interrupt, but I continue. “—that way I’m not recognized, and we don’t end up on the cover of some sleazy tabloid tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think about it that way, but you’re right. The last thing I want is to end up on one of those things.” Biting that lip again, she looks out her window and seems to be weighing her options. “Movie at your place it is then.”

  I sigh in relief and pull out of the parking lot. The drive to my place is quiet except for the music humming through the speakers. I glance a few times in Sophie’s direction as we pull through the gates of the private community. My mom’s words filter through my mind as they often do when I maneuver through the streets. “You need to plan for your future. Baseball won’t last forever.”

  She had no way of knowing just how close my career came to ending last year. Pulling into my garage, I kill the engine and round the hood to help Sophie out of the truck, but she’s already standing outside, a tentative smile on her face.

  My instinct is to take her hand and lead her into the house. I know that is more “friendly” than we’re supposed to be, so instead, I motion with my chin. “Come on inside. Let’s get our movie on.”

  Moving through the kitchen, I hear a few “Holy shit” and “Damn, that’s nice” comments, and then a loud whistle when we cross to the living room. Yeah, the 70-inch television has the same effect on me. In reality, it’s more than I need, but it’s great for watching all the sports on.

  “Make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink? Water? Soda?” I would offer her wine, but I don’t keep any alcohol around my house during the season.

  “Water would be nice, thanks.”

  “One water coming up. The remote is there.” Sophie follows my finger and nods. “If you don’t find anything streaming, we can buy something.”

  Leaving her to it, I head to the kitchen and grab a bag of popcorn, tossing it in the microwave. While the crescendo of the corn popping fills the room, I fill two glasses with ice and water just as the pops begin to slow. Dumping the buttery goodness into a bowl, I take our snack and waters back into the living room.

  “Did you decide on a movie?” I ask as I place the popcorn and glasses on the table.

  Sophie has kicked off her shoes and is settled into the corner of the couch with a huge smile on her face. “Yeah, you know what movie I haven’t seen in a long time?” Before I can utter a response, she says, “A League of Their Own.”

  “Oh, good choice. I actually own that one,” I say as I pull it up on the streaming service.

  “I figured you might. It’s a good baseball movie.”

  I nod and start the movie.

  It’s clear Sophie has seen this movie more than once. Each of us are spouting off dialogue along with the characters, which has us both laughing. We’ve polished off the popcorn, and somehow, as the movie has gone on, we’ve shifted closer to one another. When we aren’t bantering with Tom Hanks and the ladies of the Rockford Peaches, the silence isn’t exactly comfortable. The sexual tension in the room is so thick I could probably cut it with a knife. Every time I glance over at her, I catch her eyeing me. She’s got a come-hither look I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing. And it’s sexy as fuck.

  I’m dying to touch her, but I have to keep reminding myself that this is a friend date. Friends don’t touch their friends the way I want to touch Sophie.

  16

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  Tonight has been a lot of fun. Not that I didn’t expect to enjoy my time with Braxton, but still, the easiness we’ve shared has been a bit of a surprise. I wasn’t sure if our connection was a one time between the sheets good time. I’m relieved it wasn’t.

  My suggestion to watch A League of Their Own was more of a thinking out loud kind of thing. I didn’t think Braxton would have the movie ready to play in seconds. Although I personally believe it’s one of the greatest baseball movies of all time, it is about female players, and well, I assumed a guy like Braxton would be more into shoot ’em up action flicks. Unfortunately, I’ve not given the ladies on the screen my attention. I haven’t been able to stop sneaking glances toward my date’s handsome face and that body.

  Gah, his body. Is. To. Die. For.

  I’ve stood my ground with the friend angle, even though he’s already done wicked things to me. I shouldn’t be ready for more. I shouldn’t be wishing I were brave enough to jump on top of him and ravish his mouth. It’s too soon. I’m too raw. Besides, we’ve gone from him looking at and speaking to me with disdain, to a cooking lesson and movie in a matter of weeks. Being friends is safer. Boring, but safer.

  Besides, he’s absolutely had plenty of girls throw themselves at him. I’m not like those other women. I’m not a jersey chaser. What Braxton thinks of me matters. I would rather not analyze that, but it’s true. I want him to think about me in a positive light. To see me for me. Only, I can’t date—or fall in love. There is no doubt in my mind that Braxton Lee is the type of man to ruin you for all others if given the opportunity.

  The realization that I’m still staring at him hits me square in the face. Well, his smirk does anyway. Oops.

  “Were you checking me out?”

  “Nope,” I say quickly and turn my head back toward the TV. The credits are now rolling. How long has the movie been over? Braxton chuckles and rises from the couch, stretching his hands over his head.

  So damn hot.

  A yawn escapes, and I
realize just how tired I am, fatigue settling into every muscle in my body.

  “I should probably get you home,” he says. He seems saddened by the idea of having to end our night. I’m not sure why. It isn’t like he’s going to get lucky again. It’s probably all just in my head.

  “Yeah, I have to be at the office early tomorrow. There’s an all hands on deck meeting bright and early,” I reply, still distracted by his hotness. And another yawn.

  While I’m using the restroom, Braxton cleans up our dishes and is waiting for me in the kitchen. If I weren’t so tired, I’d give more thought to the way he smiles at me when I enter the room.

  “All set?”

  Nodding, I follow him out to the truck. The drive back to my place isn’t long, but it still feels like an eternity for how exhausted I am. When we arrive at the complex, Braxton parks in the spot closest to my apartment. Since I’m moving slowly, he manages to make it to my door before I can open it, and he seems thrilled with the concept.

  “Finally. I’ve been trying to open your door all night. My mama will be happy to know you allowed me to finally be a gentleman.”

  Rolling my eyes, I hop down from the seat and smack his shoulder. Laughing, he walks me to my door, and suddenly this friend date sure feels like a date date. Pulling my keys from my purse, I unlock the door and step inside before turning to face him. I don’t want to complicate things even further by inviting him in.

  “I had fun tonight.”

  “Yeah, that was the best friend date I’ve ever had.” He winks. The jerk has the nerve to wink. He and I both know this ended up being an actual date. At least he isn’t making a big deal out of that fact.

  “Me too.” I laugh, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to lean in and kiss me, but again, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. Instead, I say, “Well, I’d best get to bed. And you need to rest for you game against Los Angeles tomorrow.”

  Braxton’s eyes widen, and a huge smile, the kind that women across the world would sell their favorite pair of shoes to receive, spreads across his face. “You know who I’m playing tomorrow?”

  “Don’t go getting a bigger ego, friend. I’ve always been a baseball fan.” This time, it’s me who winks. “But up until recently, I kinda lost the desire to keep up with it. I’ll be watching the afternoon one tomorrow on my computer at work. Hopefully, it doesn’t get me fired,” I joke.

  “I’ll make it worth it,” he winks. “But seriously, don’t get fired.”

  A giggle that quickly turns into a yawn bubbles out of me. “Nah, Cora doesn’t really care as long as my work gets done.”

  “Oh good. I’d hate to be the reason you lose your job.”

  “Who says you’re the reason I’m watching?” I deadpan. He’s not the only reason I’m watching, but the main one.

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Speaking of, I should let you get inside. You look exhausted.”

  Feigning horror at his assessment, I crack up when he begins to apologize profusely. “Relax, I’m kidding. You’re right. I’m exhausted.”

  Without asking, Braxton gently grips my hand with the tips of his fingers. It’s a light touch but sends a buzz through my body. As he leans down, I hold my breath, waiting for the moment he solidifies this date with a kiss. When his lips graze my cheek, I’m not sure if what I feel is relief or disappointment.

  “Night, Soph.”

  Leaving me standing in the doorway, he whistles as he struts back to his truck. It’s an actual strut, and I’m not sad, because it gives me a chance to check out his ass.

  Yep. More disappointment than relief.

  With a sigh, I close the door and head straight for my bathroom.

  Quickly, I go about my nighttime routine and check the alarm on my phone. It’s then I see a text from an hour ago.

  Kendall: So how is Mr. Hottie Baseball Player? Still good in bed?

  Lordy. She cracks me up.

  Me: Wouldn’t know. It wasn’t a date, remember?

  Kendall: Right, the “friend” date.

  Me: Lol. It was fun. He took me to a private cooking class then we went to watch a movie at his place

  Kendall: Oooh. Brown-chicken-brown-cow

  Me: hahahahahaha you’re so ridiculous. Nothing happened. We just watched a movie at his place so we weren’t spotted out in public.

  Kendall: Gotcha, that makes sense. Did you ask him about the Amber chick?

  Me: No. It’s not really my business. I just hope and pray it was a publicity stunt on her part and he didn’t actually force her to do something she didn’t want to.

  Kendall: Same. Just be careful. Okay?

  Me: Always. Brax and I are just friends.

  Kendall: Riiight. Just “friends.” If that’s the case, can I have a go at him too? Maybe he’ll also give me the best orgasms of my life.

  Me: lol whatever floats your boat.

  I typed that I’m laughing, but I’m really shaking my head. Uh, no, she cannot have a go at Braxton. Friend-zoned for me or not.

  Kendall: When is your appointment?

  Me: Tuesday

  Kendall: Ugh, why so far away?

  Me: I need my yearly done too, so they couldn’t get me in for everything until next week. It’s giving me anxiety just thinking about the possibility of contracting some disease from that stupid asshole.

  Kendall: Me too girl, me too.

  Tuesday finally comes, and I never thought I would be so ready for the dreaded pap smear. Not that I’m happy for that part of the exam, but I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks, and I need confirmation I’m okay.

  As I sit here on the paper sheet, wearing the itchy hospital gown with a scrap of fabric over my lap, I read the posters on the wall. I’m not sure why I do this; they never change. Each year, it’s the same thing. Nursing moms do this; women in menopause do that. Thankfully, there’s no “if your live-in boyfriend is banging your intern, do this” poster. Looking at the chair where my clothes are set, I spy my underwear on top of my pants and jump from the table. Quickly, I hide the lacy fabric under my other clothes, because heaven forbid the doctor see those when she’s in between my legs. Rushing back to the table, I’ve barely settled on the crinkly paper when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Hey, Sophie. How are you?” Dr. Bradley has been my doctor for years, and if she ever retires, I may still call her for my annual appointments and make her do house calls.

  “I’m good, Dr. B. You?”

  “Great, thanks for asking. I see you’ve had a little change in your relationship status. Anything abnormal with your cycle?” she asks while sitting down with her tiny computer.

  The nurse enters and begins pulling the supplies and instruments for my exam, and I furrow my brow, ignoring Dr. Bradley’s question when she pulls out a pregnancy test strip and submerges it in the cup of urine with my name on it.

  “It’s just a precaution. We want to make sure our bases are covered, just in case you did contract something.”

  Relaxing a bit, I turn my attention back to her. “No, I mean it’s the usual stuff when I’m stressed. A lot of life changes lately. I probably have an ulcer. Can you check for that too?” I joke, but seriously. The nausea is kicking my ass.

  Shaking her head, Dr. Bradley runs through the usual round of questions before having me get into position. Whoever thought of this table and setup was a cruel man. I make idle chit-chat while she goes about her job. Then, like every appointment, she slides back and says, “Everything looks good.”

  So awkward. I scoot off the table, move behind the screen to change back into my clothes, and hear the water at the sink turn on and off while she washes her hands and tells me my results will be back in a few weeks.

  “Thanks so much, Doc—” I don’t finish my sentence when I step around from the screen.

  The look on her face has my stomach dropping to my knees. Oh no. Everything didn’t look okay. That bastard gave me something
.

  My heart is racing. Shit. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Braxton used a condom. I remember him pulling one out, but I was in such a haze I can’t remember if he put one on. Fuck. How will I explain this to him?

  “Sophie, have a seat,” she instructs. “Have you been taking your birth control regularly?”

  “Yeah, I’ve never missed a day,” I say confidently. I’m vigilant about my pill every morning.

  “Well, as we all know, birth control isn’t 100-percent effective, even when taken regularly, without a backup contraception.” Oh, God, please no, no, no. She continues calmly, “It seems… you’re pregnant.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Could it be a false positive? Those exist, right?”

  “Yes, but they’re rare. You’re more likely to get a false negative,” she says. “I’d like to get you in for an ultrasound, so we can determine for sure if you are and how far along.”

  I just nod, stunned, but then I remember. I’ve drank wine quite a few times in the past few weeks, so I ask, “Doctor?” She looks up at me, waiting for me to continue. “I’ve had alcohol, more than usual, in the last few weeks....”

  Before I can continue, she reassures me with a pat to my knee. “It’s okay. Many women drink before they know they’re pregnant. You don’t have a problem with alcohol, so as long as you stop now, everything should be fine.”

  I nod and wait in the room alone while she checks to see if they can get me in for a sonogram today or not.

  As luck would have it, the sonogram room was empty, and I was my doctor’s last appointment before lunch, so she’s going to be able to run the sonogram and give me some information before I even leave today.

  Luck? This cannot be happening.

  In a daze, I undress from the waist down again and settle back on the table. Since my bladder isn’t full, Dr. Bradley will get up close and personal the second time this morning. With my eyes closed, I wait and hope she’s mistaken. When I woke up this morning, I thought the worst-case scenario would be a prescription for an antibiotic.