Rocket Science

by Emily Mayer

  I got out of the car and walked around to Sebastian, who was pulling a large duffle bag out of the trunk.

  “Are we going to play soccer?” I asked, warily eyeing the bag he threw over his shoulder.

  “No,” he responded, shutting the trunk and turning to shoot me one of those ridiculously disarming grins. “We’re going to play football.”

  “God, you’re such a snob.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t keep a small smile from sneaking out.

  “And you’re such an American. Let’s go, I reserved Field 6 for us.”

  He started marching confidently in the direction of the fields while I lingered, half-stalling and half-admiring his backside in his well-fitted shirt and shorts. I figured I deserved one small moment of joy before I was murdered, and more than likely humiliated, in front of a professional athlete and a handful of teenagers. With one more sigh, I scurried after Sebastian.

  He dropped the bag from his shoulder onto the ground and bent to unzip it, producing a soccer ball—just as I’d feared.

  “Hey, did I ever tell you that I never played sports?” I asked, eyes laser-focused on the ball. He was holding it as if he had been born with a ball in that very hand.

  “Once or twice, yeah. Calm down. I wasn’t expecting Sam Kerr to make an appearance,” he said, in what I could only assume was an attempt to reassure me.

  “I don’t even know who he is,” I whined.

  “She,” he responded, tossing me the ball. I barely managed to catch it before it connected with my stomach. I let out a very attractive ‘oof’ anyway. “Is arguably the best female footballer in the world.”

  “Well, good for her.” And then I added under my breath, “I have two degrees from MIT.”

  “Who’s the snob now?” Sebastian fired back good-naturedly. “I thought you might like to learn some skills, now that you’re an official footy fan. We’ve only got the field for an hour so quit wasting time.”

  My first instinct was to exclaim “only an hour!” An hour of playing soccer might actually kill me. It might as well have been forty-eight hours in the desert naked with no water or sunscreen. But I told myself that I needed to stop being such a whiny brat and make an honest effort to at least try to enjoy this evening. Sebastian had obviously put some thought into this whole thing, and not many people got to learn soccer skills from a professional player. I adjusted my glasses, smoothed the flyaway hair off my face, and plastered on a smile.

  “Okay, show me what you got, hot shot!” I sang, my smile widening at my rhyme.

  “Let’s start with the basics. Have you ever kicked a football before?” He took the ball from my hands and placed it on the ground in front of me.

  “Nope. This is officially the closest I have ever come to a soccer ball.” I tried to sound more excited about that fact than I felt.

  “You didn’t ever play football in PE class?” He sounded genuinely shocked and possibly outraged.

  This would have been the perfect opportunity to tell him that I’d only attended public school for two years and had been excused from the physical education requirement due to having recently had open-heart surgery. Instead, I replied with a simple “No,” lying by omission. I wasn’t trying to hide my childhood heart defect or the impact it had on my life. It was just that the past and I had a complicated relationship.

  On the one hand, I was pretty proud of my comeback. I hadn’t just survived; I had built a really great life for myself despite being dealt a crummy card. On the other hand, the whole thing was like a gigantic raw wound that never seemed to be fully healed. I’d spent more than half my life one way, and in some ways I was still figuring out how to reconcile old Lennon with new Lennon. Talking about it always left me feeling exposed. It didn’t help that people never seemed to be entirely sure how to react. They either started treating me like I was a fragile piece of china or like a survivor who needed to be championed. Complicating matters with Sebastian was the fact that I still believed his desire to be my friend was based on some combination of guilt and pity.

  “All right then, give it a go,” he said, placing his hands on his hips.

  I adjusted my glasses, sizing up my opponent. Kicking a ball—how hard could it be? It was a simple physics equation: Force is equal to mass multiplied by acceleration. And I was great at physics! I closed my eyes. My foot is one with the ball.

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “You are aware that you have to move to kick the ball?”

  I opened one eye. “I’m envisioning success, and then I will project my vision into reality.”

  His chest vibrated with suppressed laughter. “Right then, carry on.”

  For reasons I will never fully understand but will always blame Sir Isaac Newton for, I decided I needed to get a running start. I took a few long strides backward and then charged. I squinted my eyes, focused on my goal, and drew my leg back. I swung it forward with all the force my puny muscles could muster up, but instead of kicking the ball, my toe connected with the ground just in front of it. The next few seconds were just a blur of blue and green and my own limbs flailing as I flew forward toward the ground. I wheezed as my abdomen made contact with the ball, forcing the air out of my body in a whoosh. I was vaguely aware of Sebastian shouting something and then the sound of running feet.

  “Lennon, holy shit, are you okay?” His concerned voice came from somewhere above me. All I could see from my position folded over the soccer ball was grass and a hint of blue sky being reflected in the lenses of my glasses.

  “That depends. Am I dead?” I asked, rolling onto my back to take in his frowning face staring down at me. He was partially blurred thanks to my crooked glasses.

  “No.” Sebastian reached down to fix my glasses, bringing his worried face into focus.

  “Then no.” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “I am going to close my eyes, and when I open them, I would really appreciate it if you could pretend to be Saint Peter welcoming me to my eternal home.”

  “I didn’t peg you as religious,” he commented, sounding curious, not judgmental.

  “Seriously, how is that your follow-up? I’m not, but this seemed like a good time to find Jesus,” I pointed out, opening my eyes to take in his now smiling face.

  Starring into his eyes seemed to have the same effect on me as landing on the soccer ball. It stole the breath right out of me. I needed to break eye contact for my sanity. I turned my head slightly, the new angle bringing an impressive polyester-covered bulge directly into my line of sight. I swallowed, darting my gaze back to his face. I could feel heat start to creep up my neck and into my face.

  Sebastian stood slightly and offered me his hand. “Up you go.”

  I slid my hand into his and let him pull me up. My heart gave a little tug at the contact and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that it would be nice to hold his hand for longer than it took to get me upright. Friend, amigo, ami, amico, I silently reminded my imagination in every language I could think of, because it didn’t seem to be getting the message in English.

  Sebastian patiently demonstrated the right way to kick a soccer ball, which did not actually involve running or toes. I finally got good enough to kick the ball back and forth with him, and I celebrated each kick that actually reached him like it was the game-winning goal in the World Cup.

  After kicking the ball around until I was pretty confident, Sebastian suggested we play a game of one-on-one. I laughed like a hyena until I realized he was totally serious. When I told him I thought this was a bad idea—I might accidentally trip him or something, and I didn’t want to be responsible for injuring the star of the Novas—he just laughed and shook his head. The game consisted mostly of me running after Sebastian and taking swipes at his legs, but I laughed the whole time while he alternated between shouting insults and encouragement. I finally called it quits, flopping down on the ground somewhere around Sebastian’s twenty-third goal.

  “I give up, you win!” I called from my spot on the ground. I watched as
he dribbled the ball down the field, stopping it just before it collided with my head. I winced, earning a laugh from him.

  “Do you mind if I run over and say hi to the kids?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of a small crowd that had gathered to watch our game. Judging by all the pointing and frantic hand movements, someone had recognized Sebastian.

  “Nope, I’m just going to lie here until I can feel my legs again. Go greet your adoring fans.” I waved my hand in the general direction of the crowd.

  He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll be right back. There’s water in my bag if you can drag yourself over there.”

  I picked up the ball and threw it at his back as he jogged toward the group. Missed by a mile.

  I sat up and watched him interact with the group, which was mostly kids. An adult produced a Sharpie and he started signing anything they could find. He posed for pictures and shook hands with the few adults in the group. It was strange to watch him slip into superstar mode. Sometimes I forgot that the man who had crouched on the floor to talk to my cat was the same man featured on the cover of sports magazines. It was another reminder that my heart needed to get on the same page as my head.

  With one last wave, he jogged away from the group back to me. Once again, he stuck out his hand to help me up, and once again, I noticed how much I liked the way my hand felt in his.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, shooting me an apologetic grin and bending down to pick up the ball.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s really great that you take time to meet fans.” I gave him a reassuring pat on the arm, mostly as an excuse to touch him again. “I bet you made their day.”

  “It’s a bit easier to manage over here. Football’s not as popular, so I don’t get recognized as often.” He shrugged, steering us in the direction of his bag. Dropping the ball next to it, he bent down and retrieved two water bottles, passing me one.

  I took a gulp of water, watching Sebastian over the top of my bottle. His throat worked as he drank, the movement distracting me and apparently making me forget how to swallow. I choked, gasping for air in between violent coughs. I fully admit that there was a moment in which I hoped I had inhaled enough water to actually drown. Sebastian watched me with concerned eyes, muscles coiled like he was ready to spring into action at any moment.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, once my coughing died down enough that I could hear his voice. My cheeks were a deep shade of red, from the exertion of coughing as well as a large dose of embarrassment. Stupid laryngeal pharynx, dropping the ball.

  “Yep.” My voice came out sounding like a frog being strangled, and I cleared my throat. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but that was fun. I had a good time.”

  Sebastian smiled so widely that his blue-green eyes were almost eclipsed by those familiar lines at the corners. I sighed, a little out of relief and a little from feeling the full effect of that smile.

  “I’m glad. I was a bit nervous there after your first go at kicking the ball.”

  I groaned, dropping my head back to look at the sky. “Can we just agree to never speak of that again? Even better, let’s just forget it ever happened.”

  He laughed, shaking his head back and forth. “Sorry, love, not going to happen.”

  I sighed, watching him pack up his bag. “Where’s the Tardis when you need it?”

  “Tardis?” Sebastian asked, glancing up at me.

  I pretty much shrieked, “Are you kidding me right now? How can you be British and not know about Dr. Who?”

  “That’s a show, right?” he responded, sounding completely serious, much to my horror.

  “This is a tragedy. Since you introduced me to soccer, I will return the favor by introducing you to one of the best shows…” My voice trailed off as my eyes landed on the small bag in Sebastian’s hand. “Sebastian, why are you holding a bag of… of… are those gummy…”

  Heat rushed to my face and I couldn’t seem to force the word from my mouth. Mercifully, Sebastian finished my sentence for me.

  “Yep, someone sent me a bag of gummy dicks.” He opened the little card attached at the top of the bag and proceeded to read it dramatically. “‘Eat a bag of dicks, you dick. Signed, the Big Bad Wolf.’ I’ve gotten a lot of weird hate mail, but this is my first bag of dicks. The guys at the security desk handed it to me on my way out. They thought it was a riot.”

  I laughed a little maniacally as my brain raced. The Big Bad Wolf? It couldn’t be. Harrison would never have sent Sebastian a bag of gummy wieners. He hadn’t even been in the room when I’d told everyone about meeting Sebastian at the club. But ‘the Big Bad Wolf’ seemed like an awfully big coincidence. And Harrison wouldn’t send gummy wieners—but Lou absolutely would, and he would know how to find a place that sold them. At least Sebastian didn’t seem the least bit fazed about the whole situation, which was actually kind of strange. I would probably have been alarmed or surprised, or maybe even mad, if someone sent me a bag of those particular pieces of anatomy with a note saying… what that note said.

  Later, after Sebastian had dropped me off and my sore legs convinced me I should take the elevator, I reflected on what a strange day it had been. I’d played a sport (well, sort of, but I did sweat a lot!) and didn’t hate it, and I was fairly confident that my brother’s employees had sent my new friend a bag of gummy dicks. What a time to be alive!

  23.

  Thankfully the rest of the week had very few surprises in store for me. Sebastian’s game this week was at home, which seemed to mean he had a lot more time to send me texts. He also sent Boomer an apology box filled with cat toys and catnip. I was honestly pretty hesitant to give Boomer any of the nip considering what an unpredictable character he was, even stone cold sober. A large part of me really wished Sebastian would stop being so likeable, that he would go back to the arrogant jerk from the club. All this attention was making it hard not to like him more than I should. I’d had plenty of guy friends in the past but—as horribly superficial as it sounded—not a single one of them had looked like they’d just descended from Mt. Olympus.

  And then there was Patrick. We were emailing daily and had exchanged phone numbers in the last email. Things were definitely getting serious with him. Well, as serious as things could get via email. But despite the fact that Patrick was absolutely perfect for me, my brain seemed to want to classify him as a friend, and Sebastian as a potential mate.

  Then there were the work issues, which I was trying to convince my brain were the actual important problems in an effort to stop feeling like a boy-crazy teenager from one of the romantic comedies that were quickly becoming my new favorite things to watch. We ran a new test in the program simulator with the adjustments we’d made from the last one, and our rocket made it exactly 23.017 minutes before it exploded. ‘Exploded’ was almost to tame a word for this fiery ball of disaster. If we didn’t get the issue solved soon, we were going to have to push back the scheduled start for construction of the first prototype. The whole project would be delayed.

  By the time Friday rolled around, I was stressed out and looking for some not-so-innocent individuals to take my frustration out on. Lucky for me, I spotted the perfect candidates sitting on the couch as I pushed through the doors of Bad Wolf. Lou and Aaron turned to look at me as I stomped across the room.

  “Did you send Sebastian a bag of… of… penises?” I asked, the last word coming out much quieter than the eight before it had.

  Aaron let out a loud groan and reached into his back pocket. I watched curiously as he pulled out a wad of bills and handed them to Lou.

  “Nice doing business with ya.” Lou saluted him, reaching for his own back pocket.

  The pieces clicked into place and my anger ratcheted up to the point where I thought I might explode like our rocket.

  “Did you bet on whether I could say pe… that word out loud?” I shot a withering glare, or what I hoped was a withering glare, at the two men on the couch.

  Lou groaned this time,
stopping his hand’s progress toward his wallet and handing the cash back to Aaron.

  “You bet on me twice!” I yelled, throwing my arms up wildly in frustration.

  “Lenny-poo, it was a slow night,” Lou said, using a placating tone, as if it being a slow night explained the whole thing. I reminded myself not to fall for the goofy grin that made it almost impossible to stay mad at him. Sensing my irritation was still firmly in place, Lou continued, “And he needed a big ol’ bag of dicks.”

  “He did. I don’t care if he’s arguably the best soccer player in the world right now. The guy’s a dick,” Aaron added, not taking his eyes off his sandwich. I felt a momentary pang of happiness that Aaron would help send a bag of dicks to his man-crush. “And technically, Lou came up with the idea but Harrison actually sent them.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course he did. I expected more from both of you, though.”

  “Hey, Kay tried to start a rumor online that he has herpes,” Lou said, sounding genuinely upset by the idea that I could be disappointed in him.

  My head swiveled toward Kay, who was seated behind the front desk. “You did?”

  She shrugged, her eyes never leaving the computer. “I sure did. A bag of dicks is temporary but herpes is forever.”

  I placed my head in my hands and groaned. “Why did you guys feel the need to do all this? He apologized.”

  “Uh ’cause you’re our friend, Tater Tot, and no one messes with you. Well, unless it’s one of us.” Lou responded so quickly that I knew he truly meant it. Everyone nodded their head in agreement.

  I had to blink back the wave of tears that had suddenly rushed to my eyes. I cleared my throat, hoping to dislodge all the emotions that were currently clogging it.