We’d needed this time together. The months since Leo had visited me at Birch had been filled with stress and change. Leo had been playing so well that he was consistently starting every week, which raised his visibility around campus and also brought him attention nationwide. He was flattered when it began, but as the season went on and his name was mentioned more often on the college football programs, tensions grew, both between Leo and his teammates and between us.
And then there was Matt. The more attention Leo got, the more surly and nasty Matt was. He was still second-string quarterback, and he hated that he hadn’t bumped Thom Wilkens from his spot. Each week, Matt drowned his sorrows in alcohol, women and even more alarmingly, drugs and violent behavior. He’d gotten warnings from the coaching staff, and each time, he managed to pull it back together enough that things calmed down. But everyone could tell it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose.
His relationship with Gia was in constant turmoil, too, and it felt as though we were all collateral damage. Throughout sophomore year, they’d spun wildly out of control, veering from the weekends they spent together in bed, hardly ever coming up for air, to other weeks when they screamed at each other and slept with other people. Well, to be fair, it was always Matt sleeping around; in the aftermath of their meltdowns, Gia mostly got drunk and played depressing music. Loudly.
Leo hated what was happening with his friend, but like the rest of us, he was powerless to stop him. I knew, too, that he felt guilty about his own success, as if that were somehow a slap in the face to Matt.
But this summer was going to be different. The first few weeks were perfect; Matt had moved back to South Jersey for the summer, where he was living with his grandparents again. This was part of the plan put into place by the university, in exchange for Matt being able to return to school—and the football team—in the fall. He had to toe the proverbial line, take summer classes at Birch and attend substance abuse therapy sessions. Leo and I both had our doubts about how effective this plan was—Matt’s grandparents had never been the most hands-on adults, even when he was younger—but for now at least, Matt wasn’t our problem.
And then about three weeks after we’d moved into the townhouse, the Lionesses were born.
It had all started on a slow week in the sports world. A journalist with a small Southern news organization, looking for a story, had decided to do a piece on the up-and-coming college players ahead of the season. Something about Leo had intrigued her, and she’d done a little more digging into his past. The spin she gave his pre-college life got her article picked up beyond her own publication, but it was the picture of Leo after the championship game that made the whole story go viral.
Leo went from being a vaguely familiar name among those who followed college ball to being a face recognizable all over the country. Two of the national morning shows talked about him during their pop culture segments, both mentioning his mother’s battle with leukemia and his old high school nickname—the Lion.
The next day, a group popped up on social media. The Lionesses were made up almost entirely of girls, and their sole reason for existence was the adoration of my boyfriend.
That was fun for me.
Although the Lionesses’ membership stretched from coast to coast, there was a devoted cluster right here near Carolina University, made up of girls who lived locally and those who happened to be staying on campus over the summer. Leo and I weren’t exactly hiding, and the story about him had mentioned his job at the camp—This talented young man isn’t taking his summer off for fun and sun—instead, he’s working at a football camp for underprivileged children, teaching a whole new generation the love of the game that has sustained him through hard times. Even so, neither of us expected the Lionesses to turn up every morning at the entrance to Camp Bryant.
The first few days, we’d both laughed at it. Leo had taken pictures of the crowd with his phone, sending them to me with a caption that read, Jealous, babe?
I wasn’t. I knew how much Leo loved me, and those girls meant nothing to us. Leo learned to get to work early enough to score a spot in the lot closest to the back entrance of the camp, and we waited for it all to die down.
But it didn’t die down. Instead, there were more pictures, more stories and more exposure. Leo began to dread the daily gauntlet he had to run to get to work, and we both had to shut down our social media accounts.
Things got even worse when one of the crazier Lionesses surreptitiously followed Leo home one afternoon. By the next day, when I went out to make an early-morning coffee run, there were twenty girls camped outside our door. To say that they were all dismayed to see me would be more than accurate. The original article that had lit this firestorm hadn’t mentioned that the sexy Lion had a girlfriend, and so the chicks outside immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was just a piece of tail. They’d booed me and jeered, and I’d had a sudden flashback to high school, when I’d had the audacity to date the football star.
As it became more apparent that I wasn’t just some random hook-up, the verbal and virtual assaults intensified. Messages popped up on my phone, calling me every vile name in the book. Unattractive and unpleasant pictures of me were floated around the web. Even though I no longer even glanced at my social media accounts, it was impossible to ignore what was going on. I was afraid to go out, afraid someone would know me as the Lion’s girlfriend.
Now, with his clean T-shirt stretched over his broad chest and his sneakers tied, Leo straightened. He regarded me with a frown, and I wondered if my expression reflected my mixed feelings about our perfect summer.
“I know things have been . . . different than we thought.” I spoke slowly. “And if we’re talking about wishes, I wish that story had never been written. I hate that you have to deal with those crazy girls. But it’s got to end soon, right? I mean, doesn’t everyone say the public has a short attention span? Something big will happen, and you’ll be yesterday’s news.”
Leo shrugged. “I keep hoping. But I’m not so much worried about me as I am about you. When was the last time you were out of the house?”
I grimaced. “Um . . . three days ago? When we went to pick up the pizza?”
“Mia.” He sighed. “The townhouse complex security is keeping everyone away from the front door. No one’s going to bother you again when you go out. There are no girls sitting out there now, waiting to pounce on me. Or you. It’s safe.”
“I know.” I lay back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “They’re not at the door. But they’re still out there, Leo. When I stop at the grocery store, it feels like people are staring. And I can’t even go online anymore, except for work. The things people write about me . . .” I closed my eyes. “It’s so ugly.”
“I know, babe. But it’s going to die down. Like you said, attention spans are short. Pretty soon, someone will do something stupid, and everyone will forget about both of us.” He leaned over me and kissed my forehead. “Love you, Mia. I’ll see you this afternoon.” Pausing just before the doorway, he glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Oh, and I’ll do some laundry when I get home. You . . . go out today. Somewhere. Anywhere. Get a mani-pedi or whatever it is girls like to do.”
I shook my head. “It’s no fun without girlfriends. I’ll tell you what. I’ll stay home today, clean the house, do the laundry, and then when you come home, we’ll go out to eat. Okay?”
Leo sighed. “Fine. Whatever you want to do.”
“So aren’t you going stir-crazy?” Zelda sounded curious and mildly amused as I updated her on the latest Lioness craziness.
“Surprisingly, no. I don’t mind being here, as long as I have something to do.” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I pulled a pile of wet laundry from the washer and dropped it into the dryer. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a housewife, but I really don’t have anything to complain about. I can write whenever I want, and three of my articles have been picked up so far. No classes, no homework, and
tons of privacy.”
“And quality time with Leo the Lion? That’s got to be an added benefit.”
“Of course.” I answered quickly, and I knew Zelda probably picked that up.
“So everything’s fine and dandy with you two? Sunshine, rainbows and sparkles?” She was teasing, but I knew enough of Zelda now to realize that her snark hid real concern. She just didn’t want anyone to realize that she actually had feelings.
“Mostly.” I hesitated. “I love Leo, Zelda. You know that. He loves me. We’re meant to be together. This is just a . . . bumpy time. Everyone goes through them.” I cleared my throat. “Speaking of which . . . how is everything going with our favorite dysfunctional couple?”
“Oh, God.” This time, Zelda’s exasperation was genuine. “They’re driving me crazy, Quinn. I swear, I’ll never forgive you for abandoning me to her this summer.”
“Hey, hey. I didn’t abandon you. You and Gia are adults, and you both made the decision to stay on campus together. How’re your classes going?”
“Mine are great. As for Gia’s . . . I couldn’t swear to it, but I’d say probably not so wonderful.”
“I was afraid of that. Things are still rough with Matt?”
“They’re driving me fucking insane, if that’s what you mean. If they’re not having loud and obnoxious sex, they’re having loud and obnoxious fights. I’m not sure which are more annoying.” She paused, and I heard a rattle on the other side of the phone.
“What’re you doing?” I closed the dryer and started it up, stepping away from it so I could hear Zelda.
“Uh, I’m cooking.” Her voice held a faint tinge of . . . I couldn’t read it. Embarrassment?
“Cooking? For you and Gia? Well, aren’t you a good roommate?” I flopped onto the sofa. “You never cooked for me.”
“No, doll, I’m not cooking for Gia. I have a . . . date. I guess. Sort of.”
If she had told me that she was a spy who was cooking for the head of the CIA, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. Zelda was predictable only in her cynicism about romance and relationships. She had regular sex with an abundance of men, and she liked men, but she didn’t trust them.
“Uh . . . okay. Can I ask the name of this date?”
“You can ask, but I’m not going to tell. This is way outside my comfort zone, Quinn. It’s probably not going to amount to anything. If I’m wrong and it does . . . then you and I can talk. I’ll tell you all the down and dirties. But until then—if there is a then—I’m going to play it close to my chest.”
When I didn’t respond right away, she hurried to continue. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Quinn. I just don’t trust me. I’m going out on a limb here, and I’m actually scared shitless.”
“Zelda.” I crossed my legs at the knee and kicked one foot in the air. “I’m not insulted that you want to be, um, discreet. It’s your business. But don’t be scared, okay? You are the most incredible woman I know. You’re beautiful, you’re funny and you’re smart. Any guy would be lucky to date you. So don’t mess this up just because you think you’re not the relationship type, okay?”
Something sizzled on Zelda’s side of the phone. “I appreciate everything you said, Quinn. I don’t necessarily agree with you, but still, I’m grateful. I can only promise to do my best.”
“Good. Have fun, and don’t think I’m going to forget this. When I get home next month, you are so cooking for me.”
She laughed. “You got it, doll. We’ll be in our new apartment with a real kitchen, not this lame ass kitchenette. So I’ll make you something special to celebrate moving in, okay?”
“It’s a date.” I giggled at my own joke. “Have fun tonight, Zelda. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, don’t say that.” She groaned. “The girl who’s been in love with the same dude since they were eight? You’re my boundary? I’m so thoroughly fucked.”
“That dude just came in the front door.” I waggled my fingers at Leo. “I promised him a night out, so I better get my ass in gear. Or he might trade me in for a Lioness.”
“Never going to happen, doll. That guy’s got it bad for you and only you.”
“Yep, and same goes on my end.” I scooched so that my head hung off the front of the sofa while my legs were propped on the back and made a face at my boyfriend. He rolled his eyes at me. “Have fun tonight, Zelda. Love you.”
“Love you right back. And I’ll try.”
I disconnected the call and tossed my phone onto the cushion next to me. “Hey, lover. How was your day?”
“Hot. Long. Mildly irritating.” He braced his hands on either side of my head, caging me in as he kissed my lips. “But getting better now.”
“Want to take this upstairs and see if it gets even better?” I linked my hands behind his head, holding on.
“I’d love that, but I promised to take you out tonight. And let’s face it, if we go upstairs and get into bed, we’ll end up ordering food to be delivered and you’ll go another day without leaving the house.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I narrowed my eyes.
“It is, yes. So I’ll make you a deal.” Pushing himself up, Leo slid one arm beneath my knees and the other under my head, lifting me against his chest. “I’ll carry you upstairs, we’ll get a shower together—no nookie, just showering—and then we’ll go out to eat. And then after dinner, we’ll come home and finish whatever it is we start in the shower. Deal?”
“Delayed gratification? Hmm. I guess I can get behind that. Okay, babe.” I thumped him on the back. “Onward and upward.”
“This is the best pasta I’ve had south of Philadelphia.” I laid down my fork and sighed. “And the company’s not bad either.”
Leo flashed me a smile, but there was something under it, something not quite complete. All night, his laughter hadn’t seemed to reach his eyes, and he’d been preoccupied.
“All right.” I rested my elbows on the table and leaned my chin in my hands. “Tell me what’s going on. You’ve been giving me lip service all night. Did I not live up to your shower expectations?”
This time, real heat flared in his eyes. “Hardly. As a matter of fact, you exceeded them. I’m lucky I can sit still here with the boner you gave me.”
“Hmm. Okay then, what is it? Don’t forget, Leo, I’ve known you forever. You can’t hide this shit from me.”
He fiddled with his knife where it lay alongside his plate. “I got a call today from a guy who works for Football Sunday.”
“What’s that?” I frowned.
“It’s an online sports magazine. I think it still has a monthly print component. Anyway, they want to do an article on me. He called it a spread.”
My stomach dropped. “Uh huh. And . . .?”
“And Coach says he thinks I should do it. So do the PR people at the university. It’ll bring a lot of attention to the college and hopefully some donations to the sports program.”
“Haven’t you done enough this year to help them out there? I thought we were trying to get things to calm down, right? We don’t need to get everyone all riled up again. God, Leo, it’ll never end if you do this.”
“The article from before wasn’t sanctioned by the university. They didn’t interview me, they didn’t talk to anyone official, but this time, they will. There’ll be boundaries. The head of public relations from the college will have final approval. That’s part of the deal.”
I pushed away my plate, since my appetite had evaporated. “Do you seriously want to do this, Leo? Does it sound like a good idea?”
“I don’t fucking know, Quinn. God, I’m torn all the time. All the damn time. What Coach says, what the school wants, what my team needs, what you want . . . I can’t make everyone happy. It’s fucking frustrating.” He balled up his cloth napkin and threw it onto his plate. “I bring you down here so we can finally be together, and you’re basically a prisoner in the townhouse. But I don’t know what to do.”
The waiter came o
ver to pick up the paid check, and we lapsed into silence until he’d moved away.
“And now . . . the PR guy told me to be careful about what I say and do when I’m out in public. Now that people know who I am, I represent the whole fucking college, apparently. No drinking, no partying. Which is fine, but it’s got me second-guessing everything I say or do. That waiter. Is he going to post on social media that I didn’t tip him well enough? I hate it.”
Leo’s voice had risen, and I glanced around the restaurant. “Let’s go home. I just—I want to get out of here.”
“Fine.” He pushed back his chair and stood aside, letting me pass first. I kept my head down and hurried out, waiting to feel Leo’s hand on the small of my back the way he always touched me as we walked together. But when I glanced back, his face was stormy and his hands were clenched in fists at his sides.
We were both silent all the way back to the townhouse. Leo unlocked the front door, and we walked inside. I felt wooden and uncomfortable, and for the first time this summer, the townhouse didn’t feel like home.
“There’s one more thing, Quinn.” Leo spoke from behind me, as though he couldn’t bear to face me. “I asked the PR people if we could include you in the article. I thought some nice pictures of the two of us together, and maybe something about how we grew up together . . . but apparently Football Sunday doesn’t want to talk about me having a girlfriend. They said it doesn’t fit the image they want to project of me.”
My throat was tight, and my mouth was dry. I stood in the semi-darkness of our living room, and I didn’t know what to say.
Finally, I croaked out words. “And you’re all right with all this, Leo? You feel good about this?”
“Fuck, no, I don’t. Are you crazy? But what am I going to do? Remember I’m at Carolina on a full-ride, Quinn. Football is paying for my education. I have to play by their rules until I graduate.”
I nodded. “Okay. So . . . what? I hide out while they’re here taking pictures and interviewing you? You want me to just stay upstairs?”
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 45
