Forgetting the Rules: A Second-Chance-Romance Sports Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  Before anyone can stir the pot or ease the tension, Lacy’s phone rings in her hand.

  “Tell me that’s not Garrett,” Chantay says.

  Lacy looks guiltily at her before grinning. “He’s here.” She winks at me.

  “So is the football team,” Chantay challenges. “And the basketball team, and the soccer team…”

  “You’ve already slept with the entire basketball team,” Lacy tells her.

  Chantay grins. “Stick around for a little while. Make Garett at least work for it.”

  I intentionally don’t look at Lacy. I don’t want to see her decision because either way, I know I’ll feel conflicted. “We’ll introduce you to the football team,” I offer, looking at Chantay.

  Pure undulated joy fills her blue eyes. “Isla is all about Ian this year,” Chantay announces, and though she’d already warned me and I’d seen it for myself, hearing it declared so openly makes my breath catch, and my lungs burn as though I’ve just inhaled a cloud of bleach.

  “I told her she had to check with you before pursuing him, though, because I know something was going on at the end of last year between you two…” Lacy says.

  I feel Olivia’s gaze on me as I shake my head and look at Isla. “No. He’s free game.”

  Chantay laughs joyfully. “I knew you’d say that. We all know your rules. Sleep with him once, and it’s over. Smartest lesson I’ve learned during my time at Brighton.”

  I shake my head. “No. Ian and I just hung out for a while. Friends. Nothing ever happened between us.”

  Isla laughs. “Is that how we say rejected now?”

  Indignance snaps my spine straight. “I wasn’t rejected.”

  “You were pretty into him,” Chantay says, her eyebrows and voice raised with doubt.

  Her words settle on my skin like the old, red, wool sweater my mom used to insist I wear that my aunt had knitted for me: itchy and uncomfortable. It was several sizes too big, which led to my mom insisting I wear it for several years when fall arrived and the temperatures began to cool. It’s more uncomfortable to hear that others knew I had feelings toward Ian.

  “I’m pretty sure he was into her,” Lacy says.

  Chantay snaps. “He was borderline stalking her. I remember last year, he’d wait outside of her classes and show up at the coffee cart…” She wrinkles her nose. “I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  Pride wants me to jump on this train and ride it into safer territory, but instead, I find myself feeling borderline sympathetic and even defensive as my thoughts tangle with her accusations.

  Chantay turns her attention back to Isla. “But, I guess that means it’s your lucky night.”

  Olivia exchanges a look with me, her confusion and weariness evident as she turns and scans the crowd. I want to assure her that they have no interest in hanging out and talking with them or anyone for that matter.

  “I’m going to meet Garett. You guys have fun and be safe,” Lacy says. She blows me a kiss and waves at the others before disappearing into the crowd.

  “I can’t believe she’s choosing Garett Feldon over the football team,” Chantay says.

  I spot Paxton and start moving toward him with Olivia at my side, grateful that Lincoln is beside him. He has the lowest tolerance for bullshit.

  My heart skips as Ian stops beside Arlo, who is standing at Paxton’s other side. I stare at Ian, tracing the planes of his jaw that seem so familiar from weeks of memories and yet so foreign. He turns his head a few degrees, and our eyes meet. And though there’s more space and more people between us than before, it feels more personal, like these obstacles allow us the excuse and ease to stare. Or it might just be Ian, who has never been anything but confident and assured.

  “This is a terrible idea,” Olivia whispers, causing my attention to cut to her as we slow to a stop.

  “Hey,” Arlo says.

  My attention bounces from Arlo back to Ian, whose multi-colored eyes are pinched with another expression I know as him trying to get a read on me. The muscles in my shoulders and neck grow tight as I wonder if it’s more uncomfortable to know what he’s thinking or that he knows me well enough to see past my smile and confidence. Before I can convince myself neither one matters, I feel Olivia’s stare. She glances at the duo of girls who followed us here and then back at me, looking for direction.

  “These are my friends, Chantay and Isla, and they’re looking for some volunteers to play drinking Jenga,” I say, motioning to them like a game show hostess announcing a prize.

  Hoyt whistles. “You guys can’t drink, but you can play.”

  “I’m in.” Hoyt says as he turns to look at Bobby, who nods.

  “Pres?” Hoyt asks.

  Lincoln shakes his head and tightens his grip around Raegan. “I’m going to be calling it a night pretty soon here. So should you guys.”

  “What?” Bobby asks. “We’re supposed to be celebrating. We won.”

  “Doesn’t change curfew,” Paxton says.

  Chantay grins. “We can be done by eleven. You want to play, Pax?”

  Beside him, I catch the slight grimace that crosses Raegan’s features before she wipes the look clear with a smile. I wonder if it’s because it’s Chantay or because it’s her brother. My older sister dated one guy and married him a year after they graduated law school. It was perfect and boring and so damn predictable it hurt.

  A smile slides onto Paxton’s lips. I’m not surprised that Chantay likes him. Paxton is not only incredibly attractive, but he has this tortured soul/bad boy vibe playing for him mixed with a small-town charm and sweetness that has nearly every girl on campus vying for his attention. “Sure,” he says.

  “Midnight,” Lincoln says quietly like a warning.

  “Ian?” Isla asks. “You want to join us?”

  I hold my breath as I wait to hear his answer, hating that I can’t seem to look away from him.

  His gaze dances to mine and then to hers. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  That sting returns with a vengeance as she smiles, her eyes meeting mine as she turns, likely catching how off-kilter I’m feeling.

  I take another drink of my pop, wishing it was straight alcohol so I could stop looking at Ian or at least stop caring that I keep looking at him. My regret for not having taken Olivia up on pizza and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel hits me squarely in the throat as once again, I find myself struggling to string together thoughts, much less words.

  7

  Ian

  “Hey! You finally stopped ghosting me!” my little sister, Cassie, says as her greeting when I answer my phone.

  “I would’ve, but I fat thumbed it while trying to see who was calling.”

  “Harsh!” she cries. “What happened to sibling love?”

  “It’s a myth,” I tell her, abandoning the stack of books I’d been putting away. I glance at the stove to see what time it is. It’s Sunday, which is supposed to be my rest day, but I’ve carved out time for a meeting with my Dad’s campaign advisor, and then I need to go study the tape of last night’s game.

  “I saw you on some sportsy news show yesterday,” Cassie continues. “You know it wouldn’t kill you to smile once in a while, right?”

  “It might.”

  She snickers. “I’m serious. You come across so … intense.”

  Asshole was the term Coach Harris used when he texted me this morning with some additional tips.

  “Dad’s PR people are probably going to tell you to avoid the media at all costs.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was,” she says. “It really was. I’m not going to tell you that my roommate thought you were super hot because that would be gross and wrong on so many levels, but just in case you ever want to get back out onto the other field, you’re going to need to smile. Girls like that.”

  I want to tell her that she’s full of shit. I’ve seen plenty of girls throw themselves at Lincoln, and he could easily be considered one of the
biggest assholes if you don’t actually know the guy or get on his bad side. “Did you call me to give me dating advice?”

  “More to see how you’re doing with Mom and Dad moving back and the anniversary of Dustin coming up.”

  Cassie would remember. She does each year. As much as I like to give her a hard time, my sister’s heart is gold. I swallow the rest of my two-word replies that make others consider me as gruff and take a seat on the couch to focus on our conversation. “Football has had me so busy I’ve barely seen Mom and Dad. But I moved out to the pool house, and I’m just getting things settled.”

  “I’m a little jealous you decided to move out there. I can’t believe I didn’t think about moving out there while in high school.”

  “You would have freaked yourself out being out here alone.”

  “Shut up,” she says.

  I chuckle. We both know that I’m right. “How’s California treating you?”

  “Gloriously. I am on my way to brunch, and this afternoon I’m going to play beach volleyball with some friends. I don’t know why you decided to stay up in Seattle.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Brighton was my first choice.

  “Beach volleyball!” she repeats. “Need I say more?”

  She’s trying to make me laugh, and I oblige this time, regretting my short-tempered introduction. “How are classes going?”

  “As one of the only females in a predominantly male field, it can get a little stodgy at times. I’ve had to put a couple of guys in their place, but aside from that, it’s good. What about you?”

  I rub my eye with the heel of my hand. The truth is, school is a fucking nightmare during football season. I have no idea how Banks is taking the class load he is and is still on both feet every day. Right now, we’re investing forty to fifty hours per week toward football, leaving little time for classes or anything else. “Mondays are pretty brutal. My first class is at six am.”

  “You aren’t human. I don’t know why you have so many early classes.”

  “Football,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she deadpans. “I bet it will be kind of an adjustment to have Mom and Dad back, but hopefully, you can reap the benefits of all the cooking classes Mom took while living over there.”

  “She used to burn frozen pizzas,” I remind her.

  Cassie breaks into laughter. “How many times did she forget to remove the cardboard piece on the bottom?”

  “I’m sure the old neighborhood could tell you because of how many times the smoke alarms went off.”

  Her laughter turns into giggles that slowly fade. “Gosh, some of the excuses Dustin used to make so he didn’t have to eat dinner with us used to crack me up.”

  I glance at the framed photo of my childhood best friend sitting on the bookshelf I’d been putting old comic books and other favorite novels on. “That’s because his mom was such a good cook.”

  “Have you seen Mrs. Templeton lately?”

  I shake my head, and though she can’t see my reply, she seems to assume it as the silence stretches. Dustin passed away during my sophomore year of high school, an accident that never should have happened that left a loss too significant for words. “They’re doing the annual road cleanup in his honor,” I tell her.

  “I know this is always a tough time for you,” she says. “If you need to reach out and talk or not talk, I’m here.”

  We both know I won’t, but the sentiment is still appreciated. “Thanks, Cass.”

  “Anytime. Now, let’s just focus on you smiling a little more, scowling a little less, and don’t forget my birthday month is coming up!” she exclaims, retreating from the topic of Dustin.

  “You’re too old to have a birthday month.”

  “Blasphemy!” she cries. “I can, and I will. I’ll send you my Amazon Wish list.”

  I shake my head. “Eat some pancakes for me. I’ve got to head into a meeting for Dad here shortly.”

  “Ian,” she says, her voice calm yet tentative. “Don’t forget to have some fun this year. It’s your last year of college.”

  “Already happening,” I tell her. “I threw the biggest party in history last weekend. People are still talking about it.”

  “Good! It’s all about balance. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Love you, Cass.”

  “I love you, too. Say hi to the parental units for me and let them know I’ll call them tomorrow.” Cassie has always been good at keeping in touch, something I fail miserably at.

  “Will do.”

  She hangs up as my phone starts vibrating with a handful of messages.

  Luis: Did you see this? Who the fuck took this picture? I’m ready to beat someone.

  Dread has my heart accelerating as I click on the attached link. It’s a picture of Luis and his girlfriend, Alexis, her breasts mostly exposed from where he’s lifting her bathing suit top so that her nipples are only covered by his hands. They’re outside, likely at the beach or a lake, which could mean anyone could have snapped the picture.

  “Rumor has it that Luis Garcia refused to sign with Brighton unless his girlfriend received a scholarship.” The picture says.

  The picture is nearly as offensive as the claim.

  Me: Shit, dude. How’s Alexis taking it?

  It’s been eight days since Hoyt’s picture was published and my interview with Rose, and I haven’t heard a thing. I’d hoped everyone chose to ignore it like me.

  Luis: She’s fucking pissed.

  Me: Rightfully so.

  Alexis is whip-smart and works her ass off, not to mention they didn’t meet until freshman year at Brighton.

  There’s a knock on the door that stops me from responding to Luis. Mom is at the patio door, her hands folded in front of her. It’s awkward, yet I appreciate the privacy.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  She grins. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  She steps past me, wearing a blue dress that sweeps the floor. “Do you think I look all right?” She stands nervously in the small living room. “Never mind. That’s not a question you want to answer. I’m nervous,” she admits.

  “Mom, you look great. There’s no reason to be nervous. You don’t have to impress these people. You’re paying them, remember?”

  She laughs. “It’s politics, honey. You have to impress everyone.” She spins, looking around at the space. “This place looks…” her voice trails off as she turns her head around to look at the rest of the pool house. “Like a hotel.”

  I shake my head. “This place is ten times the size of any dorm room.”

  “You’re sure you want to be out here?”

  “This way, I won’t bother you and Dad when I get home late or have to leave early for practice. Besides, with classes and football, I’m not home much. I basically need this place to sleep and do laundry.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m going to see you less while living across the pool than I did on the opposite side of the globe.” She tilts her head with a silent warning in the ways that moms do.

  I chuckle. “No. I’m dying to taste your Italian cooking.”

  She laughs outright. “You mean you want to ensure Stevie stays employed? Don’t worry, I won’t take any offense. If that’s what it takes to see you, I’ll take it.”

  “You know I’m happy to see you and Dad,” I tell her in an attempt to end her fishing for compliments.

  Mom releases a short breath, a smile spreading across her features as she sweeps her dark hair over one shoulder. Her hair doesn’t stay. She recently cut it and has been grumbling about it since they got home two days ago. “We could have this place redone. Make it a little homier. At least hang some of your pieces in here.”

  I shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me.”

  She laughs again before pressing her fingers to her temple. “I’m telling you, jet lag is so much worse when you’re old.”

  “You’re not old,” I tell her. “But, you should take a nap.�
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  She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for a nap. Your father’s campaign adviser is supposed to be here in ten minutes. Besides, if I nap now, I’ll sleep for eight hours and be up all night.”

  I try to hide my grimace. “Is there really a reason for me to be there?”

  “Your dad said they’d like to meet you, so you know what to expect. Sadly, they’ll probably parade you around a little since you’re our household celebrity.”

  “Everyone loves a winner,” I chide.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Basically. We don’t want you to feel like we’re using you, though. If you don’t want to be a part of this, we can draw a hard line, and you don’t have to.”

  I shake my head. “I want to help. I know this means a lot to Dad, and if me smiling and standing next to him will help his chances, then that’s the least I can do.”

  “We’ll see how it goes. If it becomes too much, just say the word.”

  “Coach thinks it will help me prepare for interviews. He’s starting to put me in front of the press.”

  Mom’s eyes shine with the same level of pride as they did when I brought home pictures of stick figures and cereal glued onto paper. “I’m sure you’ll do great talking to people. You’re always poised and humble.” She uses the same adjectives others use to describe people who are uptight assholes.

  “Will you have enough room in here for your easels?” Mom looks at the space again, her memories skewed from several years of not having to consider price tags.

  “I barely have time to do any of that,” I tell her.

  She blinks back her surprise. “Maybe you should try making some time for it?”

  “We should get inside,” I say, changing the subject. “Time to find out how our lives are going to change for the next year.”