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

by Mariah Dietz

  “That sounds romantic,” I tell her.

  Anna glowers at me before picking up her phone. She does a double take-before flashing me the picture of Marcus. “Is he really a sophomore in college?”

  I smirk. “He really is. And if you want to use him as inspiration for … ovulation night, I won’t tell Kurt.”

  She throws Juliet’s cat toy at me. “I hate you.”

  I’m still laughing too hard to respond as I follow her to the door, where I straighten and look for Juliet as Anna pulls on her shoes. “Don’t forget, we’re doing brunch with dad next weekend.”

  “You’ve already reminded me five times this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”

  Another glower. “Some might say I know you too well.”

  “I’m very punctual.”

  “You also make excuses and cancel plans. A lot.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll be there.”

  “I don’t know why you can’t just talk to him and clear things up?”

  “Because it’s not a misunderstanding, Anna.”

  “You can’t be mad at him forever. Mom wanted the divorce.”

  We’ve had this conversation a dozen times, and still, it doesn’t get any less infuriating. “She was sick!”

  “It was their relationship, though. You can’t allow that to interfere with your relationship with him.”

  “What relationship? Do you realize that dad lived in the White House longer than he lived in the same house as me? If I was asked twenty questions about him, I’d fail every single one, and he’d fail them about us.”

  Anna tips her head with another patronizing warning. “He was working for the entire country, Rose. Can’t you see that? I realize he couldn’t go to your softball games or your silly school programs, but don’t you understand that our dad worked directly with the President? He got to help influence the laws and the affairs of our country and, therefore, the entire world? How can you not see how amazing that is?”

  “Likely because I was eight and all I knew was my dad was never home.”

  She pulls in a deep breath through her nose and counts to three out loud.

  “I hope you do that tonight before having sex.”

  Anna scowls. “Why can’t you just be an adult? You’re nearly twenty-two. You need to grow up. Don’t blame dad for Christopher and every guy who you think is an asshole—”

  “Are you serious?” I thread my fingers into my hair, struggling to hold in my frustration. “I don’t blame dad for Christopher. I blame Christopher for Christopher, and just because I’m not living my life how you would like to see me living, it doesn’t mean I’m doing a bad job. I pull in a deep breath that I release after counting to three. “Listen, lunch was great. Talking to you was great. Let’s not leave this on a bad note because I don’t want to be besties with dad.”

  “I’m not asking you to be besties with him. I just want you to accept him as a part of our lives.”

  “I do. I go to brunch every single month.”

  Anna slips her fingers over my hair, smoothing it like our mom used to do to us. “Bank holidays and monthly brunch dates aren’t exactly what I’m talking about, and you’re smart enough to know that.”

  “Drive safely. I love you. Don’t let my cat out.”

  She releases another long breath. “I love you, too. I’ll call you soon. Thanks for the additional homework.”

  “Don’t lie. You’re going to enjoy having to stare at that homework.”

  She slips out the front door, leaving me with more unwanted thoughts than when she’d arrived.

  11

  Ian

  Luis and Paxton are already at the gym when I arrive.

  “What’s up, asshole?” Luis calls.

  I lift my chin in acknowledgment, stick in my earbuds, and move to the treadmill. It’s Thursday morning, chest day, and the day before we fly out to the Bay Area for our game. But before I start talking shop with these guys or lift any weights, I need to run and get the excess thoughts out of my head. This week’s game is our first real trial. San Francisco has a strong defense and an even stronger offense, and as hard as I try to recall their sets and how we’re going to meet each one, I can’t get Rose out of my mind.

  I smell her. Taste her. Feel her. It’s like she left a piece of herself with me, and it’s been following me around since Monday, taunting me and daring me to try and ignore her and her damn kiss.

  I finish four miles before Luis waves his hand in front of my face. “You’re going to wear yourself out and not be able to practice tonight,” he warns.

  He’s using this as an excuse to talk. Last year, he and Alexis broke up after multiple fights that all seemed to revolve around football and how much time he had—or didn’t have. I knew he was upset and going through a lot, but our relationship was built on sports, stats, food, and working out with the occasional childhood crush. We’ve never spent much time in the weeds with each other’s thoughts or feelings, which is probably why our friendship has lasted as long as it has.

  I slow the treadmill to a fast walk to cool down. “Yeah. I’m just thinking about San Fran’s offense. They’ve got some fast players this year.”

  Luis nods. “We’ll have to cover them and rattle their QB.”

  Paxton blows out a breath from where he’s doing bench presses. “It’s more than that. They’ve got a wide receiver that runs a four-forty and does a great job at reading plays. That’s who you need to pay attention to,” he says, tipping his head to make sure I understand. “Arlo’s been studying their tape. You should track him down. The dude’s turned insightful since his accident.”

  “Is he excited to play this weekend?” Luis asks.

  Pax shrugs. “I don’t think it’s really hit him yet, you know? He’s probably going to be jumping around the field once he gets out there and the lights are on, though. Dude’s got so much pent-up energy that he’d give a Border Collie a run for its money.” He racks his weights and wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm. “Have you guys been following the stupid website?”

  Guilt trickles to the front of my thoughts, recalling the image of Paxton wasted with a joint between his teeth that was posted first thing this morning with the rumor that he was a functioning alcoholic.

  “I’m getting worried,” Pax says.

  Luis laughs. “I just want to know if Marcus has a girlfriend in both states and if so, did they find out?”

  Pax narrows his eyes. Like me, I can tell he’s worried about where these images might go and what they might do to our team. “Maybe we ask Cooper to look into it. He’s supposed to be a computer whiz. Maybe he can hack into it and take it all down?”

  Luis nods. “Cooper’ s crazy smart when it comes to computers. He can probably hack in it and find out who’s doing all of this. But, I guess the real question is, do we want them to stop?”

  I use my towel to wipe my forehead and temples. “Why would we want them to continue?”

  Luis shrugs. “Most of the guys don’t seem to care. Hell, they’re happy about it. Girls are filling up their inboxes, and most of the shit probably isn’t true, anyway. I mean, hell, you could say that picture of you today, Pax, is photoshopped if anyone tries to say you broke any rules.” He looks at Paxton. “I don’t think it’s worth our time or effort when it’s not doing anything negative.”

  “I think they’re going to get worse,” I tell them.

  Paxton looks at me and does a quick nod. “They sure as hell are being persistent.”

  “Why don’t we just keep our hand on the button. We’ll see what happens, and if shit starts to go in the wrong direction or problems start, we’ll go to Cooper.” Luis looks at both of us.

  I consider Rose’s words from my party. “Do you think anyone on the team knows who’s doing it?”

  Paxton and Luis have a shared reaction to mine: utter disbelief and shock.

  “No way,” Luis says, shaking his head.

  Paxton, slowly shrugs. “It’s possi
ble,” he says. “I mean, Fucking Derek Paulson is always looking for a new angle to get ahead. Maybe he’s doing this in an attempt to transfer since he isn’t getting the attention he wants here. It would give him an easy excuse to wash his hands of Brighton.”

  Pax is salty over Derek for numerous reasons, most of them legitimate, but regardless, it’s a reminder that there are cracks in our brotherhood.

  Luis shrugs. “Yeah, but other universities probably aren’t going to love the rumor he had.” Derek was one of the rumors posted in the first while I was ignoring the site and wishing it would disappear.

  “We have a shit ton of freshmen,” I say. “They all seem cool, but everyone’s an asshole when they’re a freshman. They all think they’re gods because they’ve been recruited, and girls are finally interested in sleeping with them.”

  Luis laughs. “Not me. Girls have been lining up to have sex with me since I was fourteen.”

  I turn to Luis. “I knew you when you were fourteen, and they weren’t.”

  Pax smirks. “You’re right. Having so many new guys on the team means there’s a lot of baggage we don’t know.”

  “They could have slept with someone’s girlfriend or blew off a girl or…” I shake my head, letting my words trail off.

  Paxton rubs his temples. “Let me call Coop, see what he says. Maybe we just get ahead of this and at least see if we can find out who’s doing this.”

  Luis nods. “Sounds reasonable to me, but if you guys do decide to kibosh this site, you might want to let the team assume that the school and administration did it. They’re still loving the attention.”

  Paxton nods. “I’ve gotten a ton of messages from girls today.”

  Luis points at him. “See?”

  “Candace is ready to cut someone,” Pax says. “It’s a good thing we have an away game this week. Otherwise, she’d probably go nuclear.”

  “Things are getting better between you two?” I ask.

  “We’re trying. I’m reading a book about communication and trying to understand how we can prevent so many fallouts. I don’t know if I can have another year like last year where it was constant fighting.”

  “Make-up sex is pretty great, though,” Luis says.

  Paxton scoffs as he moves to the cable crossover station. “She threw my laptop in the dumpster this summer because she thought I was talking to other girls.”

  “Were you?” Luis asks.

  “I was emailing my sister in Africa.”

  Luis’s laugh echoes. “Shit, dude. That’s borderline psycho.”

  I take a seat at the pec deck, their conversation drifting into the background as I put a single earbud in. Rose and I have a class together this afternoon, and I have no idea if I should try to talk to her or wait and give her more space.

  My phone vibrates against my thigh, interrupting my music. I pull it out to see a message from my mom.

  Mom: Hey, honey. Sorry, I meant to catch you before you left this morning. What time do you get home on Sunday? I’m going to give Stevie the weekend off. But, I’d like to have dinner together, just the three of us, no politics or advisors. I can make lasagna like my neighbor in Rome taught me.

  Me: Sounds good. We should be home around noon.

  Mom: Perfect. If I don’t see you tonight, have a safe trip! We’ll be cheering for you.

  “Is that Rose?” Luis asks.

  I flip him off and turn my music back on.

  He snickers. “Nope.”

  Rose

  “It was a kiss,” I tell myself as I check my reflection in my rearview mirror and apply some tinted lip gloss before smoothing my hair. “No big deal.”

  My heart pounds in my chest, calling me a liar. “Shit,” I say, wiping off my freshly applied lip gloss with a spare napkin. “What am I doing?” I lean my head back and take a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to talk to Ian? Maybe we could try resuming where things left off at the beginning of summer? Perhaps Chloe is right, and rules are meant to be broken?

  Forgotten?

  I glance at the clock on my dash, realizing if I don’t get moving, I’m going to be late, and then I won’t have a choice about whether I try to sit next to Ian.

  I slide out of my car, appreciating the warm day as I grab my bag from the backseat and lock my doors. I start reciting a pep talk that would likely be so much better if it were coming from Olivia, but I haven’t had the cojones to tell her that I kissed Ian. Not because I’m embarrassed, but I know that if I tell her, there will be questions, and I haven’t been ready to answer them or even hear them. If I didn’t have this class, I’m pretty sure I’d postpone seeing Ian for even longer.

  And though Olivia wouldn’t pressure me to answer any of said questions, I have no doubt she’d get that wistful look in her eye that happens whenever Arlo’s name is spoken. She’d tell me that my rules don’t have to apply because I made my rules and therefore can change them. Which would segue into how Ian is so great and wonderful, and how she knew we had a special connection. Then, I’d likely believe her because I see her and Arlo and how much they care about each other which has created fractures in my rules and thoughts. Occurrences like this morning, when I ran into Arlo while he was quietly making his way into our apartment with a bag of pastries and a coffee from Olivia’s favorite spot.

  I wonder what type of a guy Ian would be like to date. Would he send me flowers when he’s out of town? Would he call me for no reason except to hear my voice? Would he be the kind of guy who wants to hang out at home with a pizza and a movie or go out to eat at a new restaurant?

  My thoughts are blooming with possibilities and options when my phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but since I still have two offers out, I accept, hoping this is a sign as to how the rest of the day will follow.

  “Hi, this is Rose,” I answer.

  “Rose Cartwright?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Sandy with Something You Boutique over on Crown Hill. We have your little sister here. We caught her trying to shoplift.”

  “Little sister?”

  “Bree.”

  Recognition dawns. Bree. Bree from the park who I had given my number to out of obligation after she told me she’d like to learn more about yoga.

  I wince. “What was she trying to steal?”

  “A pair of pants. She said you were her emergency contact.”

  I have no idea how a situation like this works. “Did she give them back?”

  There’s a pause, and I wonder if that was the world’s dumbest question. “She’s wearing them. She won’t talk to us. She wrote down your name and number.”

  I rub a hand over my brow. Labor Economics isn’t just my window for seeing Ian—it’s also a class that has seventy percent of my grade tied simply to attendance.

  “Can I just pay you for the pants? I can give you my credit card information.” I cringe at my words, hoping beyond hope that this is a feasible possibility.

  “Ma’am, if you don’t come, we’re going to call the police. She should be in school.”

  I barely know Bree. Sure, we’ve spent a few afternoons together, and sure, I told her more about my mom and yoga than most, but missing class to help her out of an altercation seems beyond the guidelines for our roughly defined friendship. “I’ve never been very good at coloring within the lines.” I hear Chloe’s voice repeating the sentiment as my shoulders roll forward. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I tell the woman.

  I’m too busy considering if I should tell my professor I’m going to have to miss class for a family emergency that I almost collide with a poor, unsuspecting stranger.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to help him.

  Kind brown eyes meet mine paired with a gentle smile. “You nearly ran me over,” he says. “There isn’t a fire, is there?”

  “Sorry. Apparently, this is becoming a habit of mine. Are you okay?”

  He shakes his head. “I would be okay with you making it a
habit of running into me every day. I’m Noah,” he says, offering his hand.

  “Rose.”

  He grins. “I know. We’re in Labor Economics together, which is…” He points over my shoulder. “The opposite direction.”

  “Yeah, I know. I had something come up,” I start to explain as I grab a fallen notebook and return it to him when something catches my attention. I realize it wasn't something but someone as I focus on Ian. He’s standing on the pathway that leads to the Scott’s Theater, Isla at his side. She’s laughing at something he’s said, her body swaying closer to his. Her adoration for him is apparent, even from here, her attention glued solely on Ian. She drops something, her phone, I think based on the size, and Ian moves to pick it up. As he stands to return it to her, Isla goes up on her toes, planting a kiss on his mouth. It’s like one of those meet-cute moments I’ve been reading about for weeks now in the romance books Olivia has pedaled to me—the complete opposite to the demanding, punishment of a kiss that we shared just a few days ago.

  “Are you okay?” Noah asks.

  My skin is clammy, and my chest feels tight as I nod and force a smile. “Yeah.” My voice is hesitant and uncertain. “Yes,” I repeat again. “Sorry again for running into you. I’ll see you next week. In class,” I add.

  He opens his mouth like he’s going to object, but before he can say anything, I hurry toward the sidewalk, wishing the parking lot wasn’t a couple of blocks away.

  My strides are so fast I’m nearly running as I weave through groups and individuals, their faces blurred in my haste. I tell myself I’m rushing to reach Bree so that they don’t call the cops. Slowly, I try to shift my thoughts from Ian to Bree.

  Why would she have stolen something?

  Why isn’t she in school?

  Why would she tell someone that I’m her sister?

  The questions float through my thoughts like safe spots to land in a videogame as I reach the parking lot. It’s crowded, the spaces all too narrow like many of the tiny lots on campus. I slide into my car, set my bag down beside me, and catch sight of my reflection. My eyes are red, and tears cling to my lashes.