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

by Mariah Dietz

  “Cups. Of. Vegetables? Does that translate to like half a bag of tater tots?”

  His phone buzzes again.

  He laughs. “Mostly spinach. But cauliflower, broccoli, Brussel sprouts, kale...”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe that’s why I was never an athlete. My body knew it couldn’t stomach having to eat the worst vegetables.”

  “You like broccoli.”

  I shake my head. “Only in Chinese food.”

  He laughs again. “I won’t tell you about the caffeine restrictions.”

  “There are restrictions? You might as well just call football torture.”

  He takes another sip of his coffee. I want to ask him more and prolong this easy banter, but even if I wanted to, I don’t have time. I have a yoga class to teach in an hour.

  “So what’s that favor you need?” I ask, bringing my own cup of coffee to my lips. It’s too hot, but the whipped cream pattern on top is sweet and velvety smooth.

  “I’d like your help. I’d like you to write another article and draw attention to a new website that we’re making.”

  I shake my head in confusion. “What?”

  “We’re going to change the narrative—like you suggested. We’ll include some of the old photos from the rumor site and post some new ones as well. Better pictures that don’t look like they were taken from a dark corner.”

  My mind instantly recalls his anger when I’d showed him the site and the accusation when we had our follow-up discussion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Cooper tried hacking the site to see who’s doing it and to see what else they have, but they noticed, and that was why they posted twice the rumors and twice the photos on Sunday and Monday.” He doesn’t mention the one of him with the girl I’d seen with the rumor that he paid her off to get out of his life after she told her friends about him. It seemed trivial, but in some strange and bizarre way, I could see it being feasible considering how private he is.

  “Since we can’t figure out who it is, we’ve decided we’re just going to beat them at their own game and make it go viral.”

  “Why not just take the rumor site down?” I ask. “Cooper’s a master hacker. Chloe told me he hacked into dating sites last year to get revenge on some guy. If he can do that, I’d imagine he can bury this thing.”

  “Too many people are following it. If we try to squash it, it will be like cutting the head off of a hydra.”

  “But why? If you don’t want that site to be public, why create another one?”

  “Because we have to.” He’s stoic and factual, reminding me too much of big decisions and discussions my family had to make after my mom got sick when I kept waiting for additional options and explanations.

  “What narrative are you going to share?” I’m flustered, annoyed because I know what he’s about to ask of me, though he’s barely given me an explanation.

  “We’ll tell them things about our lives that we don’t care about the world knowing about and stop being made to look like the villains. The article for the school paper would need to make it sound better, more exciting—try to change people’s focus and attention to the next shiny thing.”

  I consider his comments about my women’s soccer article and how I’d believed he’d been complimenting my work, and now the words feel so back-handed. “Send your request to Anthony. I’m sure he’d be interested in your pitch.”

  “What? You’re really not going to help me with this?”

  “Why would I? Why would I want to associate myself with bad journalism? I told you I had no interest in this story when I brought it to you. If you guys want to spin this to look like heroes instead of horny football players, then, by all means, go for it. But I have no interest.” I start to push my seat back when Ian shakes his head.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to drag you down in this. I just need to find a way to make this story break, and you mentioned your editor wanted it. I thought it could be a win-win. And I’m not worried about looking like a hero. I’m worried Pax and others could lose their futures. They’re starting to investigate some of these claims. You know what they have on Pax—he’s fucked up, but it’s nothing that should prevent him from having a future. He’s worked his ass off and was dealt a shitty hand last year.” His admission stops me.

  “The reason people are following this site is because it’s scandalous,” I tell him. “People love a winner, but what they love even more is watching a winner burn.”

  He pulls in a deep breath through his nose, his muscular chest somehow becoming more sculpted. “I know. That’s why we have to offer them something better. We’ll trade rumors for honesty.”

  I shake my head. “It can’t be what you’re studying in school or records you’ve broken. You guys are going to have to actually share stuff that people want to know about.”

  Ian nods.

  “I’m not saying this is a bad idea, but before you go to all this work, have you considered asking your team about the rumors and who might be posting them?”

  “We have a list.”

  I nearly choke on my next breath. But I take a drink of my coffee to wash down my judgment. After all, it’s not my place to be a critic. “We’ll need to do more than a single print. It will need to be a series of articles, and it will need to include something either shocking or fascinating with lots of pictures. Headlines and a couple of misleading quotes will be able to catch interest, but there will need to be some substance.” I say, reiterating the point that this is going to be uncomfortable, possibly more than the current site because lies and truths can both hurt.

  He tips his chin to one side, his lips curving upward but only fractionally. “So you’ll help?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know that it will garner much attention. Even if we do a series, you’re still competing with a site that already exists that has piqued the curiosity of campus.”

  “Which is why Cooper is going to work on making it so our new website is what gets turned up on searches.”

  “Is this worth it? To trade fake secrets for real ones?”

  “It’s only been a few weeks, and the coaches know about it, the faculty knows about it, and people are starting to share this shit on their social media.”

  “I get that, and for some players, I’m sure it’s awful, but overall, the interest is mostly positive. People aren’t mad or disgusted, they’re curious, and from most everything that I’ve heard, they think it’s sexy. This weekend, I saw pictures my friend posted from a party where most girls were dressed as sexy teachers.”

  “But the university is opening investigations for some of these claims, and it could fuck up our season, and if we don’t go undefeated this year, we can kiss our future away. If we lose Paxton as our QB, we don’t stand a chance.”

  I feel myself frowning.

  “I know,” he says. “It’s a shitty situation. I wish whoever had this would turn it over and allow the University to investigate the claims fairly. If one of us did something that hurt someone or caused significant harm, it should be addressed, but this is a shit show. Wickizer had his sexuality blasted on the site—that wasn’t fair, and posting claims like Alexis didn’t earn her spot at Brighton—it’s bullshit.”

  “Are you guys prepared if the rumor site has more photos? Worse photos?”

  Ian swallows. “This is where we’re putting a lot of faith in Coop and trying to engage people elsewhere.”

  “What about filing an injunction?”

  “It could take too long. Plus, each time we fuck with this person, they retaliate.”

  His phone buzzes again. It’s gone off at least a dozen times since we’ve sat down. “Do you need to get that?”

  He scoffs, his thickly fringed eyelashes falling shut for a moment as humor dances across his features and relaxes his shoulders. “No.”

  “Are you avoiding someone?” Hope makes my heart beat a faster rhythm.

  He spins his phone around to face me and taps the scree
n to illuminate it.

  “Two hundred missed calls?” I read.

  “They published all my contact information,” he says like I missed seeing the photo of him.

  His phone vibrates again with a text from an unknown number. “You can look,” he says, reading my curiosity. “I’m not going to respond to any of them.”

  I slowly lift his phone, wondering if I’ll see something from Isla. My curiosity should serve as a warning. I should decline and set it down, knowing that if I do find something, it will only torture me for days to come.

  I don’t heed my own warning. His texts are filled with messages from unknown numbers who have sent sexual requests, innuendos, naked pictures, and a zillion compliments.

  “I have to go change my number,” he says.

  “We can make the articles be an exposé. You guys will need to decide if you want to include the original rumors or avoid them altogether. Face them and dismantle them and those that have kernels of truths, lay out the facts.”

  Ian nods. “I’m an open book.”

  “I’ll need to meet with some of your other teammates as well. Lincoln, Pax, Tyler’s getting a lot of attention this year. Maybe Hoyt?”

  “You can talk to anyone on the team. Anyone but Hoyt.”

  I pause, waiting for a joke or something more, but instead, he clenches his jaw once again, creating those sinfully hard planes along his jaw.

  I grab my doughnut to distract myself from wanting to lean across the table and draw the same line with my tongue. The doughnut is sweet with that hint of tartness that makes me love them, but it’s dry and slightly stale. I take a sip of the coffee. “I’ll need to interview Hoyt. The first rumor was of him.”

  Ian saws his jaw, watching me as he does. It’s not in the same way he sometimes does when he hears more words than I’m actually saying. No, this is a look I don’t recognize and has me debating if I should laugh or think of something sarcastic to say. “You can talk to him under one condition.”

  My surprise has me sitting back several inches. “Now there are conditions?”

  “Just one.”

  “What?”

  “I have to be there.”

  I lean against the cold, hard back of the chair. “You think I need a babysitter?”

  He saws his jaw again. “Take it or leave it.”

  I laugh. “You know what happens when you tell someone not to do something, right? They usually end up doing it out of curiosity. Though, it would likely be defiance and curiosity for me.”

  His eyes narrow on mine. “Can’t you just take my word?”

  “You aren’t giving me your word, you’re giving me an ultimatum, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing this as a favor to you…”

  “I don’t trust him. Not with you.” His words are two sentences. Or maybe one. I can’t tell because my stupid and unruly heart is thumping like I’ve just read a scorching scene in the recent romance novel I’ve been reading.

  “Does it matter?” It’s a blanket question that is cast far and wide beyond what we’ve set as far as labels and descriptions for our once friendship that was verging on more and then came to an abrupt stop.

  He holds my stare. “We leave Friday at five, but we’ll be back on Sunday afternoon and can all be at your disposal.”

  “Deflection isn’t attractive on you, Ian Forrest.”

  “Yeah, well, I doubt jealousy would look much better.”

  The thought of him kissing Isla makes my coffee taste more bitter than it is. “I need to get going, but I’ll email you. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yup.”

  14

  Rose

  There are three reasons to hate the first Sunday of the month.

  1- Monday follows.

  2- I have to see my dad.

  3- I have to see my dad at his house.

  Only this month, our brunch date was moved to today, the fourth Sunday of the month, with October just around the corner and my article for the paper taking too many of my thoughts. I’m still trying to figure out the right angle to twist this to add something with more substance than their favorite color and idea of a dream date.

  Additionally, Olivia, who usually accompanies me on these dates, has caught a nasty cold and has quarantined herself in her room since Friday.

  I roll over and release a long sigh, curling in my overstuffed duvet. Juliet is asleep beside me, legs stretched out like the mini queen she’s become.

  “You want to come with me?” I ask her.

  She purrs in response.

  “You say that now, but you have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into.”

  Juliet stretches her front paws farther, encouraging me to scratch her belly. “Think you can handle holding down the place and watching over your other human for a few hours? Olivia might need some extra snuggles today. Did you hear her snoring last night? It was as far from sexy as it gets.” I bury a kiss on her head and roll out of bed. “Save a spot for me. I’m hoping to be back in record time today.”

  My phone rings as I move to my closet, causing me to make a detour back to my bedside table. Anna’s name is on my screen with a video call.

  I answer, coughing into my elbow.

  “You aren’t really trying that again, are you?” Anna asks.

  “Trying what?” I use a hoarse and broken voice and frown for added dramatic effect.

  “I can tell you’re faking it.”

  “Can your husband?”

  “Rose!” She wears a scowl like a uniform. She always has before noon. I can’t say that I hate it, I have my own version of resting bitch face, plus, the expectation for women to appear friendly and smiling at all times is nauseating.

  I shrug. “Just asking.”

  “I’m on my way over.”

  “Over to where?”

  She looks at me like I’ve just sprouted a third eye in the middle of my forehead. “Your apartment.”

  “I have not caffeinated yet. Can we flip the bitch switch down to medium until I shower and have some coffee?”

  “Why are you always late?” Anna isn’t trying to wear the crown of bitchiness this morning. She just lacks a filter before noon.

  “I’m not late. I just wasn’t going to be early.”

  “We’re not going to Dad’s.”

  In the three plus years that we’ve been having these brunches, never once has it been moved to anywhere else. “Why?”

  “He tried to reschedule to a weekday, and you said you couldn’t. Maybe this will teach you to be more flexible. Now, shower, put on some casual clothes, and get some coffee so you can hold a full conversation.” She hangs up.

  I look at Juliet. “How did we grow up in the same house? Is she even human?”

  Juliet doesn’t move.

  I take a fast shower, get the coffee started, and then stand in front of my closet for too long, trying to consider Anna’s definition of casual. I opt for a pair of jeans and a gray blouse before blow drying my long hair. I turn to my makeup. Cosmetics remind me of my mom. I used to love watching her put on makeup when I was little and can still remember the first time she allowed me to wear some. Makeup is something I still love, though I have mad respect for those who opt not to wear it, I always feel better and more confident with some foundation, blush, and a thick sweep of eyeliner.

  I race across the apartment, knowing Anna will be here any moment, and silently peek into Olivia’s room.

  She’s on her side, watching TV with a wad of tissues in her hand.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I hate the start of school. I hate germs,” She murmurs, all of her words distorted from being so congested.

  “Can I get you anything? Some water? Sprite? Soup?”

  She shakes her head. “Sorry to bail on you.”

  I wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. You should drink some tea. The lemon and honey will help, and so w
ill the steam.”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet. I just took some more of that decongestant stuff you bought. When I took it yesterday, I slept for eight hours.” Her eyelids do look heavy.

  “Okay. I’m just going to get you some in case you change your mind, and some crackers. But I will have my phone on me the entire time, and if you need anything from water, to food, to snuggles, I will be here.”

  Olivia smiles weakly. “You’re not allowed in here. I’m in quarantine. Whitney said she’s going to come by this afternoon with some soup, but I told her she was only allowed in the kitchen. I don’t want to pass this gunk on to the rest of you.” Though Whitney is Olivia’s stepmom, she’s far less like the evil stepmother in Cinderella and much more like the fairy godmother.

  “Good,” I tell her. “But my offer still stands.”

  “I hope the crepes are amazing for you,” Olivia says. “Drive carefully, and if Anna starts talking about politics, you can always fake my cold.”

  “I already tried.”

  Olivia starts to laugh, but it turns into a coughing fit.

  “It will be okay. I think we’re going out to breakfast, which might actually be the best idea yet. It will force us to leave and break up the chit chat.”

  Olivia gives a final cough. “Keep me posted. Love you, Rose.”

  “Love you, too.” I blow her a kiss and close the door behind me. As though on cue, there’s a knock at the front door.

  I pull it open, startling Anna. “I asked you to call me,” I tell her.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I texted you.”

  “I don’t read my texts while driving.”

  “But don’t you after you park?”

  “Why’d you want me to call?” She peers over my shoulder like she’s expecting to see something scandalous.

  “The orgy is over,” I tell her. “We have a really great cleaning guy who comes and gets everything picked up. He’s crazy fast and really affordable, but the only catch is that he likes to clean in the nude.” I lift my shoulders. “Not the worst problem if you like a little eye candy.”