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

by Mariah Dietz

  I slide into my seat, and Ian hands me my coffee, and the words admitting I am his nearly slip from my lips.

  Ian

  Luis laughs at his own joke, which has Logan turning to look at me with an expression that holds too much sarcasm for his age. He flips his red hat around, grabs his rake, and spreads the mulch that we’ve been dumping by the wheelbarrow around the park.

  “I saw your game Saturday,” he tells me.

  I stop raking and stretch my back. “Yeah? Any tips?”

  “How do you find the open lanes so fast?” he asks.

  “Lots of players have tells. There’s a lot that goes into he game besides just training. You have to make sure you know your own team’s plays backward and forward, but you also have to learn your competition. Study your opponent and get inside of their head.”

  “Why’d you choose to be a linebacker? Why not a quarterback or a receiver?”

  I grin. “Because I’m tougher than them.”

  Logan doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at me like I’m wearing on his patience.

  I start moving the mulch again with my rake. “I was afraid of getting hit,” I tell him. “When I started to play, I just wanted to play safety and stay as far away from the action as possible. Then, I started to learn more and more and realized I was pretty good at anticipating and reading the field, and I’d be running upfield to sack someone, which was fine when I was fourteen and the game could be determined by athleticism alone, but as I got older, it made holes on the field, and my coach suggested I try linebacker. By that time, I wasn’t afraid of getting hit anymore, but I still preferred playing defense. It worked to my strengths and is where I enjoy being on the field.”

  “My dad says you move like a running back.”

  “I’m not as big as other linebackers, so I have to use speed to my advantage.”

  “Do you think maybe you could show me sometime?”

  I glance across the park to where Rose is with Bree, spreading mulch under the new equipment.

  “Yeah, I would make time to do that.”

  Logan turns to look over his shoulder. “You sure stare at her a lot for not liking her.”

  I grin. “I never said I don’t like her.”

  “Are you going to tell her or wait for her to file a restraining order?”

  Luis dumps another load of mulch. “Catch up. She’s his lady.”

  “That gives me more reason to be a linebacker,” Logan says.

  I nod. “It’s the best motivation I can offer.”

  24

  Rose

  I bury my hands in Ian’s hair and moan his name as I explore his body with my hands, daring to find a single imperfection, though I know I won’t. My fingers brush over the defined cut between his abs and thighs, and his breath catches, causing his cock to twitch against me, and I grin. Being wanted by Ian makes me feel sexier than anything I could have ever imagined and shockingly self-conscious in equal measures. He slants his mouth over mine, his tongue demanding and slow, causing the ache between my legs to intensify.

  I wrap my hand around his length, surprised once again by his size, and he responds by tracing over my opening with his fingers. I moan, or maybe he does as his fingers press against me with a delectable pressure that sends waves of pleasure through my body. I tighten my fingers around his cock, sliding my hand up and down. Our clothes were discarded as soon as we got home from breakfast, where I found a contender for the title of best mocha in the city. I am starting to love Tuesdays because neither of us has a morning class, allowing us these couple of hours where we get to hide from the world.

  Ian’s phone rings, and I shake my head as I continue kissing him, refusing to share my time. The moment it stops, it starts again.

  “No,” I whisper. “Ignore it.” I kiss him as I stroke his impressive length.

  Ian nods as he kisses me, but another call chases the second.

  My first thought is Olivia. She left this morning for a class. Maybe something happened? But before I can talk myself off the instantly-formed cliff, the doorbell rings.

  I pull away, a cold wave of dread washing over my skin. I look at Ian, and the fears are no longer a trickle. They’re a flood as we both reach for our clothes.

  Ian grabs his phone as I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top that was thrown over my desk chair.

  I cross the apartment with my heart in my throat. I make a quick glance for Juliet and pull the door open without looking through the eyehole.

  On the other side of the door is Anna, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Each detail is more concerning than the last—Anna is not a ponytail girl. “What happened?” I ask. “Is it Dad? Is he okay?”

  Anna steps inside and closes the door before she faces me. “You haven’t seen it?”

  “Seen what?”

  She scrubs her hands over her face. “We have a problem.”

  “Okay…”

  Ian’s footsteps draw my attention. He comes toward us, his jaw hard planes of undiluted anger.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, looking from him to Anna and back again.

  “They went after you,” Ian says.

  “They? Who’s they?”

  “The site. The stupid, fucking rumor site.” He draws in a long breath through his nose. “They’re going after you because you helped us.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

  Anna closes her eyes and flinches like my words are painful to hear. “You shouldn’t,” she says. “You shouldn’t give a damn what they’re saying.” Her chin shakes, and her eyes shimmer with tears that make my stomach knot. “But you should be prepared.” She pulls out her phone, and I take it before she can unlock it and enter her code.

  The site is already pulled up. I stare at my reflection, my face and hair wet, my head angled back, and my mouth open. I remember the bitter, warm beer that had been tossed on me seconds before as I look at the picture and Paxton’s date. “Rumor has it, Rose Cartwright is the team’s favorite fan for blowjobs.”

  Rather than a single image, I have to scroll to see the multiple pictures of me plastered across the site, all from that night. A picture with Paxton that from this angle makes it look like he’s touching my breast. Another one of my wet shirt and exposed bra, another of me drinking. One picture shows me climbing into the backset with Hoyt’s hand on my arm. Another of me with Bobby, the same night, same shirt, same awful innuendo but this time I’m looking straight at the camera and smiling along with Bobby like we’re posing. Next is a girl on her knees in front of a guy. Another is of a girl with similar dark hair leaning back as a guy touches her breast.

  “These ones aren’t even me,” I tell them once I scroll to the end.

  “It won’t matter,” Anna says.

  I don’t know what I was expecting—if this is better or worse than I’d feared.

  “So stupid,” I mutter. “Who cares? This isn’t the audience they’ve been building. No one’s going to care.”

  “You know they’re going to care,” Anna says.

  I shrug. “Then let them. I’m not going to lower myself to their level.” I shake my head. “You’re used to big scandals. This is nothing,” I tell her. “This site has been up for over a month, and they were starting to lose steam. A few people will probably talk, but I’m not worried about it.”

  Anna looks at Ian like she’s hoping he understands her concerns.

  “It’s on social media,” he says. “That was Arlo calling. He said he’s seeing it being posted and flagged. He called Cooper first to get him working on the site, but if people are sharing it…”

  “It’s okay,” I say before either of them can say anything else. “It will blow over by lunch.” I glance at the clock over the stove. “I have to get ready for my class. I’m sure everything is going to be fine. People always feel way braver on the other side of a keyboard than they do in person.”

  “Yo
u should stay home,” Anna says.

  “I’m not staying home over this. It will be fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “Rose, if it’s on social media, it’s not contained. Whoever is trying to take down the rumor site can’t crash social media sites or remove posts or tweets.”

  I shake my head. “You’re overreacting. You’re used to the entire country wanting to hear gossip. This is just Brighton.”

  “Just give me one day to get a pulse on things,” she says. “I can have my team on this and get us a better idea of what we’re working against.”

  “But then they win. These are lies. All of them.” I hand Anna her phone.

  “Rose, just one day. Hang out. Order pizza and binge-watch TV.”

  “Anna, I’m not hiding from this.”

  She releases a frustrated breath. “Why can’t you just listen?”

  “Because if I stay home, then it means I’m ashamed, and I refuse to lie down and be ashamed over these lies.”

  Anna presses her lips together. I know she agrees with me and would be going if our roles were reversed. “If you need anything today, call me. I’ll keep my phone on me at all times.”

  “I’ll let you know if I get to punch anyone.”

  She doesn’t smile. “Bye, Ian.” She gives him a meaningful look that makes me want to roll my eyes.

  Ian waves and turns to me as the door closes. “I don’t like this.”

  “I should have seen this coming,” I say.

  “Are you sure you want to go? I can skip with you.”

  “No, you can’t. You fly out tomorrow morning, and next week, you fly out on Friday. You need to go to class.”

  He rakes his hand through his hair. “Don’t take this on alone. If someone says or does anything, let me know. This isn’t a war I ever wanted you to fight.”

  I kiss him, but his lips are hard and cold and lack the same passion from earlier.

  I park on campus and reach for my phone. I didn’t have the guts to turn it on while I was still with Ian, knowing that because the site shared my phone number just like they have everyone else’s that I’d likely have a dozen messages and dick pics.

  I power it on and try to think of the worst-case scenarios so my brain can plan accordingly because life has taught me to always prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

  You’re a filthy whore.

  I hope you die.

  You’re disgusting. I can’t believe they’ll touch you.

  You’re so ugly.

  Die bitch.

  Dick pic.

  I hope you kill yourself.

  My breath catches, and my face warms. There aren’t dozens—but hundreds of messages, and rather than finding an array of inappropriate pictures, I skim over threats and names and angry messages that blaze and brand my thoughts.

  Are these people my classmates? Have I met any of them?

  I hate considering Anna’s advice and ditching. I don’t want these lies to make me feel inferior, yet the hurt is already beginning to engulf me.

  My phone rings in my hand, startling me from thoughts of takeout and my apartment. I glance at the screen and am relieved to see it’s Olivia.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Where are you?”

  “I just got to campus.”

  She’s silent for a minute. “Did you see the rumor site is back up?”

  “Posting some of my finest angles. That bra might deserve an award. I didn’t realize my cleavage looked that good.”

  “I hate them,” she tells me. “I hate them so much.”

  “Don’t waste your energy on hating them. It’s like frowning, it takes more muscles than smiling and gives worse wrinkles, and it does that to our souls as well. They’re bottom feeders. They don’t deserve our thoughts or attention, much less our wrinkles,” I say, my bravado finally finding a stepping stone because I believe this. I truly believe they don’t deserve my attention or anyone else’s.

  “They’re vile,” she says. “I don’t have another class for a few hours. We could go get some coffee or a—”

  “I have class.”

  “Which one?”

  “Business Analytics.”

  “Which building?”

  “You aren’t coming.”

  “I was just going to sit in and do some of my homework.”

  I grin. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “That’s good because while this may come as a surprise, I’m pretty sure I’d lose in a fight to a ten-year-old.”

  I chuckle. “It’s okay. I’m sure most of this is hot air, and like I told Anna, everyone always feels braver and bolder on the other side of their phone or computer.”

  “Technology is definitely a double-edged sword. Everyone feels welcomed to act like an asshole. But, good news, you’re close, and I have a coupon for smoothies. So I’ll see you in five.”

  “Olivia,” I object, but she’s already hung up.

  My phone vibrates with more alerts. More messages.

  I silence it and shove it into my bag. Ian had to get a new number. Maybe that’s the best route.

  My body feels stiff with nerves as I grab my bag and open my door, my vision of “worst” changing by the second as the messages continue to replay in my head.

  I’m not a stranger to rumors. While my mom was in the hospital, rumors had soared, many of them wrong, several of them cruel. Even in my time at Brighton, rumors have swirled, assumptions about how many guys I’ve slept with and who I’ve slept with have been whispered behind my back, marking with me a scarlet letter that I’ve largely ignored by keeping to my small circles of friends.

  I cross the road and follow the winding sidewalk with my eyes forward, not daring to look at the students I pass.

  “I was closer than I thought,” Olivia says, smiling triumphantly. She lifts two smoothies, one orange, and one pink. “Mango orange or triple berry?”

  I accept the orange one. “You know you don’t have to go to class with me.”

  Olivia lifts her brow. “Just like you didn’t have to be there to meet my mom. Just like you didn’t have to be there for every fight with my dad, every long conversation about my past and exes and bad days and worse nights. You’re my best friend, Rose, and I would be a shitty friend if I weren’t here. Ride or die, sink or swim, fly or crash—I’m always going to be at your side.”

  I reach my free arm around Olivia, pulling her into a tight hug that she reciprocates with a fierceness I feel in my bones and heart and all the way to my soul. There is no doubt that Olivia has been the angel on my shoulder for the past four years.

  “Let’s get to class,” she says with a wink as she pulls back.

  I follow her as my heart beats a nervous rhythm.

  “I saw an ad for some really cute boots,” Olivia says. “We might have to do some shopping this weekend.” She takes a drink of her smoothie. “Or we could binge-watch the entire Harry Potter series. I’m talking all eight movies, no breaks except a short nap. We’ll order all our favorite takeout, so we don’t have to get up to cook or clean.”

  “I don’t want to hide from this,” I tell her.

  As soon as my words leave me, Olivia’s phone starts to ring with a couple of messages. “No one said anything about hiding. We won’t be hiding. We’ll be telling them we don’t care enough to even respond.” Her attention turns to her phone, and her steps slow as she reads the messages until she stops, shaking her head in short jerks. “No.”

  “What?”

  Her blue eyes meet mine, sympathy lowering her brow. “They’ve made more posts.”

  “About me?”

  She swallows. “Yeah.”

  I blow out a long breath. “Slut-shaming is officially in season.”

  Olivia’s gaze darts to the side as a couple of people pass us. “You’re sure you want to go? No one is going to judge you or think less of you if you want to go home.”

  “If I’m home, I’ll just have more time to o
verthink everything. I need to be here.”

  Her eyes hold a dozen arguments, but she nods. “Hold your chin high. It makes the assholes uncomfortable.”

  “I should have worn a mini skirt.”

  She grins. “We’ll save that for tomorrow.”

  We enter the classroom, and my imagination taunts me with each step. I feel the eyes of my classmates, and it makes me paranoid, questioning if they’re staring at me, judging me, or simply glancing in my direction to buy time as the start of class counts down.

  Someone coughs. “Skank,” they say, coughing again.

  “That was original,” I say, passing by him and continuing to an empty aisle. I sink into a seat, and Olivia sits beside me, her phone out but her eyes are on me.

  “I bet if we save pictures of everyone who acts like an asshole, Cooper could think of a creative way to share them and get revenge.”

  I take a sip of my smoothie, so I don’t fall into a puddle of self-pity that continues to grow wider and deeper with each passing minute.

  A guy, a few rows in front of us, turns to face us and then spins around, and seconds later turns again. “Hey, I’m friends with the football team. Since I have an association with the team, why don’t you come suck me off?” He sticks a pen in his mouth and makes a show of releasing his belt. Part of the class falls silent, others snicker. I don’t look to see who’s reacting, my gaze is trained on the guy who’s hopped onto the bandwagon, humor dancing in his eyes as he looks at me like I’m somehow less than him.

  “You’re disgusting,” Olivia snaps.

  Before anything more can be said, our professor steps into the classroom.

  “I’ll take a raincheck, but I’m only good for the BJ. Loose chicks aren’t really my thing,” he says, quiet enough the entire room can’t hear but loud enough to dare the professor to say something.

  He doesn’t.

  Asshole.

  The class crawls by, and no matter how hard I try to fight the feeling of isolation, it surrounds me, even as the class is dismissed and Olivia grips my hand in hers like she can feel me withdrawing.