Keeping Score: A Sports Romance

by Dee Lagasse

  When the last of the rice was packed up, I grabbed a slice of watermelon and a can of soda. Jake followed me into the separately fenced-in portion of our yard that contained the pool.

  Taking a seat at the edge of the pool, I let my feet dangle above the water. “No thanks.”

  “So, where’s Douchey Devon tonight?” he countered.

  He didn’t bother to hide the disdain in his voice.

  He didn’t ever hide his belief that I could do better than Devon.

  Where Jake and I didn’t make sense on paper, Devon and I did. We ran in the same circles. We had similar taste in clothing, music, and art. I just didn’t know how long it would last with the two of us. In the mere few weeks’ time of our relationship, I had questioned whether or not to end things more than once.

  The sneaky, unjustifiable emotions that flooded me whenever Jake was around certainly didn’t help matters either.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He was supposed to call me after band practice but—”

  I stopped myself, knowing if I were to continue it’d only result in a lecture. Not soon enough, though.

  “You deserve so much better.” The goosebumps returned when he placed his hand on my thigh. The quick motion of his hand moving back and forth was meant to be reassuring. My body didn’t get the memo, though. His hand was cold and wet from the frosty can of Pepsi he’d been holding. The contrast of it against my warm sun-kissed skin sent my senses into instant overdrive. “Cold?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I hadn’t been in the pool in hours. And although the sun had already set, the humid summer air still hung heavy around us.

  “Liar,” he whispered.

  I could feel his eyes focused on my face as he waited for my response.

  “Excuse me?” I shot back defensively. My brows furrowed as I turned to face him. “I’m a lot of things, but a liar is not—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, Jake’s hands cupped my face. His lips crashed down onto mine, the sneak attack of a kiss rendering me completely frozen.

  The initial shock wore off as fast as it set in. The watermelon that lingered on his lips and the tenderness of his touch pulled me under like a tidal wave. Feverishly and without abandon, his tongue danced over mine. With every passing moment, I felt myself slipping further and further into the depths of our kiss.

  Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.

  “While I hate to be the one that breaks this up, I thought you might want to know Devon is at the front door. Mom’s keeping him busy, but…”

  The sound of my older brother’s voice behind us was like a wrecking ball breaking our contact.

  In the process of jumping up, I accidentally kicked one of the cans of soda into the pool. “Fuck!” I cursed. The sinking realization of what just happened settled in my stomach when I said, “Oh my God. Devon.”

  I just cheated on Devon. I kissed Jake.

  Well, technically, Jake kissed me, but I fucking kissed him back. I kissed him back and I didn’t think twice. I didn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it.

  “Break up with him,” Jake said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He grabbed my hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I fucking love you, Isa. You have to know that by now. Be with me. We can figure everything else out later.”

  I knew it couldn’t be that simple.

  I knew it, and I said okay anyway.

  “You know I can’t be around Devon, especially after that. I should probably head out. The guys are expecting me. I have to at least make an appearance.” He shrugged, rolling his eyes. After letting go of my hand, he grinned, excitement rolling off him as the dread of facing Devon filled me. “Let’s meet at our spot in the morning.”

  I nodded, and then watched him jog across the lawn and carefully open the latch of the chain-link fence. The sudden need to say the words waiting on the tip of my tongue hit me as he was about to step out of the yard.

  “Jake!” When he didn’t turn, I called him by the one thing I knew would get his attention. “Jacob!”

  At the sound of his full name, he stopped. As he turned to face me, I swallowed. This was the moment. This was the moment that would change everything.

  “Yessss?” he asked. His voice trailed in the distance between us.

  “I love you too.”

  Isa

  Six Years Later…

  “Whatever plans you have tonight…cancel them. I need you on the VIP floor. The Bluecoats will be in the house tonight.”

  Looking up from my well-loved copy of Interview with a Vampire, I raised my brow in annoyance.

  As soon as I saw my brother standing in the doorframe, a dramatic huff of a sigh expelled from my lips. The pleading look in his eyes told me everything he wasn’t saying—that this was last-minute and he’d have to scramble to find someone else if I didn’t say yes.

  After marking my page with a bookmark, I closed my book. “You’re the Director of Entertainment at the biggest nightclub in Boston. You’d think you would have found some photographer friends by now.” I stood to shoo him out of the room. “One of these nights, I’m actually going to have plans and you’re going to be shit out of luck, Javi.”

  “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite sister?” he said, beaming as he turned to leave. The sound of his voice boomed when he called out, “We leave in an hour and a half! Iced chai’s on me.”

  “I’m your only sister!” I yelled back before pushing my bedroom door shut.

  I grabbed a pair of cutoff black jean shorts from my dresser and then stripped out of the poplin pajama pants I’d changed into just an hour ago. After spending most of my afternoon taking photographs of the most misbehaved children I’d met in my entire life, I was excited to spend the rest of the night in bed.

  I could have said no to Javier. He knew I wouldn’t, though. Now that I had a gallery lease to pay for, I was taking every job I could until the grand opening next month. Even if it meant dealing with horribly behaved kids and demanding mothers who barked out orders behind me.

  Not that I minded working at Retro for my brother. The pay was great; the exposure was even better. I was there enough that people started to recognize me, and the photography credits on Retro’s social media posts sent new followers my way every weekend.

  Once I found one of my staff T-shirts, I swapped out my camisole for a black padded push-up bra. Krissy, one of the bartenders, had taken all my work shirts and cut the necklines out. They now hung off my shoulders, and scooped down low enough to show what little cleavage I had. For the bartenders and shot girls, it was a way to make a little more money. For me, it was a way to uniform us as one and stand together as the women of Retro. I didn’t really see how cutting up fabric brought us all together, but I was happy to be considered part of the Retro crew.

  After pulling my hair up into a high ponytail, I quickly did my makeup. I spent so much time outside over the last couple of months, the sun-kissed glow on my skin eliminated any need for concealer or foundation. But after dramatically winging my liquid eyeliner, I cursed under my breath when one looked drastically better than the other.

  This. Always. Happened.

  There wasn’t time to fix it a hundred more times, though. So, begrudgingly, I left it as it was.

  It was only after adding a few layers of thick black mascara to my lashes and a final pop of bright red to my lips that I decided I was good to go.

  My area of the house was considered its own apartment, even if the two doors that separated the two floors of the house were never closed. When my brother and his fiancé mentioned they were thinking about renting out the lower level of their house, conveniently, the lease on my apartment was just about to end.

  Instead of signing another lease for the tiny studio apartment I had in Boston, I packed up all my things and moved into the basement of my brother’s new house. For the most part, we co-existed as two separate households. With the exception of a kitchen, I had everything I could
need downstairs. We even converted the unfinished storage area into a dark room for my photography.

  Though, comfortable wouldn’t exactly be the word I’d use to describe how I felt walking into the kitchen. The conversation Javier and Adam were having about what to get my grandmother for her upcoming birthday came to an immediate halt when Adam’s eyes widened. As my brother turned to see what caught Adam’s attention, I let out a small laugh.

  “Dang, mamacita!” Adam praised. His nod of approval gave me the reassurance I didn’t even know I needed. “Look at you work the Retro tee!”

  As expected, a scowl spread across my brother’s lips immediately. “Absolutely not. No sister of mine—”

  “Will what?” I crossed my arms in disapproval, stopping my brother before he finished his sentence and challenging him as I continued. “Look like every other woman employed at Retro? Yes. Yes, she will.”

  “She’s got you there, babe.” Adam chuckled, and I knew he’d be on my side. He usually was. Over time, he became like another brother to me, but he tended to be a little more subjective about things than Javier. “You can’t give her a hard time when all the rest of the girls are wearing tiny booty shorts and cut up shirts. At least Isa’s shorts don’t show her coochie.”

  “All right!” Javier raised his hands in defeat. “But can we never, and I mean never, say the words ‘Isa’ and ‘coochie’ in the same sentence again?”

  I shook my head then asked, “Are you ready?”

  Despite the two of us working at the same place tonight, Javier’s outfit looked nothing like mine.

  The slim white dress slacks and loafers were quite the contrast from the five-dollar thrift store shorts and old high-top Converse All-Stars I had on. However, the fitted green button-up shirt he wore matched the neon Retro logo on the corner of my shirt. So, there was that.

  “Are you ready?” he mimicked. “I’ve been waiting on you, hermana.”

  I waved goodbye to Adam, then followed my brother out of the side door off the kitchen.

  As I stepped onto the red wooden deck, I was blasted with the late afternoon sunshine. The dry air and thick humidity settled in my lungs in the few short seconds it took me to get settled in the passenger seat of Javier’s Lexus.

  “Are you excited?” he asked, turning to face me as he turned the key in the ignition.

  A growing smirk spread across his lips, reminding me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

  “About work?” I brushed the comment off, feigning innocence. “It’s a job, Javi. I know how to be professional.”

  I knew why he was asking.

  I also knew that even if he had enough photographers, he would have found a way to get me inside the club tonight.

  Because if there was anything I loved as much as photography, it was football.

  Football has always been a part of my life. I was only three when my dad retired from the NFL, but he didn’t even take a season off before he started coaching Fox Hollow’s high school team. All of our weekends were taken up by football growing up.

  Friday nights were spent at the high school games he coached. Saturday, we watched college football. Before I even knew Alabama was a state, I knew that in our house, we rooted for the Crimson Tide.

  Sundays were my favorite, though. Our house was always full on Sundays. Javier and I would wear matching jerseys. It wasn’t until I was about eight when I realized why it was so damn cool to have my last name on the back. That was roughly the time my parents realized I was no longer coloring in my Disney Princess books on the living room floor.

  The laughter that erupted from my father when I stood up and yelled at the receiver to “run the freakin’ ball” is something I’d never forget for the rest of my life. Before the game was over, my dad made a few calls and got us tickets right on the fifty-yard line and field passes for an upcoming game.

  That was it for me.

  I was in love.

  And, Javier knew how much I loved it.

  He knew—for me—being a Coleman meant taking pride in the legacy our father created. He didn’t love the game the way my dad and I did, but he understood it was more than just about the sport. Football was more than four quarters and touchdowns for me.

  It was the rush of dopamine when your favorite team scored. It was the moment you held your breath and prayed there was enough time left on the clock for one more play. It was triumph and pride after wins. Disappointment after losses.

  Football was a feeling.

  Thanks to my dad, I’d been lucky enough to meet some of the greatest players in the game. I’d been to Super Bowls and gotten to walk the carpet at the ESPYs—the Grammys of the sports world. As I got older, the players in the game started phasing out, and newer, younger players took their place.

  There were even a few times I’d caught the attention of a player at an event. The moment they learned I was Roger Coleman’s daughter, they found an excuse to back out of the conversation. It was like that growing up as “Coach’s daughter” too.

  Which was why I turned in my seat and faced my brother. “Can we maybe not mention who our dad is, though? I love Dad, but I just feel like everyone looks at me differently as soon as they realize I’m Roger Coleman’s daughter.”

  “Well…I think I should probably tell you…” he started. After offering me a small smile, he quickly stammered out, “It was Jake that called me.”

  Well, fuck.

  A surge of panic jolted through me.

  I knew this day would come eventually. It was inevitable. Unavoidable.

  Jake Pierce was my best friend.

  Keyword: was.

  Jake Pierce and I first met when we were in the same kindergarten class. Our paths crossed again in second grade, third grade, and fifth grade. We even had some classes together in middle school, but our friendship didn’t truly begin until our freshman year of high school.

  Jake was the first freshman in the history of Fox Hollow High School to not only make the varsity team but also start in his very first game. I was the team’s photographer. He asked about my camera one day, and our friendship blossomed from there. It didn’t take us long to become inseparable.

  Jake Pierce was my best friend…until the day I broke his fucking heart.

  Isa

  I pulled my cell phone out of the camera bag that sat on the floorboard at my feet.

  After opening my text messages, I tapped the very first one at the top of the screen.

  Me: Guess who’s going to be at Retro tonight?

  Three little dots appeared on the bottom of the screen immediately. They stopped and started again three times before my phone vibrated in my hands. Right on cue, my best friend’s face showed up on the screen.

  I declined the call to quickly text instead.

  Me: In the car with Javi. Can’t talk.

  Salem: Okay. So…we knew this day would come when he was traded. Where’s your head at?

  Salem was also in Mrs. Tillman’s kindergarten class with me and Jake. We both showed up on the first day of school with the same Scooby-Doo backpack and decided right then and there that we were best friends. That simple decision gifted us almost twenty years of friendship.

  Her house became my second home, and she was given a spare key to my parents’ house. While we were growing up, we fought like sisters. But, man, we loved like sisters too. Which was why when Jake kissed me and I broke up with Devon, Salem was the one I called.

  We were in the middle of a fight. Looking back, I don’t even remember what it was about. I just remember calling her sobbing and her showing up fifteen minutes later. We hadn’t gotten in a single fight since then.

  Me: All over the place.

  Me: Like, what do I even say to him?

  Salem: I don’t know. You might want to start with sorry, though.

  Damn her and her blunt honesty.

  “Where’s your head at, hermana?”

  My brother’s choice of words as he pulled into the drive-th
ru of Pressed Café made me laugh.

  “Salem just asked the same thing,” I explained, due to the lift of his brow at my response. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to him.”

  After rattling off our drink order into the speaker box, Javier pulled forward slightly. There were two cars ahead of us. Just enough time for a mini brotherly pep talk.

  “You know, I try really hard not to be the kind of brother that tells you what you should do…” His voice trailed and then he paused.

  “But?” I added, knowing it was coming next.

  “You owe him an apology.” My brother sighs as one of the cars ahead of us pulled away from the pick-up window. The brief silence that filled the car while we inched forward in line was just enough to brace myself for what I knew he was about to say. “Or at the very least, an explanation. I heard him—that night by the pool. I heard him tell you he loved you. And, I heard you say you loved him too.”

  “Javier—” I opened my mouth to defend myself, promptly closing it again when I realized I didn’t actually have a defense.

  Over the course of the next few minutes, my brother smiled politely and made small talk with the barista working inside the coffee shop. I sat silently as he took our drinks from the window and paid. My mind raced once he pulled out of the drive-thru and picked up right where he left off.

  “You told him you would meet him in the morning, and you didn’t. I mean, I get it. It was probably a lot to deal with. Especially all at once. But the boy told you he loved you, Isa, and you responded by avoiding his phone calls and sneaking out the back door when you heard him in the house. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the hope and then the sadness on his face when he realized you weren’t in the car with us to say goodbye before he left for Alabama.”

  “I was eighteen!” I shouted, like that completely justified my actions. “Do you think it was easy for me? He was my best friend too, Javi. I didn’t know what I was feeling. When I figured it out, it was too late.”