Shark Bite

by K L Montgomery

  Shark starts to open his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then he stops, looks at me again, and closes it.

  “What?” He certainly piqued my curiosity with that look. He’s the type of guy where you’re constantly wondering what he’s thinking. I’d almost forgotten that about him, but it’s all coming back to me now.

  “Oh, I—” He shakes his head a little, glances down at his empty mug of beer, then levels his stormy blue-gray eyes on me.

  As I have a tendency to do, I fill in the gaps in our conversation. Awkward silences are not my thing, and I’ll do almost anything to avoid them, including this: “Look, I know we have a history…”

  His eyes narrow, then immediately widen as the words spill out of my mouth.

  “I’m glad, in spite of that, you trust me to help with your team.”

  He nearly chokes on a breath, but I watch him swallow it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck. His muscled, tatted forearms rest on the tabletop as his gaze stabs right through me. “Yeah,” he says, and I think it’s all he’s going to say. And then, “It’s all water under the bridge now. It’s been a long time.”

  I don’t know why, but my heart sinks with that comment. It has been two years, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday that I woke up in his arms. Looking back, I hadn’t meant to spend the night, but…it just happened that way. And at the time it felt so natural. So right.

  When I left later that morning, he kissed me and said he’d call. And then he didn’t. So when I finally texted him, he acted all casual, like nothing had really been exchanged between us.

  But I know what I felt.

  The dismissive way he said “water under the bridge now” takes me right back to that point.

  And reminds me how stupid I am for letting myself dwell on what might have been.

  I’ve been brainstorming all day. And calling people at charities and organizations I think would be good partners for the Rehoboth Riptide Rugby Club. Playing phone tag is never fun. When the clock strikes five, I can’t believe I’ve wasted a whole day and not gotten any answers.

  I hear a knock on the edge of my cubicle, and when I whip around, I find my boss, Andrea, standing in the entrance to my “office.” I hate having my back to the entrance and my computer visible. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. I did all my work for the rugby team on my phone, so my computer is showing some spreadsheet I finished for one of the account managers.

  Okay, so I did accomplish something today. I finished a spreadsheet. Yippee.

  “Megan?” Andrea’s voice echoes with concern. “Everything okay?”

  I yawn, can’t really help myself. Just the thought of spreadsheets activated my boredom sensors. “Yeah, sorry. Been working on the ad spend spreadsheet for Wilson’s Landscaping’s Facebook ads.”

  “Ouch,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “Guess I can’t blame you there. Are you heading out?”

  “Yeah, in a sec. I’m just finishing up a few things.”

  “Okay. I wanted to tell you that you’re doing a great job.” Andrea’s whole face brightens with her smile, her expression as sunny as her golden blonde hair. “I think this fall, probably before Christmas, I’m going to have another account manager position open…and I’d love to consider you for it if you can show me some real hustle in the next couple of months.”

  It’s music to my ears! My heart starts to flutter as I scramble for something smart and professional to say in return. “I’m gonna make you proud, Boss!” is what I come up with.

  I’m gonna make you proud, Boss?

  I sound like a mafia hitman or something.

  I struggle to keep from smacking my forehead with the palm of my hand as she slow-blinks at me for a moment and then laughs. She thinks I’m joking. Oh, awesome. Yes, it is advantageous to be somewhat of a witty, facetious person. Then, even when you’re serious, people may still think you’re joking.

  I laugh right along with her.

  “Have a good night,” I tell her before turning back to my computer.

  “See you tomorrow!”

  As soon as she’s gone, I let out the breath I’m holding. Why do I have to be such a dumbass?

  4

  Megan and I are meeting with Matt Cameron, the head of a youth program here in Rehoboth Beach called Beach Buddies. I pull up, and she’s already sitting in her black Volkswagen Beetle waiting for me. My jaw clenches when she steps out and is wearing a dress that hits her at mid-thigh with a pair of strappy sandals with heels. Her legs are curvy, strong, and delicious, and I mentally punch myself for the first thought that jumps out: how great they’d look wrapped around me.

  She seems to know she’s torturing me when her gaze rakes up and down my body. “You’re in uniform,” she points out.

  “Yes, Captain Obvious. Thanks for noticing.” I’m an EMT, so, yeah, I wear a uniform to work.

  She sighs and shakes her head apologetically. “Sorry, I forgot that’s what you do. But this is good—you’ll look like a fine upstanding member of the community.”

  “You mean I didn’t already look like a fine upstanding member of the community?” I squint at her, eager to hear her response.

  She scoffs, “You’re the one who told me your team has an image problem!” She shakes her head again, this time in agitation. “Oh, crap—”

  “What?”

  “You told me a couple of the guys have been in trouble with the law… That could be an issue for this organization.”

  “A DUI and a drunken brawl. No felonies. And nothing to do with kids.”

  “Whew, okay.” She sucks in a breath and glances around the parking lot, looking nervous. I thought she did this sort of thing all the time? Maybe she’s not quite as confident as she makes herself out to be?

  “So we can go in?”

  “Wait, one more thing,” she says, straightening out the skirt of her dress, which is billowing up in the wind. I’d be okay if she had a Marilyn Monroe moment right here, but this close to the double glass doors of a youth program is probably not the best venue.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just say yes to everything.” She pins her gaze right on mine. “Got it?”

  “What if it’s something we can’t do?”

  “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Say ‘we can work it out.’ Don’t say the word ‘no.’ Alright?”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  I swear I hear her mumble under her breath, “Whatever I say is right, buddy,” but by the time I process it, she’s already swung open the door and stepped inside. I should have gotten the door for her. Duh.

  “Hello!” she greets the receptionist with a beaming grin. “I’m Megan Adams, and this is Shark Kelly. We’re here to see Mr. Cameron.”

  “Shannon Kelly,” I correct her.

  She whips around to look at me, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. I guess she didn’t know my real name. I don’t exactly go around broadcasting it, that’s for damn sure. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for giving me a girl’s name. Sadly, it’s not the worst way they screwed me up.

  “Right this way,” the receptionist says without any commentary on my name. She leads us down a narrow hallway to the last door and ushers us inside.

  A tall, muscular man with salt and pepper hair, weathered features, and the deep tan of someone who either works outside or owns a boat is standing behind the desk, his hand outstretched to shake. “I’m Matt Cameron, nice to meet you.”

  We sit down after shaking hands, and Megan prompts me to fill Matt in about the team. But he cuts me off, “Oh, I know all about your team. I’ve been to a few of your games. I’m a rugger myself—or at least I used to be many moons ago.”

  That’s when I knew we had him. I mean, come on. This is a partnership made in heaven. Megan’s eyes dart between us, soaking in the developing bromance like it’s the latest popular show to binge-watch on Netflix.

  “Can you tell us a little about your program?” she asks him once our mutua
l admiration subsides.

  “Sure, of course.” He clears his throat. “We’re funded through grants, mainly, so cashflow is always an issue. We’re limited in what kind of programming we can offer because of that, of course. But what we basically do is match up boys and girls with mentors in the community, and we’d love to match some of your ruggers with our kids. We’d even love to do a rugby camp, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

  I’m not the type to show my emotions, so I’m having a hard time tamping down my excitement. It’s somewhere between winning our league championship and being invited to play with a pro team. In other words: pretty damn high. “Oh, yeah, we could do something like that.”

  “For sure!” Megan enthusiastically offers. “We’d have to think about camp logistics, but maybe in the spring?”

  Matt shrugs. “Yeah, okay. So you’re thinking of a long-term partnership.”

  She nods. “Yes, and to start, we’d like to come up with a fundraising event that would help both of us. What do you think about cohosting a carnival?”

  “I think the kids would love that,” he folds his hands together, “but I don’t know how much money we could commit up front.”

  Megan waves him off. “Oh, don’t worry about the money. We’ll figure it out on our end. We’d need help with promotion and getting people there. We can use your field after a game, couldn’t we, Shark? Do it right after a game maybe? Like a double-header?”

  I stare at her. She told me not to say “no” to anything, but that field doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to the Legion, and they’re pretty particular about how we use it and when we use it. “Uh, maybe,” I interject, but she’s already gone off on a huge tangent.

  “And isn’t there a shelter there…with picnic tables? We could do a barbecue, and have games and rides, and, oh my gosh, it would be so much fun!”

  “It does sound like a lot of fun,” Matt agrees, a smile stretching out the wrinkles around his mouth but crinkling the ones around his eyes.

  “Do you have your fall schedule yet, Shark? Maybe we could set a date right now?” Megan pulls out her phone and turns to look at me expectantly. “Know when your home games are? Maybe early October?”

  We do have the schedule set, but there’s no way I’m promising our field, and how the hell are we going to pay for this thing, and wouldn’t we need insurance and stuff? This is all happening way too fast, and my head is starting to throb, pounding relentlessly against my temples.

  “We don’t have the fall schedule ironed out yet. Why don’t we start with the mentoring thing, and we can think about an event later in the year? Maybe a holiday party with Santa or something?” I have to admit, that’s a pretty stellar idea too.

  “Well, I’m Jewish, so—” Matt answers.

  “I am too! Well, half-Jewish.” Megan holds up her hand to give him a high five. What ensues is the most awkward high five of all time, but at least we’re off the subject of a carnival I have no business promising. Or so I thought.

  “Besides,” Megan continues, “it would be much harder to plan something around the holidays. It’s always easier when the weather is still nice so it can be outside. And since you have the field and shelter already, it’s no added expense, right?” She taps her finger against her chin like she always does when she’s thinking. “We need to make sure it’s not the same weekend as the Sea Witch festival, and—”

  “Uh, Megan,” I interject, but she cuts me off.

  “Speaking of sea witches, I played one in a local theatrical production a couple of years ago.” She laughs and even slaps her knee, she’s amused herself so greatly. “Can you imagine? Me as a sea witch? But I totally pulled it off.”

  “I can imagine,” I fire at her.

  “You were there!” she answers my zinger.

  “Well,” Matt interrupts, glancing up at the clock on his wall, “I have to get to another meeting. I’ve got your phone number and email address, Megan. So why don’t we do this? I’ll send the application for mentorship, and, Shark, you and some of your teammates can fill it out. We’ll make some matches and try to bring the kids to a game. Megan, if you want to look at the team calendar and get back to me on a date for the carnival, we can go from there?”

  Megan jumps to her feet and pumps his hand up and down, thanking him relentlessly. “We’re so grateful for this opportunity, Mr. Cameron! This is going to be an amazing collaboration; I can just feel it!”

  He hooks his thumb toward me with a grin plastered on his face. “I don’t know where you found this lady,” he says, “but she’s a keeper. Love the enthusiasm!”

  A few minutes later, we both walk down the narrow hallway again and exit the double glass doors to the parking lot.

  “What the hell, Meg?” I seethe the moment our feet hit the pavement.

  “What are you talking about?” She furrows her brows. “That went great!”

  My head is really hating me now. What did I ever do to it? I rub my temples and glare at her. “I can’t promise you the Legion will let us use their field for a carnival. They have events almost every weekend too. We have to work around their schedule for our games.”

  She waves her hand exactly like she did in Matt’s office when he brought up a lack of funds. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll talk to them!” She gives me a confident grin, and it’s in that moment I don’t know whether to slap some sense into her or take her into my arms and kiss her.

  Standing there with the late afternoon sun reflecting off her hair, it looks like it’s made of gold. Her skin is creamy and silky smooth, and her eyes are nearly glowing, the copper centers aflame. Even though I’m afraid she’s totally screwed me over, I can’t help but want her right now.

  But what happened between us two years ago can never happen again. She’s made that clear enough. Somehow I have to figure out a way to work with her on this project without being consumed by my desire for her. But I’ll do it the way I’ve done everything in my life: pulling myself up by the bootstraps and soldiering on.

  I had two days to stew about what happened with Megan when we met with Matt Cameron of Beach Buddies before I returned to the pitch for practice. We were growing ever closer to our season opener, so Walt and I had put out texts and phone calls to try to get as many guys as possible to show up. I’d even been recruiting at work. There were a couple of young, fit EMTs who’d make excellent wingers.

  Walt asked me to come early so we could discuss the PR campaign, but when I step out of my truck, he’s MIA. There are a couple of new guys running around the field—I think they’re from the Air Force base up in Dover. They might be good for our image issues. What Rehoboth gossipmonger, probably named Karen, doesn’t love a clean-cut military guy, right? Of course, that’s if we can get the Airmen to stick around for a while.

  As soon as I get over that way to introduce myself and talk up the team, Walt rolls into the parking lot in his shiny silver BMW. He’s a veterinarian, so I guess he can afford to drive whatever he wants.

  “Hey, what did the PR lady…er…what’s her name say?” he calls to me across the field as he approaches.

  I feel weird shouting her name out loud, so I wait for him to get closer. “Megan.”

  “That’s right. What did she say?”

  “Well…” How to tell him we may have a colossal eff-up on our hands? I decide to start with the good news. “One promising thing: Beach Buddies is headed up by a former rugger.”

  “Former?” Walt’s thick black eyebrows arch. “There’s no such thing as a former rugger, Shannon, my dear boy!” (He loves calling me Shannon just to piss me off.) “Once a rugger, always a rugger! It’s in the blood!” He presses his fist to his heart for emphasis.

  I blink a few times, nodding. It’s always better to agree with him when he delivers one of his self-aggrandizing speeches. “Anyway,” I continue, since I was so rudely interrupted, “he has already been to our games and wants us to mentor some of their kids.”

  “That�
�s a great idea!” Walt rubs his hands together. “The possibilities are endless…”

  I shrug, surprised to see Walt so animated. “We thought maybe we could do a rugby camp in the spring?”

  “I bloody love it!” he gushes out, practically spitting his over-excited saliva all over me as he slaps me on the back. “That’s brilliant!”

  “Yeah, well, there is one other thing—but I don’t know what the Legion will think about it.” I figure mentioning the carnival as casually as possible is the way to go. Walt is one hundred percent obsessed with not only our public image but that we stay on the Legion’s good side. The two are related, of course, but if we piss off the Legion, then there goes our field.

  “What’s that?” After he says it, he gestures for the guys who are running around the pitch to convene by the benches. I know I have less than a minute to explain Megan’s grandiose plan.

  “She wants us to co-host a carnival with Beach Buddies here—on the pitch—after a game sometime in October.”

  I wait and watch for Walt’s reaction. For a second, he’s suspended in a moment of attempted comprehension. Then his brows slowly move down his face, and his cheeks lift with a grin. “Wow, that’s a fantastic idea! The community would love that. Who doesn’t love a carnival?”

  What? He’s into it? I never thought he’d go for that idea. The liability…the Legion…messing up our pitch we’d worked so hard to cultivate through the past few seasons.

  “Well, do you think the Legion would give us permission for something like that?”

  He shrugs. “Only one way to find out!”

  He sounds like Megan. Except for being a very British fly-half. And a dude, of course.

  5

  I’ve never been good about balance. I’m either balls to the wall, or I have all the energy and momentum of a sloth. I really need to be the former if I’m going to pull off working full-time, impressing the crap out of Andrea, and getting this carnival approved and planned. It’s mid-August, and early October would really be pushing it to pull together something of this magnitude, but I’ll try to adopt the philosophy my mother has instilled in me since I was a young girl: keep it simple, stupid! Well, she always says “sweetie” in place of “stupid,” but considering it was stupid to get myself into this situation in the first place—we’ll go with that.