Under the Bleachers: A Novel

by K. K. Allen

  My anxious feet dance in place as I wait for a crowd of pedestrians to pass before practically jogging toward him. He must hear me even over the blaring horns and the engines idling in downtown Bellevue traffic because he stops at the curb and turns around, his eyes full of questions.

  What the hell am I going to say?

  “Hey, Monica. Did I forget something?”

  Ugh. There’s that damn formality again. I love my name, but it sounds foreign coming from Zach. I don’t have time for these thoughts. Not only do I need to come up with something quick, but I also need to turn my sour mood into something more attractive.

  “No. I just wanted to say goodbye. You left in a hurry, and things have been so hectic this week.” I don’t even notice that my eyes have fallen to the concrete sidewalk until I kick a pebble and it skips off the curb. Embarrassed by my unease, I look up and let out an airy laugh. “Anyway, happy St. Paddy’s Day.” I smile despite my awkwardness.

  The corner of his mouth ticks up, but the move is so quick I almost miss it. “Happy St. Paddy’s Day. Green was a good choice today. Wouldn’t want any grabby hands pinching you.”

  He’s giving me shit, thank God. I’ve missed his smart mouth. From my shamrock leggings to my oversized sweater vest, I’m definitely decked out for the occasion. The only non-green item of clothing on me is the white tank top beneath my sweater.

  I shrug. “I’m a quarter Irish. What do you expect?”

  “I guess that explains the light eyes and tolerance for alcohol. What else are you?”

  Well, this conversation has taken a turn down Weird Road. But I guess I’ll bite. “Brazilian and German from my mom’s side; Swedish and Irish from my dad’s.” I need to swerve the conversation back in the intended direction. “Are you doing anything fun tonight?” The chickenshit in me hopes Zach takes the hint and asks me to hang out. Whether it’s today or tomorrow, I need to see him outside of work. To feel what I felt last weekend. I need to know that it’s still there.

  To my disappointment, he shakes his head. “Didn’t plan on it. Crowds aren’t really my thing. Are you going out?” He eyes me up and down and laughs. “Of course you are.”

  Heat rises from my neck to my cheeks. Even so, I’ve missed his teasing.

  “I’ll be at a party in Bonney Lake.” I open my mouth to invite him. I don’t think the crowds will be too bad. Or maybe we can blow everything off and hang out at my apartment—

  “Hey, Zach!” Meredith calls out as she approaches. “Thanks for waiting, doll.” She reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek.

  My heart freefalls to ground, landing in a pitiful splat at my feet.

  “Ready?” Meredith’s eyes twinkle as she looks up at Zach. When he doesn’t respond right away, she turns, her face transforming like she just noticed me standing there. “Oh, hey Monica.”

  “Hey, Meredith.” I return her extra sugary tone and step away before this gets even more uncomfortable.

  Looking for any distraction, I shove my hand into my purse and pull out my phone. Without looking up, I offer a casual wave and tap the screen until I get to my recent call log. “I better get going,” I say as I turn in the direction of my apartment. “Catch you two later.” And I’m off down the street, suffocating the rising embarrassment in my chest.

  Damn, my willpower is impressive.

  I take a deep breath, press the phone to my ear, and wait for Chloe to answer. When she does, I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. “Hey, birthday girl!” I say to Chloe for the second time today. Gavin had asked her to take the day off today, so I didn’t get to see her at work, but I called her sleeping ass first thing this morning. She wasn’t too happy about that.

  She laughs, sounding much more awake now. “Hey. You’re never going to believe what Gav got me for my birthday.”

  I grin, despite my own unhappiness. “Ooh, I know! Your first orgasm?”

  “Shut up. He proposed!”

  It takes me a second to sink in, and then I gasp. “No. Way.”

  What the hell, Gavin? Way to let her friends in on the secret.

  “What did you say?” I tease. “I hope you made it extra angsty and told him you had to think about it.”

  She giggle-squeals. “I said yes!”

  “I’m so happy for you guys, Chlo.” My chest swells with happiness for my friends, sufficiently brightening my mood.

  “Come to Gavin’s now and we can get ready together. I got us a little party starter.”

  There’s a second of hesitation on my end because part of me wants to run home to sink into a bath and guzzle a bottle of wine in an effort to numb my mind.

  Life was so much easier when I didn’t give a shit about having a man in my life. But I refuse to be that girl who chooses misery over pain.

  “Monica?”

  “Sorry. Bad connection. I’ll see you soon.”

  We hang up. Once I’m in my apartment I’m like a woman on a mission, tearing apart my closet for something to wear to Babalouie’s. Something that will guarantee mucho flirting—that’s a must—which means zero green. Every pinch I receive tonight will be the equivalent of flipping off any thoughts of Zach and Meredith together at dinner. Sharing laughs, flirty eyes, and possibly a kiss at the end of the night.

  Ugh. My best friend just got engaged, and I’m so happy for her. I really am. But it’s ironic, because the only thing I’ll ever be engaged to is heartbreak.

  Three beers at dinner fail to ease the discomfort in my chest. After Monica walked away, I wished I had run after her. She played it off decently enough with that fake-ass wave and high-pitched departure, but she can’t hide from me.

  I know when she’s jealous. I know when she’s disappointed.

  As much as I’ve wanted to give Monica space after the blowup last weekend, I don’t want her to get the wrong impression. I want her to feel comfortable approaching me for any reason, even if it has nothing to do with work. In fact, I’d prefer if her reasons were non-work related.

  When she approached me on the sidewalk, I thought we were getting somewhere. And then Meredith happened.

  It’s not abnormal for Meredith and I to share a meal to handle business. We do it all the time. But even I have to admit there’s something odd about tonight. And not just because she thought it would be a cute idea to kiss me on the cheek in front of Monica. Something she has never done before today. What the hell was that, anyway?

  Between Monica and Meredith, my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth together, my knuckles ache from the clench of my fist, and I can’t stop shifting in my seat. I’m on edge.

  “Mer, why did you seat us right in front of a damn window? I can’t take a bite without a camera light flashing in my face.”

  Her eyes grow wide and she raises a hand to call over a waiter, then turns back to me. “What’s up with you tonight?” she hisses.

  The waiter appears right away, and Meredith’s expression transforms into a bright smile. Either I’ve been blissfully ignorant or she knew how to hide her true colors well, but I’m starting to see that hissing Meredith is the real her. “We’ll need you to close the curtains so we can have some privacy,” she requests sweetly, as if she thinks her tone will negate her patronizing words.

  “Of course, Ma’am.” The waiter unclips the curtains and pulls them together. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “That’ll be all,” she says, oozing with softness. Then she turns to me, narrowing her eyes. “You’re like a snapping turtle starved for a meal.”

  I laugh, only amused because that was the point of dinner. I’m starved from running around all day with an agenda she created—without leaving me time for lunch, I might add. So I’m tired and pissed and ready to sign the damn contract she brought so I can get home and call Monica. Maybe figure out where she is.

  “You know I like my privacy when I eat. How did they know I was here?”

  Meredith can’t be
trusted, and I’m getting tired of making excuses for her. She’s clearly up to something now. I’m not the type of celebrity that people care to follow with cameras unless something big has gone down. And it’s not like I’m involved in any scandals or dating an A-list celebrity. It’s the Seattle fans, not entertainment media, that approach me on the street, and the encounters are mostly pleasant.

  “Zach,” Meredith says with a frustrated breath, “when are you going to trust me to handle your affairs as they should be handled? You try to control too much.”

  Dear Lord, help me. “I’m trying to have a say in what becomes public knowledge. Having cameras show up at our last-minute dinner hardly seems newsworthy.” Unless you’ve got something up your sleeve.

  She lets out a patronizing laugh. “Zachary Ryan, when are you going to learn? The press always knows where you are. They’re like police dogs, trained to sniff you out whenever they want. Did it cross your mind that they may have gotten wind of the mysterious contract you’re about to sign and followed us here?”

  I narrow my eyes. Today is the deadline to sign off on a new endorsement deal—my biggest one yet for a national sporting goods company. I meet with the client in another week, but no one knows about it. This is something Trevor would normally manage, but Meredith insisted on handling it. I’ll need to have a talk with Trevor about that.

  “Nope.” I point in the direction of the window. “They were here before we arrived.”

  Meredith is silent as she sips her wine and stares back at me, her expression transforming into something unreadable. I’m thankful when our dinner comes and I can distract myself by filling my stomach with food.

  Eventually we settle into a conversation about the next month of activities. It’s really the last free month I’ll have before I’m swamped with football again, but Meredith has managed to keep me busy in the meantime. With a week of travel coming up and the work that still needs to be done for camp, I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

  By the end of dinner, I’m on my feet the second she’s paid the bill. Another meal paid for by BelleCurve. I almost feel guilty about it. Sandy has done so much for me over the years. I don’t need them to schmooze me.

  My Jeep sits on idle for us at the curb. Unfortunately, in order to get there, we need to pass an absurd number of waiting cameras. I mutter a string of curse words under my breath, knowing there’s no way out of this, and take long strides to the Jeep. Meredith is practically running to keep up.

  She’s all grins and laughter when I open her door. She turns, placing her hands on my chest, her rich flowery French import of a perfume burning my nostrils like poison.

  I have no doubts. I’ve been set up.

  “Thank you for dinner, Zachary,” she purrs, hands sliding purposefully down my chest. Dread spreads through me as she slips into the passenger seat like a snake slithering away from a meal, confirming what tonight was all about … because she clearly is not trying to hide it anymore.

  How could I let this happen? Why the fuck would Meredith set me up? She spent the car ride swearing she didn’t. But I saw the satisfied look on her face when she touched me last night. And as the cameras clicked furiously, each one flashing like lightning in my gut, I knew the truth.

  After several failed attempts to call Monica and warn her about the photos that I know are coming, I force myself out of bed and into the shower. After my workout I drive straight to Monica’s apartment and knock on the door.

  Silence.

  I walk to the field, hoping to find her on her morning run. Nothing.

  I even call Chloe, but her phone goes straight to voicemail.

  That’s when I check my social media pages. Just as I suspected, they’re plastered with images of Meredith and me. And the photos look … convincing.

  To the world, it will seem like Meredith and I were on a date. But I don’t care about the world. Whatever I have with Monica, as awkward as it is right now, is the most genuinely pure relationship I’ve ever had—and I’ve destroyed it.

  Saturday rolls into Sunday, and Sunday rolls into Monday. Not one response from Monica to my texts or voice messages. Not a single damn one. So I cancel everything I have on Monday morning, including a meet and greet with the Wifey Club—Meredith can come after me with a pitchfork if she wants—and drive to BelleCurve. I walk straight into Monica’s office and slam the door behind me.

  Monica jumps and immediately starts clicking something on her computer before I can look at it, though I have a pretty good guess about what she’s been looking at.

  When her screen goes black, she glares up at me, her nostrils flaring. “Wow. Way to make an entrance, Zach.”

  “Wow. Way to avoid my phone calls, Monica.”

  There’s a flicker of pain that crosses her expression, but it fades quickly, and then she’s turning back toward her computer. “I have a meeting in five minutes. You need to leave. I’ll send you a calendar appointment for my next availability. If it’s urgent you can shoot me an email and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  The sickeningly sweet tone of her voice is too much to bear. “Then I want five minutes of your time before you kick me out of here.”

  She’s expressionless as she gestures for me to take a seat. “Fine. What is it, Zach?”

  God damn it, this woman is infuriating. “Cut it out. You’re pissed at me. I figured it out when you walked away on Friday. What I can’t figure out is why. Because I was with Meredith? Because she gave me a stupid kiss on the cheek? She’s my publicist, Cakes. That was weird, but it was nothing.”

  There’s a flash of something in her eyes, but it’s the strange smile that creeps onto her face that rattles my nerves. Then she flips her screen around and taps on a few buttons. The photo staring at me brings back all the dread I felt in the moment it was captured. Meredith’s got her perfectly manicured hands on my chest, and she’s looking deeply into my eyes with a smile that would disarm most. But not me.

  “It looks bad.”

  She nods without saying a word. She doesn’t have to. After spending weeks trying to get Monica to open up and trust me, has Meredith truly sabotaged any chance of that happening?

  Her expression is too firm. Too foreign to belong on Monica’s face. Maybe that’s why my gaze slips to her white tank top, just thin enough that I can see the cleavage spilling from her red bra. She’s wearing the same suspenders from that night at Heroes and Legends, too—the ones that fell away the moment I touched them with my eager fingers.

  “I think she set me up,” I finally admit.

  She nods again, as if she’s already arrived at this conclusion.

  “Nothing happened.”

  Another nod. “I know.”

  There’s no way the shock is hidden from my expression. “You do?”

  Monica sighs. “Look, Zach. Meredith’s agenda is clear to me, and I think maybe to you too, but that’s not why I disappeared this weekend. Your lifestyle—”

  There’s a lurch of pain in my chest. “Don’t.” I pace the length of her office, trying to wrangle my frustration before I officially blow up. “This isn’t about Meredith or stupid pictures that landed on the internet. This is about you and me.” I stop, looking at her with a hopeful expression. “What were you going to ask me on Friday before Meredith showed up?”

  She’s a fawn darting through the woods again, looking for safety, but the moment my flashlight reaches her eyes, everything stops. Caught, her eyes widen. I knew it.

  “I was going to invite you to Bonney Lake for St. Paddy’s. But you already had plans.” She shrugs. “It was at a dive bar anyway. You wouldn’t have liked it.”

  She’s like a Girl Scout trying to earn her badge. Except the fire she’s trying to build is in my chest, and she’s not rubbing the sticks together fast enough. I fight through the smoke. “You can’t possibly know that if you didn’t ask.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You already had plans.”
<
br />   “I would have hung out with you after.”

  Her already darkened eyes flash with anger as she touches something on her computer screen, illuminating the photo of Meredith looking up into my eyes. “After this?”

  “You said you didn’t believe that crap.” I’m physically shaking now. “You are the most confusing woman I have ever known.”

  Something changes in her expression, and she gets up from her desk, walking to me and placing her hands on my chest. When our eyes lock, the fire and smoke dissolve, but the heat remains. My hands instinctively move to her waist to pull her closer.

  To my surprise, she smiles. “That right there,” she says softly. “That’s why I don’t believe what the media wanted those photos to portray. You didn’t respond to her like this.”

  Fuck. My heart beats in its cage. “I don’t respond to anyone like this. Only you,” I say, tightening my grip. I don’t care if this isn’t what Monica wants to hear, or if she still wants to play games with me. I’m tired of holding back when everything in me is screaming that it’s right.

  “Zach, it’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. My issues with Friday are more mine than yours. Let’s just move on, okay?”

  Everything about her right now makes me want to throw her on the desk and dive into her mouth. I need to taste those lips again.

  Her voice breaks through again, interrupting the hope that’s replaced the fire in my chest. “I do have a meeting that I need to get to.”

  We can’t end things like this. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Call it a work dinner if you want.”

  Monica’s jaw hardens and she shakes her head. “I can’t. I think we need to keep our meetings in the office from now on. With the doors open.” She nods at the closed door, but I don’t take the bait.

  “Seriously? C’mon, Cakes. You’re killin’ me. You’re jealous of Meredith one minute, wanting me to kiss you another minute, and now you’re telling me you don’t want to see where this could go? How long you going to play this game?”