“How’s the Due South IPA?” A warm, deep voice sounded to my left. My heart lurched, and I smiled at a customer, thanking him for the tip before turning my attention to where Ryan had made it through the crowd and was leaning casually against the bar. My mouth went dry. He was even more gorgeous up close. Familiar, and yet not. The enormous, striking man was different from the tall, lean boy who’d broken my heart.
“It depends,” I said, putting on my best customer service smile, “On what you like. I think it’s pretty good.”
“I’ll have that,” said Ryan, eyes sparkling as they took me in. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” I said. I turned and grabbed a pint glass, filled it at the tap, and slid it across the bar to Ryan. For a moment, I thought about giving it to him on the house. But I don’t owe him a thing, so I took his ten, and nodded when he told me to “keep the change.”
“Shit son!” Another man, probably a classmate of ours because he looked familiar, squeezed into the space next to Ryan and gave me an exuberant smile. “Is that Courtney Hart?”
“Don’t be a moron, Dale,” said Ryan, “She looks exactly the same. As beautiful as I remember.”
“Hey Dale,” I said, ignoring Ryan, “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a Heineken.”
I went into the fridge, bumping into Adriana. “You know him?” my friend hissed. I knew she wasn’t talking about Dale. I must have shot her a look, for her eyes widened a moment. “Oh shit. Court. Is he…”
“I don’t want to talk about it here,” I said, curtly. I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me as I bent over.
“Here you go, Dale!” I said, brightly, returning to the counter. I winked at him. “This one’s on the house, honey. For old time’s sake.”
Dale thanked me, slapping Ryan on the back. “Good to be home, huh man!? I sure missed this place.”
I couldn’t hear Ryan’s response. I had paying customers and money to make, so I left them to catch up.
“Court,” said Adriana a few minutes later. “That tall drink of water over there wants your attention. I tried to serve him, but he asked for you.”
I turned to see Ryan toasting me with an empty glass. Girding myself mentally, I walked over. “You want another one of those?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said, smiling. If you’ve never seen Ryan Mcloughlin smile, you’re missing out. He smiles with his whole personality. Straight, white teeth on display, eyes crinkling, and dancing with humor. I used to believe in that smile. Now I understand it better: Empty charm. I got Ryan the drink and he slid a bill across the bar. When I reached out to grab it, he didn’t remove his hand, and I was forced to look up at him.
“I’m home for a few days,” he said, his voice low. “I’d love to get together. I’m staying with my brother – not far. Call me.” He lifted his hand, revealing that he’d written his number across the twenty dollar bill. Jerk. Did he think overpaying a beer by fifteen dollars would impress me? Nevertheless, my heart was hammering when I took it. Ignoring his order to keep the change. I put fifteen dollars back on the bar and walked off. I refused to look over for the rest of the night.
2
Ryan
After the Mangroves closed, a bunch of us went to the dive bar next door.
I wouldn’t have returned home for anyone other than Coach Cal. He’d been a real father figure to me. When my mom had left, when my dad had sunk into a depression, and when I had started acting out, Coach Cal had stepped in and kicked my ass. I owed that man a lot and fuck it if I didn’t tear up when I got the news that he’d passed. I wasn’t all that interested in seeing the places and faces of my past, but seeing Courtney again... I hadn’t been expecting her, and I definitely hadn’t been expecting my reaction.
While my dad moved away years ago, he still had friends in town, so I’d heard when her parents sold The Mangroves. I hadn’t figured Courtney would be bartending in a restaurant her family no longer owned. And yet, she’d been standing there: tall, slim, and sun-bleached blonde, working the bar like a pro.
“What are you thinking about, Super Bowl?” I stared down into Elise Lashinsky’s coy smile. I looked over as she ran her elegant French manicured nails down my arm. Elise and Courtney had been on the cheerleading squad together. I’d never looked twice at Elise in high school, but she’d come up to me at the funeral and made her interest pretty damn plain. I’d been game to give her a tumble. Might as well right? That was before I saw Courtney.
“Coach Cal,” I lied to Elise, reclining back on the bar and giving her a healthy appraisal. If memory served me, Elise Lashinsky had been a flier: a compact, petite little thing that did flips in the air off of her squad’s shoulders. Ten years later, Elise was still tiny, but gone were the short little cheerleader skirts, the flat chest. She wore a little black dress that showed off her muscled legs and lean arms. The dress plunged over pert, delicious looking cleavage. She’d had work done. She wasn’t that busty in high school.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was as acrobatic in bed as she’d been on the field. We’d never banged in high school. I’d been with Courtney from the beginning of junior year through graduation.
“So sad, his passing. I thought he had another twenty years in him,” said Elise, but the hunger in her eyes belied the consolation in her tone. If I crooked a finger at her, she’d hop right into bed. Was she wearing panties under that dress?
“We all gotta go some time!” Someone called from over at the bar. I watched as one of my old teammates raised his glass and toasted, “To Coach Cal!”
The bar echoed his sentiment, tipping back their beers, and shots. I polished off my lager and set the bottle on the bar, checking at my phone. Still nothing. Courtney hadn’t called me. Fuck it. Maybe I would go home with Elise.
“Hey Super Bowl!” called Paul Ehrlich from over by the door. Paul had been the quarter back my junior year. We’d gotten on pretty well. He’d played in college too, though he hadn’t gone on to be drafted. “We’re bar hopping down Ocean Drive – you coming?”
“You should come,” said Elise, nearly purring. She gripped at my bicep, her two small hands dwarfed by it.
I checked my phone again. Nothing. Fuck it.
“Sure,” I said, waving Elise ahead of me, “lead on…”
Elise walked off, making sure to swing her hips. Oh don’t worry, honey, I’m watching.
“Hey Mac, how you holding up, buddy?” It took a moment for me to recognize Randy Carlisle. He’d graduated in my class but had been a second stringer. Pudgy in high school, he was still carrying a few extra pounds.
“Hanging in there,” I said. I glanced at my phone again. Nothing. What the hell? Was she really going to be petty about this shit? Ten years had passed.
I looked down at Carlisle and said, “Hey, Randy, you still live around here, don’t you?”
Randy nodded.
“How long has Courtney Hart been tending bar over at the Mangroves?” And was she still single? I hadn’t seen a ring on that finger, but what other reason did she have for not calling?
“Hart? I don’t see her back there often. She’s more of a behind the scenes sort, though she’s usually wandering the floor on a Saturday or Sunday.”
“What?”
“She owns it, man,” said Randy, clarifying. “At least, she owns part of it, I think. Folks sold it to her when they moved north. They’re snowbirds now.”
I nodded. Good for Courtney. If tonight was any indication, she was clearly running a booming business. And I could respect good business. I’d been looking to get into the restaurant business myself. My time with the Patriots was limited, and damned if I was going to be one of those idiots who blows all their money the first few years out of the league.
“Is she seeing anyone?”
“Are you interested?” asked Randy. “She is still a babe.”
I shrugged. It had taken me a long time to forget about Courtney Hart. I didn’t want to be interested. I
’d like to think I’ve changed a lot since high school. But Courtney hadn’t changed one goddamn bit: still lean, still beautiful, still barely made up, sun-tanned, with all that thick, long blond hair. Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as I thought. Seeing her again tonight, all those forgotten emotions, all that lust, had resurfaced with a vengeance.
“I don’t think she’s seeing anyone.” Randy paused. “She’s got a kid though.”
“A kid?”
“Yah. Oh. Wait. Actually, she might be seeing someone. Hey Roy!” He called up to one of the other guys. We were a block away from Ocean drive, wandering in a thick pack and making a great deal of noise. Roy Yasgur turned around and started walking backwards. His face was red with drink.
“Roy,” said Randy, “Who’s the guy that stays at the hotel? The one who was eating with Courtney Hart a few months back. I feel like he comes around a few times a year.”
Roy shrugged. “Something Davis? Davis Something? Can’t remember.”
Elise popped up from wherever she’d disappeared and frowned at me. “Are you asking after Courtney?” Was she pouting? Seriously? This was why I didn’t go home anymore. When you never leave the town you went to high school in, those stupid high school grudges still exist. I’d forgotten that Courtney and Elise weren’t friends.
“Yah,” I said. “Saw her at the Mangroves tonight.”
“Honestly,” said Elise, lip curling. “She’s not worth the worry. A bit of a hermit/workaholic, you know? Not nearly as fun now as she was in high school.” Elise linked her arm through mine. “We’re hitting up the Ginger Mermaid first! You’re buying me a drink.”
I rolled my eyes, making a decision. I’d buy Elise the damn drink, but I wasn’t getting involved beyond that. Seeing Courtney again brought up a lot of shit I thought I’d left buried. Call me a masochist, but when was the next time I was going to be home? If I wanted one more hot sack session with my ex, I probably shouldn’t bang her high school rival.
3
Courtney
When I arrived home, the front lights were on for me, illuminating the neat landscaping and circular gravel drive. I really liked my home.
When I moved back to Serenity after spending four years in Texas with my grandmother, I looked for a secluded spot away from the noise of route A1A and the beach traffic. The realtor found me a rundown cape-style house in Old Serenity. It’s quiet, and I love it.
I parked, and before I could get out of my car, the door opened. Adriana’s husband, Brandon, was a shadow against the hall light.
“Hey Sugar,” he called, stepping out onto the porch so I could see all of him. Brandon is incredibly attractive: Skin a smooth, pecan shell brown, sloping cheekbones, and the body of an Olympic sprinter. Brandon was from Alabama and carried the Deep South in his drawl. “You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.”
I locked the car and strode up to the door. “Your beautiful wife shooed me out after everyone had gone, most likely so you’d be home when she gets there…”
“Woohoo,” said Brandon, white teeth flashing in his dark face. “Sounds like I’m about to have me a night.” We hugged each other warmly, and I followed him into my living room.
“How’d the kid do?” I asked, throwing myself into the antique leather wing chair I’d taken out of my parent’s house when they’d moved.
“The Chatterbox? She’s still up. I saw her light on under the covers – didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop reading.”
“Thanks,” I said, dryly. “I owe you.”
“You do indeed,” said Brandon. “She told me a story that lasted a half hour. I’m never getting that half hour back. You tell her that she’s lucky she’s cute.” He paused a second, as if thinking about what to say, finally he said, “Addie texted. Said a face from your past was in the restaurant this evening.”
Dark eyes met mine, Brandon is all southern charm and sharp sass, but he can get real serious real quick. The look he was giving me now said he suspected the same thing Adriana did. I shrugged.
“Was it that football player?”
“It was. He’s in town for his coach’s funeral.”
Brandon crossed his arms and stared me down. “What are you going to do about it, Sugar?”
“I don’t need to do anything about it,” I said, sounding more defensive than I meant to. “He’ll be gone soon.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” asked Brandon, insinuating clearly that he didn’t think it was. “Maybe you should try and talk to him. Maybe you should tell him…”
“Momma, who’s him?”
Brandon’s mouth shut abruptly. I glared.
“And that,” he said, “Is my cue to leave. See you tomorrow, Boss.” Boss. Not Sugar.
Lea stood in the living room entryway, wearing a pair of sleep-shorts and one of her Serenity Starfish swim team t-shirts. Brandon mussed her hair on his way out and when the door closed behind him, Lea entered the room.
I know I’m biased, but my daughter’s the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen. She’s shaped like me: leggy and thin, and she has my nose, but not my coloring. Lea is dark-haired and dark eyed, and has the tiniest cleft in her chin.
“Who are you going to try and talk to?” asked Lea, sliding into the room and perching on the chair across from mine.
Goddamn it Brandon.
“The football player,” said Lea, revealing that she’d been listening before she entered the room. “Is that your high school boyfriend. Ryan?”
Sharp kid. I leveled a stern gaze at her, hoping parental censure might shut her up and send her back to her room. No such luck. Lea has my stubborn streak. “And what do you know about my high school boyfriend?” If Adriana had said something to her…
Lea didn’t respond but wandered over to the bookshelf. Below the shelf were cabinets where I stored all the old videos from when she was a baby, as well as mementos from my parents’ house that I’d salvaged a few years ago, when they moved. Lea went right to the third cabinet and opened it up, pulling out my two, hard-backed yearbooks. Shit. My little girl was too nosy by half.
I sat still as Lea opened my junior class yearbook. Finding what she wanted she came back and set the book onto my lap. I looked down. The photo was from Prom: A picture of the homecoming court. Sixteen year-old Courtney sat in the back of the pickup truck wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt, and beaming at the camera for all she was worth. Next to me was a tall, lean young man with dark hair and a mocking smile. Ryan had always been “too good” for high school traditions (I’m pretty sure, looking back, it was Ryan’s coach who’d made him participate in the photo). Around our faces, in black sharpie, a large heart had been drawn. I knew, if I went back and looked through the yearbook, I’d see all the places were Ryan had gone through drawing hearts. I could still hear his mocking, “Oh, look at us, aren’t we sweet!”
“That’s him, right?”
I sighed. “Yes, baby, that’s him.”
“I marked all the pages,” said Lea, pointing to where a few pages had been dog-eared. “There are hearts all over the place, and they say ‘love Ryan.’ He must have really loved you.”
I sighed at my daughter. Of course, to a guileless ten-year-old, all those hearts, those sweet cloying words would symbolize love. To Ryan it had been a joke.
“No, baby, it’s not like that,” I said, closing the yearbook. “He was teasing. He was making fun of how many times our faces appeared in the yearbook.” I’d gotten so angry at him when I’d given him my book to sign and gotten it back, defaced.
Lea made a face at me and cleared her throat. “To my girl Courtney,” she quoted, “Baby, I don’t want a day to go by without holding you in my arms. You are heat lightening and summer storms. More passionate than a rip tide…”
“Lea Hart did you memorize that whole passage!” I snapped, cutting her off. I didn’t need to hear the rest come out of my daughter’s mouth.
“Is he really in town, Momma? Are you going to go see him?”<
br />
“Lea, you need to go to bed.” My tone brooked no argument and I watched my daughter try to determine whether or not it was safe to press me further. I held up a finger. “One,” I counted. Lea turned, abruptly and fled up the stairs. Good girl.
I listened for her door to close before picking the book up, closing it, and sticking it back in the shelf.
4
Ryan
“Rise and raise your voices high, they fear the panther’s battle cry…” Okay. I’m tone deaf, but the baby I was currently rocking in my arms didn’t seem to care. I think she responded more to the noise than to the tune. I’m not a big ‘baby’ kind of guy, but the kid I was currently holding was my niece, and holding a baby’s not much different than holding a football.
My brother Gabe moved back to Serenity with his wife, Ellie, about two years ago. Gabe’s a property lawyer and makes a decent living. He and Ellie bought a three bedroom on the water with a pretty sweet wrap-around porch. When their three-month-old, Katie, started bawling at five o’clock that morning, I’d told a bleary Ellie that I’d walk her around. I’d slept terribly anyway.
Sitting in the cushioned rocker on my brother’s porch, staring at the sunrise over the Atlantic, and rocking Katie back and forth, I was as far from bad-ass womanizer as you could get, and I was damn happy no one was around to witness it. I had a reputation to uphold.
As Katie dozed off in my arms, my mind wandered. I don’t know what it was - perhaps that powerful mix of sea breeze, sunrise, and crashing waves – my head was full of Courtney. I’d never told her, but Courtney had done a helluva lot to ground me after my mother had left. Without Coach Cal I’d probably be in jail. But without Courtney, I wouldn’t have even graduated to play sports in college. I’d acted out in some seriously destructive ways, but refocusing all my energy on trying to get the untouchable Courtney Hart to turn those baby-blue’s my way… And once she’d looked at me it had been hell to keep her. I’d had to work my ass off.
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 19