by Xavier Neal
The way my teammates did.
Rather than agreeing, I lean back against the couch.
“So instead telling her how you felt, instead of risking looking weak or needy which for the record are both human traits we all fucking deal with, you tried to turn it into something you could control. Something you could manipulate. Problem with treating people that way, Luca, is there's no fucking guarantee what they're going to do.” All of a sudden excitement dances through his eyes and he sits up. “That's the beauty of humanity. We have these patterns and boundaries and psychological bullshit that pushes us into routines, yet we're so unpredictable they have to be theories instead of laws. My point is-”
“Oh there is a point.”
He glares and grunts, “My point is Alexxa isn't a sport with precise rules and regulations. There is not an exact way to constantly win or lose. She's a human being and the minute you can make her see you understand that, well...that's the moment you get another chance with her.”
So my parents are right. There's still hope. It might be beer pong ball sized, but that's fucking better than nothing.
Feeling a weight shift on my shoulders, I ask, “How is she?”
“Not openly as miserable as you, but...it comes in waves.”
I nod my sympathy.
“Don't bother asking me to put in a good word for you. I swore when she started talking to me, I wouldn't do that.”
Well there goes that idea.
Immediately sensing my apprehension coming back he adds, “But she does miss the hell out of you, bro. The shade of red on her toes tells the world so.”
My favorite. Manchester United red. If you're not a Manc you're a wank.
I attempt another smile as the information gets my mind whirling with ideas. “Can't put in a good word for me but can you make a delivery?”
Warren shoots me a curious look. “What do you have in mind?”
“A momentary replacement.”
His confusion just makes it all the better. “I gotta shower and go grab it.”
“Do you mean whack it?”
I lightly laugh. “Not this time. I'm starting to get callouses on my fucking hands. How the hell do you live like this?”
“Lotion,” he answers on a short chuckle. “It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again...”
“Who's hosing you?”
Warren lets out a defeated sigh, “I meant it like if I don't use lotion, shower water works too. You know, in reference to what the quote is discussing. Keeping everything moist one way or another...”
I shake my head. “I'm locking my door tonight.”
“You should lock your door every night. No one wants to see that shit....”
The two of us laugh again and I hustle towards my bedroom with a perfect play beginning to come together in my head.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I know she's not a sport and I can't treat her like one, but it doesn't mean I can't come up with creative ways to show her how much I fucking love her. It might be tricky from a distance, but you know me. I'm always up for a challenge. I'm not a quitter.
Alexxa
“Her mother let her go out for the part and she nailed it!” Ken exclaims from the other end of speaker phone. “Called and offered her the role at the end of the day.”
“That's amazing,” I reply continuing to type.
“You are making this whole thing run so much smoother than Betty ever could.”
The compliment makes me smile proudly.
Turns out I'm even better at this than I thought I would be. It's not rocket science, but there is a certain method you have to develop. Pushy parents accept the best parts for their children but tend to have more prudish tendencies believe it or not. It becomes about finding the right phrasing to either convince them to loosen the reigns on that or enjoy the shadows of the limelight with local commercials. I simply plant the seeds of doubt and they water them all on their own. As far as their kids typically go, little subtle reminders of confidence is all they really need.
“Bonus,” he declares loudly. “I'm a man of my word. And a celebratory dinner! Bring a friend or your boyfriend or a sister, hell bring whoever you want! On me. But not tonight. I've got a date with a very kinky flight attendant and a bottle of wine. You make reservations for wherever you want next week and we'll go.”
I click send. “Sounds like a great idea. I'll get on that as soon as I'm finished answering these emails. Anything else?”
“You booked us for lunch with the Robinsons right?”
“Monday morning. 11 a.m.”
“My own personal superstar,” Ken chuckles. “Alright. Have to go.”
Without an actual goodbye he ends the call leaving me to finish the few items left on my list before I'm officially off for the day.
I'd rather not spend my Friday night working if I can avoid it. It's bad enough I have to re-read a script for the millionth time on Sunday, I would at least like a couple days of peace if possible. And before you bother asking if it's that bad, it is. It's like Big Daddy with a heavy female cast and the child swearing profusely. I think it would be hilarious. However trying to convince mothers to let their eight- year- old say fuck ten times won't exactly be easy.
The knock on the door catches me off guard. Hopping up from the seat at the dining room table, which is in a nook right around the corner from the door, I quickly answer it.
Warren tries to smile but struggles due to the small yellow lab licking his face.
“Aww,” I coo and reach for the pup. “Look at you!” The tiny dog happily switches to my arms and begins to repeat the process. “What a sweet puppy!”
“You say that until she pisses in your car,” he grumbles. Warren swoops up a bag of supplies and a small crate. “Where do you want this?”
Now baffled, but still slightly distracted by the precious creature resting its head on my shoulder, I fumble to question, “Want what? Am I dog sitting? Why did you get a dog? When did you get a dog? Is this some weird part of your paper?”
Dragging the objects inside he sighs, “I didn't. You did.”
“What?” I shut the door just as he drops the items in the living room. “What the hell do you mean I did?”
“I mean,” he lets out another huff at the same time the bag hits the ground. “That adorable little thing is yours. There's a starter crate here, training pads, some toys, water bowl, food bowl, a starter bag of food....” His ramblings continue while he digs around in the over sized luggage, “Few treats. Proof of shots up to date. Name of vet-”
“Hold. The. Fuck. Up.” After adjusting the puppy in my arms who was starting to sleep, I snap, “I didn't order a dog.”
He stands up with a smile. “Luca did.”
“Then take him-”
“Her.”
“Her back to him.”
The cocky smirk, which at this very moment resembles his best friend's, expands. “No.”
“No?”
“No. You don't want the dog? Fine. All you have to do is call him and he'll come pick her up.”
Call him. All I have to do is call him....or text him...reach out and communicate with him. Clever fucking bastard.
“I could always just drop the dog at the shelter.”
“You won't.”
Damn it, he's right. And Luca knew that when he devised this plan I'm sure. He knows how much I hate seeing dogs there let alone leaving one there. Not to mention I've wanted a dog for years and now not only can I have one, I actually do have one. I hate him.
“I get it. In order to get rid of her, I give him what he wants, to talk to me-”
“To hear your voice.”
Don't awe right now!
“I could just send a text.”
“Not sure he thought about that one.”
“Either way. I get it, but if I keep her, I don't have to talk to him. You just told me all her information is left in the bag.”
He slides a hand in his board shorts
pocket. “Right.”
“Then how does he win that way?”
“You'll have something to remind you of him.”
Bastard. Hate him even more.
“To remind you he did fucking care at some point. To remind you he still cares. To remind you that even if you never see him again, he doesn't want you to be alone and miserable. He wants you to have some sort of happiness.”
I let out a small awe. The pup licks my face in retaliation.
What the hell? Did he convince her to love him first?
“He also wants you to be protected. She's a lab and German Shepard mix, so she'll be smart and fierce. There's also a training class schedule in her folder.”
Another wave of disbelief causes me to shake my head. “You were in on this weren't you?”
“I...I...merely picked out the fancy fetch toy.”
“Fetch toy?”
“Yeah! It's this cool thing you can fling a really far distance. Figured it might be fun when we take her to the beach or maybe even the lake.”
I lift an eyebrow. “We?”
He tries to hide his excitement.
“And by we, you mean all three of us, don't you?”
“I'm hoping for four.” He shows crossed fingers. “There's this chick where I'm doing my internship who's really hot.”
Instead of agreeing or disagreeing, I rub the yellow puppy's tummy. “What am I gonna call you?”
“She has a name,” he says. “Check her collar.”
I run my finger along the red material to inspect the dangling tag. “Dandelion 'Dandy' Larson.”
My eyes steal another glance of a beaming Warren before giving the dog a kiss on the nose.
He didn't have to give it his last name. Geez. Okay so maybe, Warren isn't the only one who wants it to be the four of us playing with the pup by the water. Maybe I do miss him more and more every day as opposed to less. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to him. To finally yell and scream and knee him in the nuts to properly express how shitty everything felt from my end. What?! You don't think a kick to the gnads is the right way to go? But he would completely associate pain of hurting me with pain of me hurting him. See...No? Well pitch me some ideas. We've got a little time before I see him again.
Luca
I've never played a game this shitty before. Why the fuck did I even bother showing up?
Cook passes me the ball. The minute I've got it, I make an attempt for a three pointer to just have it bounce off the rim and right into the other team's hands.
“Fuck,” I grumble and jog to the opposite end of the court where they've taken off.
By the time I'm down there it's too late. They've scored, putting us down by ten.
Rich calls a time out, which I never thought I'd be so fucking thankful for. With my head down, I walk towards our end of the court, seconds from giving up.
Not a quitter, but fuck. Today it feels like it. All the proof of the boozing I did is finally resurfacing. Nothing worse than the goddamn beer sweats. I've barely set foot in the gym since Alexxa dumped me so why I thought jumping back into the routine Saturday basketball game out of shape was a great fucking idea is what I'm still trying to figure out. Oh. And getting her a fucking dog. She probably hates it. Hates me. She's most likely found a small loophole around the plan I had in motion in an attempt to get just one fucking moment of her time. Fuck. Me. Could shit get any worse? Fuck that. Anytime some asshole says that it immediately does.
“What the fuck Larson?” Cook gripes. “You screw some chick’s brains out last night so hard you fucked yours up too?”
A familiar urge surges through my balled fists. I don't bother retorting.
A big palm hits me on the back. “Cut him some fucking slack. We all go through shit.”
Kellar's attempt to help only makes me feel worse.
Some of these people are probably hiding from their own problems. Real problems. Not punk bitch my girlfriend left me cause I was an asshole ones. Doubt he thought his attempt to have my back would just make me feel shittier. Not exactly how a teammate is supposed to make you feel.
“Let's call a water break,” Kellar insists.
Cook nods and shouts to the other team, “Water!”
They acknowledge with a wave and I know I have the next five minutes to try to get my head in the game.
Or convince some other asshole to take my place.
My team breaks off to grab their water jugs except Kellar who motions his head to the opposite side. “You're water's that way.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” When he doesn't answer I turn and my heart instantly drops to my shoes. “No fuckin' way....”
Did you know? Did you know and not fucking tell me?
I quickly jog past the few people who enjoy watching us play to the gym doors.
As soon as I'm in front of Alexxa, she sighs, “You're making me have Warren dog sit for this? You're awful.”
The instinct to blow off the game, to take her out of here to beg like I'm the fucking Temptations, races through my veins, but seeing the mirth in her eyes lets me know not yet. “What the fuck do you mean awful?”
“I mean pretty sure I can play better than that in heels.”
Someone eavesdropping chuckles, which makes Alexxa smirk.
Fuck, I've missed her mouth. What comes out of it, the way it curves like that....of course I missed it on mine and my dick, but I wasn't gonna say that. Timing! I've learned better timing than that.
“We'll win now that my favorite teammate is here.”
“Kellar?” She playfully questions. “He's been here.”
“You,” I counter.
Alexxa presses her lips together to keep from swooning.
I know she wants to fucking swoon. I know what a woman's face looks like when that's gonna occur. I've sat through enough chick flicks to know, so trust me. She wants too. She's just trying really fucking hard not to.
There's a shouting of my name and she tosses her head. “Your team is calling.”
“Promise you'll still be here at the end of the game?”
“Yeah...” The second I start to smile she adds, “But if you lose I'm gonna rub it in your face for the next like three weeks, at least.”
“Not gonna lose...”
Especially with her threat hanging over my head. Are you fucking kidding? Can't spend the next three weeks with her reminding me of this failure every time we sit down for dinner or go out for a drink. Hm. However, I do like the idea of her being around in my life for the next three weeks. Guess hope just grew to basketball size.
I make my way back to my team with a new energy pumping through me. Once we're all gathered again, Cook gives us a brief strategy for the final quarter, making sure to chew me out one more time about my shitty playing. After assuring him I've got it together, we take the court for the final stretch.
For the next fifteen minutes, it's as if the other three quarters never existed. Instead of losing balls, I'm constantly stealing them and making the shot. Each time the ball rolls off my fingertips and for the backboard I know it's going to go in. And it does. In what has to be some sort of personal record we fly from being behind to being tied with about a minute left in the game. I managed to swipe the ball from Glen, a guy who spends most of his time in the gym staring at himself in the mirror while he lifts weights, and drive it back to our half of the court leaving me with two choices. I could attempt the final shot, take home the glory for tipping us back over to the winning side or pass the ball to Kellar and let him get it in guaranteed. Without hesitation I pass the ball and Kellar pulls his infamous hook shot seconds before the clock goes off.
A victory cry comes out of me and him alike as we high five.
I'll be the first to admit I'm a selfish bastard in real life, but when it comes to the game, any true sport, I'll always be the first one to give up a moment of self glory for the entire team to have it.
After we shake hands with the other players,
I quickly grab my bag, and rush towards the doors where Alexxa is beaming proudly.
You're smiling too. It's alright. You don't have to hide it.
The two of us make our way through the gym for the front doors. Desperate to say something, but not ready to ruin the simple fact she's actually here, I keep my mouth shut and admire everything I've missed over these past few weeks.