Her First Game

by Suzanne Hart

  I caught a glimpse her high heels, perfectly accentuating her ankles and calves. I didn’t have a damn chance.

  “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to anyone?”

  My eyes flashed wide. Right. I glanced around, but the thought of making small talk with the half-strangers I had known my entire life, instead of sitting here talking to her, made my stomach turn. “Is there anyone your particularly interested in?” I said dryly.

  I watched her glance around the church, making faces at the old men in tails, the women with crow’s feet around their eyes, the groomsmen standing around with their hands in their pockets. A smile stretched across her face as she said, “No, actually.”

  I returned her smile. “So, how have you been?” I asked, crossing my legs and resting an arm on her seat behind her head.

  She turned to look at me. “Eh. It’s been an uneventful week.”

  I nodded. “Would it be pushing boundaries if I told you how beautiful you look right now?”

  She lowered her gaze as a smile stretched across her face, but then straightened up, poking her chest out even more.

  I let my eyes linger a little. I wanted to see her naked so badly.

  “Maybe, but I’ll allow it.” She said, an alluring look in her eye.

  Wow. How did she do that? “Okay. Fair enough.”

  “So, which one is the cousin?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the altar.

  “The groom. He’s…” I pointed at a man who was talking excitedly with the priest, his hands in his pockets. “... right there.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Right. Nice. Were you close?”

  I shrugged, remembering old football games in the backyard of my grandfather’s estate. “When we were younger.”

  “What happened?”

  “Things got weird when we grew up. The team is the family business and it’s always been handed straight down. People get jealous.” When I glanced over at her, I noticed she was looking only at me. Her gaze was like a warming glow.

  “I bet. You must feel really isolated.”

  Why was she the first person in my life to care enough to make that observation? “Yeah. You could say the jealousy holds us together better than anything else.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “How do you deal with it?”

  It was a little uncomfortable to be under her scrutiny like this; unsafe, exposed almost. I hadn’t felt this vulnerable around a woman in a long time. “Well, I guess we all get lonely from time to time.”

  The way her face fell told me she knew exactly what I was talking about, and that made me feel a sadness I couldn’t place. “Yeah. I know exactly how you feel. It’s been tough here, away from everyone.”

  The first thing I thought of was her boyfriend. But I wanted to leave him all the way out of this conversation. “Do you have a big family at home?”

  She shook her head, looking down at her fingers as she fiddled with the church missile, folding it and unfolding it over and over again. “No. It’s just my mom and me. And… James.”

  Well, she brought him up anyway. “Do you miss him?”

  But when she didn’t answer right away, I felt a flicker of hope in my heart.

  Then, “I don’t know.”

  I watched her tear the missile to shreds for three more seconds before I grabbed her hand. I only meant to take it away from her. I didn’t want her to ruin her dress. But once we were touching, it was hard for me to let her go.

  “Chet?”

  My mother’s sharp, surprised voice knocked me out of that moment. I stood up to face her. Her gaze shifted from me to Dahlia and back again.

  “Mother, this is Dahlia.” I gestured at her as she stood up.

  “Good morning Mrs. Blackwood,” she said, her lips stretched into that perfect smile.

  My mother didn’t take her hand immediately but shifted her gaze between the two of us. Then, just when I thought she was the complete personification of Satan, she finally stretched her hand out to take Dahlia’s. “Dahlia?” She said as if it were an exotic dish she couldn’t imagine anyone finding appetizing.

  “Yes,” I cut in. “Dr. Dahlia Waters.”

  My mother nodded slowly.

  “She’s the new sports physician.”

  She nodded again, again shifting her gaze between the two of us. “Well, then,” She said, sitting down on the other side of me. “She really is… something.”

  My hands clenched into a fist at that.

  Dahlia sunk down in her chair, grabbing the shredded pieces from the missile and continuing her demolition. I hated my mother for being so unnecessarily mean. It was as if she was so unhappy, she had to bring everyone else down with her. The whole thing was maddening.

  “Well, that went well,” Dahlia muttered, just as the church was starting to quiet down.

  I let out a dark chuckle. “Yeah, she’s particularly friendly,” I leaned even closer to her. My lips touched her ears, as I whispered in the lowest voice possible. “for someone who has a sword shoved up her ass.”

  She cringed, but I saw the smile widen on her face, the goosebumps sprout on her skin. She was into me too. I could feel it. “Well in that case… bravo.”

  I sat impatiently through the rest of the ceremony, wanting nothing more than to get another chance just to sit and talk to her. The wedding itself was uneventful and slow. The bride was gorgeous; the groom was emotional… people cried….

  Finally, I was leading Dahlia through the reception hall held at our grandparent's ranch estate, ready to have a drink and enjoy this woman’s company. After taking a ride with her to the ranch, we stepped outside of the limo. I hadn’t been at my grandfather’s farm for almost a decade now, since the last family wedding. Now, at over 40 years old, the memories of me running around with my cousins in the front lawn, destroying the roses, or jumping into that porcelain fountain that glistened in the afternoon sun, were starting to fade further and further away.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” Dahlia said as we followed the crowds through the front door and into the massive front hall.

  The voices echoed as people wandered through the dark interior, taking in the antique furniture, the old paintings on the walls, the crystals hanging from the ceiling and on display in the side tables. I led her through all of this and out the back door onto the patio, where the real party was happening. They had done an excellent job of setting up the most cliche wedding ever, complete with white tablecloths and a tent housing a dance floor. There was a stage where the string quartet and pianist had already started playing. I could tell they had just borrowed notes from the old Blackwood book.

  Without thinking of it, I grabbed Dahlia’s hand and led her to the bar. The touch was the most natural thing in the world. “Could I have a whiskey and a… white wine?” I said, thinking back to that night at the gala.

  Her face lit up at this. “You remembered what I drink?”

  I leaned on the bar, turning to face her. “You were completely unforgettable that night.”

  She smiled at me as she picked up the freshly poured wine and took a sip. “How amazing.”

  I glowered at her. “I know it’s cheesy.”

  “No, it’s impressive.”

  I took a sip of my drink. “Good.” I gazed out at the crowd, which was getting thicker and thicker. “Should we find my place.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s the table front and center.”

  I grimaced. “Nah. That’s for close family.”

  But she had already started walking. “Yeah, but you own a football team.”

  Sure enough, she was right. I pulled out her chair for her and then sat down myself. We kept talking through each new course, inching closer and closer together. I ignore my mother’s disapproving glances and could only wish that she was doing the same throughout the meal. By the time I had scraped my last piece of medium rare filet mignon across my plate, I was feeling pretty brazen.

  I
turned to her. “So, are you a dancer?”

  She raised her eyebrows, her head ducking ever so slightly. I watched as she wiped her lips, rubbing her cloth across the soft skin, turning pink with the pressure. I imagined those lips wrapped around my… No. I couldn’t. Not now. “In what sense.” She finally answered.

  I gestured at the dance floor. “In the cheesy wedding sense.”

  She glanced at me to the dancefloor and back again before breaking into a giggle. “Oh. Wow, Chet. This is getting dangerously close to a date.”

  I shook my head slowly, taking a sip of the red wine that had been sitting at my place since I sat down. “Well, shoot me.”

  She stood up, extending a hand down to me. “I’d rather dance with you.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from beaming like an idiot as we made our way to the temporary wooden floor to join the rest of the couples. When we stopped, she stood in front of me, placing a hand in mine. I put my free hand on the small of her back and started leading her through whatever waltz-foxtrot mixture I had thought up.

  “Wow. Are dancing lessons also apart of the Blackwood family tradition?”

  I chuckled at her. “Do you completely hate rich people or what?”

  “I just hate how they feel about poor people.”

  “Well, we’re not all the same.”

  She gazed up at me. “Obviously.”

  As we continued to prance across the floor, she asked me another question. “Did you always want to do this?”

  “What?”

  “Inherit the company?”

  I furrowed my brow. “I guess it was one of those things I always accepted as fact. Like my hair color or my gender.”

  She nodded. “Wow. That’s heavy.”

  “I think struggling through life trying to figure out how to make a living is heavy.”

  “You only say that because you’ve never done it.”

  I looked down at her, taking in the way her delicate nose curled up at the end, lifting her lips into a perfect heart-shape. I had never noticed that before. “Isn’t it awful.”

  She nodded, taking a deep breath. “It is. At first. You feel like your falling and then, all of a sudden, you land. You find your truth.”

  I pursed my lips, a lump in my throat I couldn’t reason through. “Deep.”

  “So, if you could do anything, what would you do?” She asked, forcing us to slow.

  We were standing still now, swaying together to the music. I made a note of the warmth between us and the way her soft body pressed against mine. “You don’t understand. I want to do this. I just…” I found it hard to look at her. “Don’t know how sometimes.”

  At that, she placed a hand on my cheek, completely surprising me. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Her gaze grounded me. “You want to know a secret?”

  “What?” I didn’t know why I was whispering.

  “Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

  I burst out in a hearty laughter at that. “You’re a doctor.” I gasped.

  She chuckled too, a knowing smile stretched across her face. “I know. I fucking know.”

  And there it was, the two of us laughing like crazy people on the dance floor of my third cousin’s wedding.

  Dahlia

  I woke up the next morning feeling like the night before had been a complete fairytale. We had danced for what had been almost an hour before it was time to watch the bride and groom cut the cake. And after that, we just kept dancing and talking. By the time the car had deposited me at my front door, I felt like we had only been on three dates combined, even though we both remained firmly in denial that there was any romance between us. But as I made my way to my kitchen for something to calm my stomach, which was rolling from the hangover, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the obvious connection between the two of us.

  I was into him. Oh God, I was so into him. I was entirely beyond the part of the beginning where being around him made me nervous and wanted to hurl. No. At this point, I felt like I needed to be around him. As I started the pot for coffee, I could practically feel myself craving him. I refilled my cup of water and went to sit in front of my laptop at the counter, pulling it open. I checked my email and then Facebook, practically humming to myself.

  God, Chet make me feel so freaking free.

  Just as I started scrolling through my newsfeed, I heard the telltale sound of a Skype call coming in. I froze, then my heart started fluttering at the site of James’ thumbnail. Crap. I had promised to talk to him yesterday before the wedding, but I had been so caught up in finding a dress that I ended up forgetting all about it. He must have been waiting for me. My already rolling stomach was lurching by the time I answered the call.

  His image filled my screen. I blinked at the site of his messy hair, the bags under his eyes telling me he hadn’t slept at all the night before. He was upset with me. I could tell. “Hey.” I took a generous gulp of my water.

  He looked at me, but then furrowed his brow and ducked his head, looking closer. “What the heck happened to you?”

  I glanced at my image, and my eyes widened as I saw what he was talking about. I had been so tired the night before coming back from that wedding that I hadn’t washed my face or anything and had simply gone straight to bed. My hair, which had been so nicely curled the night before was now a complete matted mane on top of my head, my eye makeup had morphed into black circles around my eyes, and the lipstick I was wearing had smudged all the way onto my cheek.

  I gulped at him. “It was a crazy night.”

  He set his jaw, folding his hands in front of his face. “I thought you said you weren’t going to stay out late.”

  I was starting to believe that it was impossible for the two of us to have a conversation without it turning into some kind of fight. “What’s the big deal?”

  If he had answered my question and been honest with me, if he had told me how upset he was that I had been blowing him off since the move, if he had tried to open up to me about how he was feeling about the relocation, if he could bite his pride down long enough to just tell me he missed me, maybe that conversation would have gone differently.

  But no. Instead, he said, “Nothing. I’m just worried you’ll be too tired for work.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s a Sunday.”

  “Did you go to church?”

  My eyes widened. “Gosh, Mom. Sorry, but no.”

  He shook his head. The obvious disappointment on his face made me want to throw my computer.

  “You’re just upset that I didn’t call you.”

  “No. I don’t care.”

  I glowered at him, my eyes tearing up. I hated how, no matter what I was feeling, he could bring me all the way back down to his, sad, depressed frame of mind. “Are you so selfish that you can’t open up to me?”

  “Are you so self-centered that you think everything, even how I chose to deal with my own feelings is about you?”

  My eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. I’ve dated you for three years. How dare you tell me your feelings have nothing to do with me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Dahlia. Why are you such a drama queen?”

  “Why do you choose to talk to me like I’m a child?” My face was red hot with anger.

  “Because you act like one.”

  In that moment, I couldn’t do it anymore. No. Better still, I wouldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t going to continue to sacrifice my happiness so that James could feel comfortable. I couldn’t handle it. I wanted someone I felt like I could talk to and someone I felt could talk to me. I wanted an actual partner, not a do-gooder who saw me as a childish charity case. “You know what, I’m done.”

  He froze at that. His face didn’t change, but I could tell that he was tearing up. “What?” His voice sounded heavy.

  A lump lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. This was the most significant jump in my personal life I had made in almos
t a decade. I had always gone for the safe option, the obvious choice. “Yes.” I managed to say.

  I shut the laptop before he could say anything else.

  For the first time…

  I felt….

  Free…

  ***

  I had been lying in bed for the rest of that morning watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians, eating as many carbs as I could get my hands on to ward off the hangover pain, trying my best not to think about James, when Chet called me. He sent me a car to take me back up to his grandfather’s ranch. He wanted to take his horse out for a run and wanted me to come with him.

  An hour later, I had pulled my hair back into a braid, broken out the cowboy boots (for the first time in my life) and was standing in the late afternoon sun, staring at the most beautiful beast I had ever seen. The horse had a dark red coat with black hair. It looked like a rock star in its dressing and was incredibly well-behaved, just standing there stock still like some kind of stoic being.

  “All right. You ready to go?” Chet came out of the barn and stalked towards me, his hands brandishing a set of gloves.

  My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, tall and strong in those cowboy boots, that flannel t-shirt, and those dark jeans. I could see his bulge through the jeans, especially with the way his belt cut in. I bit my lip, my mind wandering, thinking wild thoughts about what it might feel like to touch him. But even as those thoughts crossed my mind, they were intercepted by thoughts of James. The break-up was still fresh in my mind. I mean, this was a man I had known for several years, who had been my partner for three of them. It was hard just to let him go without feeling at least a little out of sorts.

  “Yes,” I said as I watched him tighten the saddle.

  He stepped up to the horse’s head.

  “What’s her name?” I asked. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the kind of thing people said in situations like that.

  Chet chuckled. “Jackie.”

  I smiled. “Like Jackie Kennedy.”

  He shook his head, a mischievous look in his eye. “No. Like Jackie Chan.”

  I furrowed my brow. I didn’t like that look on his face. What did he know that I didn’t know? “What does that mean?”