by Lulu Pratt
Grace, who was sitting next to me, put a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I know it means a lot to you to have him at the games.”
“I’m okay,” I replied, attempting to lighten the mood. “It’s the championships. That’s exciting with or without him.” I didn’t say that it would be more exciting with him there, but it was implied.
“You’re right,” Grace said, matching my tone. “Championships, we made the championships. Booyah!”
I giggled at her, and we chatted amicably for the rest of the ride. Grace and I had made up without trouble. Even in the best of friendships, there were challenges that one had to face. I think going through hard shit with her, and coming out the other side, made our friendship stronger than ever. We’d already agreed to live together again next year.
We arrived at the stadium, got off the bus and made our way to the locker room. The team was abuzz with jitters. This game promised to be a tough one.
It seemed like one minute we were in the locker room, cheering and chanting and getting amped for the game, and the next we were out on the field, listening to the opening whistle.
ULA students and alum hollered from the sidelines as we battled it out against the other team, crying ‘Defense’ and making noises to distract our opponents. The other school was tough as hell.
They were the sort of girls who played dirty — kicked your knees, body checked you, so on and so forth. Unlike in men’s soccer, women soccer players don’t like to lie down on the grass and bitch and moan about an imagined injury, though in this case, they were certainly not imagined. We already had enough stigma to face without playing into old stereotypes about female athletes.
But back to my point, which was that they were keeping us on our toes. I fought to get the upper hand on them, but every time we seemed to be gaining ground, they pushed us back.
Despite our best efforts, the last few minutes of the first half was equally frustrating. When we moved, they moved. When we shot at the goal, they blocked. It was like they knew our own plays before we even made them.
After their goalie caught one of my shots, an impossible catch so good it made me mad, I muttered, “Damnit.”
Annoyed but trying to snap out of it, I turned to the stands, hoping to find some inspiration from the crowd of people who’d come to root for us.
And just then I saw him.
Simon.
Sitting in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else.
No sooner had I made my discovery than the whistle went for half time. We were tied at zero. I quickly jogged up to Simon, right up to the stands. Around him, people waved their foam fingers at me and cheered my number.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, tilting my head to look up at him. The stands were elevated, and he was about three feet above me in the air.
He kneeled down, and with a grin, replied, “I’m cheering you on, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“But the men’s game—”
“Don’t worry about it, love.” His grin spread as he added, “Now go huddle with your team. Tell them to get on the other striker, and that your best pocket will be on the right, near that midfielder who isn’t doing a great job. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, my heart racing and warmth spreading through my body. He’d done it, he’d made it to my game. I felt like somebody had just put paddles to my chest and given me a jolt.
I hurried back over to our benches, and told the team about Simon.
“No way!” Riri exclaimed. “He made it?”
Sharon-Ann cooed, “That is so romantic.”
“Yeah, it is,” I laughed. “And he had some advice, too.”
I passed on his info and the girls nodded eagerly. The new coach was too professional to be offended by Simon’s backseat driving. In her book, good advice was good advice, no matter where it came from.
Simon’s presence seemed to have given everybody, not just me, an extra burst of energy — the faces around me were lighting up, and I could see the fight coming back to everyone’s eyes. That was how I liked my team — fired up and ready to kick some ass.
Our new coach suggested that it was time for me to give a pep talk, and I stepped up to the plate.
“Listen, ladies,” I announced. “I know it’s hard out there, and we’re all feeling the sting, but now isn’t the time to throw in the towel. Now’s the time to fight. And I don’t mean fight dirty, like they’re doing—”
“They sure are,” Sophia muttered.
I ignored this, and continued, “We have to fight like Stallions. The whole school’s watching, and we’ve been training for this game for months — no, years. It’s not over ‘til the fat lady sings, or rather, ‘til the whistle rings. Okay?”
The girls cheered back, revved up by my pep talk. The ref indicated that it was time for the second half, and I strode back onto the field, ready to win. I could tell by the way Tanya tightened her ponytail and Grace rolled her neck out that we weren’t taking any prisoners. The game had just begun.
In the seventieth minute, we started to gain ground. We weren’t making shots, but we were taking more, and the goalie was getting worn down. The opposing side’s defense was starting to lag, and through pure endurance, we were exhausting them. Suddenly, it seemed like we might actually win this thing.
In the eighty-eighth minute, I began to run, and fast. A part of my brain thought back to that first time I’d trained with Simon, how we’d raced one another, and I smiled.
I think, in the end, it was love that cinched the game — the thought of Simon gave me the extra speed I needed to get in position in time to receive Grace’s pass, line up a shot and take a corner kick at the goal.
The whole stadium seemed to go silent as we watched the ball sail through the air, head to the goal, and soar to the back of the net just inches out of the reach of their goalie.
I’d done it — I’d scored the winning shot.
The stadium roared. The game was over, and ULA had won the championship.
Our team ran into the center of the field, into an enormous group hug filled with sweat and tears of joy. We bounced up and down, chanting ‘ULA! ULA!’
“Catya, you did it!” Neidin exclaimed.
“Yeah, Catya, that was all you,” Rose chorused.
I blushed, and replied, “No, it was the team.”
“Don’t be modest,” a voice behind me said. “You killed it.”
I whirled around and saw that Simon had apparently leaped down from the stands, over the barrier and into a six-foot drop and was now standing right in front of me, his face beaming with pride.
“You liked that?” I asked him.
He laughed, saying, “‘Spose I did.”
I was about to pull him in for a hug when, from somewhere in the crowd, I was passed the championship trophy, an enormous, shiny thing that weighed a ton.
“The team captain has to hold the trophy,” Grace explained with a smile. “It’s only right.”
I hefted the weight in the air as a photographer took our photo. But before he could click the shutter, I grabbed Simon’s hand, yanked him to me, and planted a huge kiss on his lips. Using one arm each, we held the trophy aloft together, and amidst the cheers of my friends and teammates, I kissed the love of my life harder and harder, wanting to live in just this moment for the rest of my days.
Simon broke the kiss to lean into my ear and whisper, “Next stop, the Olympics.”
***
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Fake Marriage Act
Fake a marriage for a million dollars? Easy.
My buddy knows I think relationships – and women – are too much trouble.
So as a joke he signed me up for a reality TV show.
Marry a stranger and after six months get a million dollars.
Even better I can walk away first and still get my half, an easy half million in my pocket.
Sign me up.
Then Mira walks down the aisle, her killer curves filling out the wedding dress.
F*ck!
Her full lips are begging for an x-rated response when I’m told I can kiss the bride.
I’m not leaving this marriage until I taste her.
But she has other ideas.
These six months are going to be… hard.
***A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***
CHAPTER 1
Ryan
I rolled myself to the left, grabbing the wrench and pushing back underneath the car. I tightened the bolts manually before grabbing the drill and finishing off the job. The towel at my side was caught underneath the wheel of my cart so I tugged hard, ripping the fabric in half. A sigh escaped as I wiped the oil from my hands, staring up at the underside of a 2012 Altima. The customer didn’t need it back for two days, but I just wanted to get it out of the way. There was plenty of other work I could focus my energy on.
Pushing myself out from under the car, I sat up, staring around my business. I had started this mechanic shop a few years before and had built it to the point where I had two part-time employees and myself now. I did most of the work to keep my labor costs down, but I could afford to hire an entire team to run the place if I wanted to. I never wanted to be that guy, though, the one who owned the shop but never had a speck of dirt on him. I worked for a guy like that in high school. He didn’t even know how to change a tire.
My watch beeped three times and I looked down at it, realizing it was already lunchtime. As if the watch were dictating the actions of my body, my stomach growled, letting me know it was the perfect time for the tuna sandwich in my lunch bag. I put my tools up and made my way to my office, scrubbing my greasy hands before sitting down with my brown lunch sack. As I took a bite of my sandwich I hit the button on my phone, seeing I had missed a call. I didn’t recognize the number, and figured it was probably some customer, not aware I had a landline for the business.
I set my cell phone on the desk and, putting it on speaker, called my voicemail. The chips in my bag were a little more than crushed, and as I typed in my access code, I made a mental note to stop laying my tool bag on top of my lunch when I got there in the morning. When the voice on the messages started to play, I paused, not recognizing it at all. The woman was excited, overly excited, and talking as if I had just won a new sports car.
“Mr. Ryan Carson, this is Evelyn Owens, Producer with GNTV Networks,” she said. “I have your application in front of me and I do have to say, you seem to be exactly what we’re looking for! If you could call me back at this number right away I would really appreciate it! Have a fantastic day!”
I furrowed my brow, realizing it couldn’t have been a mistake, she knew my name. What application was she talking about? I hadn’t applied for anything, not in a really long time. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, intrigued by the call. I really hoped it wasn’t a spammer.
“Evelyn Owens’s office, Sue speaking,” the secretary answered.
“Yes, I’m Ryan Carson, a Ms. Owens called and left a message,” I replied.
“Mr. Carson, thank God you’ve called, she’s been in a panic all morning,” the secretary said, further confusing me. “Hold just one moment.”
“I think you might be mista—” I sighed, as I was put on hold, but only for a brief moment.
“Mr. Carson, this is Evelyn,” she answered excitedly. “I thought you might not call back.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Owens, I don’t understand what this is about,” I replied.
“Oh! Well, you’ve been selected for our new reality TV series,” she said, excitedly, with that used car salesman tone back in her voice. “It’s really very exciting.”
“I — what?” I almost burst into laughter at the thought. “I didn’t apply to be part of a reality show.”
“Well, that’s odd,” she giggled. “I have your application and headshot right here in front of me. Ryan Carson, twenty-nine, six feet two inches, green eyes, lives in rural Indiana, owns a mechanic shop—”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, shaking my head, until suddenly a light bulb went off, and I knew exactly what had happened. My asshole best friend, Miles, probably sent in an application in my name, trying to play a joke on me. That idiot had done shit like this since we were kids. I was starting to think that he enjoyed torturing my ass. I almost felt bad for the woman, she seemed so damn excited about the whole thing.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Owens, but I believe there has been a mistake.” I rubbed my face and leaned forward on my elbow, shaking my head. “I am not interested in being on a reality show. I barely enjoy family photos every year when I was a kid. I think a friend played a practical joke on us both.”
“Well, it looks like we are in a precarious situation here,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Would you at least like to hear about the show before you completely write it off?”
“Sure,” I said, gritting my teeth and forcing a smile. “Why not?”
“Oh good,” she said excitedly. “You would come here and film the entire thing. The premise is, you get married to a complete stranger, someone who you don’t meet until you are standing at the altar.”
“Married? Me? That’s not gonna help your case for talking me into this,” I chuckled, flinching at the idea of getting married, especially not to a complete stranger.
I barely ever even dated, never having time to deal with the drama that went along with it. I was more than happy just getting laid every once in a while and doing my own thing the rest of the time. Marrying a complete stranger on TV sounded horrific, but then she talked about the terms.
“Well, the sweet sugar topping on this, is that if you stay married for just six months, we will award you, as a couple, one million dollars,” she said. “If one of you leaves early, the one who leaves gets half a million and the other gets nothing. Kind of throws a spin on it. After the six months is up, what you do is up to you, you can divorce, continue the marriage, or whatever you like.”
“So, let me get this straight, if I stay married, on national TV, to a complete stranger for six months then I get half of a million-dollar prize. And, if I leave early, I still get that same amount?”
“Yep,” she giggled. “Got your attention, now don’t I?”
This, at the time, seemed like a novel idea. I could leave the marriage early, beating her to the punch and collect my half million, leaving her with nothing. I mean, she would do it to me, right? That amount of money could afford me at least two more locations plus allow me to spruce up the main garage. I had always wanted to expand the business, I just assumed it would take a decade or so until I was at that point. With this, I could almost immediately become a chain.
“All right, say I am interested, just hypothetically now,” I said. “When would filming for this start?”
“You would be scheduled to fly out here to Los Angeles in one week to sign the contracts, that would give you enough time to secure your affairs at home,” she replied. “Then you would start filming the following day. We would provide you an itinerary and I would be meeting with both of you after the ceremony, and on a regular basis after that. We would go over the events of the day, discuss my expectations, and I would help wherever I could to raise the viewing numbers.”
“Okay, one week,” I said, rubbing my chin.
How could I pass this up? It wouldn’t
be a real marriage exactly, right? Sure, it might be legal, but it wouldn’t mean anything, we were perfect strangers. The whole idea of having a real marriage put me off because of the drama and claustrophobia of the whole thing. With this it should be straightforward, and I could probably even create an alliance with the girl so we both win in the end. It may have started as a joke, but seriously, I didn’t know how I could turn it down.
“What about the tickets to Los Angeles? Who pays for those?” I asked.
“Why, we do of course,” she said, happily. “The production company will reach out to you and schedule the whole thing. You just show up at the airport, pick up your ticket and you’ll be on your way. You don’t even have to bring that much, we’ll be providing a wardrobe for you.”
“So, there is no cost out of pocket for me?” I asked.
“None at all. Just your time.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, blurting out the next sentence. “All right, I’ll do it!”
We talked for a few more minutes, but to be honest I didn’t remember a word of it, I was too busy shouting at myself for agreeing to something so stupid, just for the money. When we got off the phone, Miles was in my crosshairs, so I immediately dialed his number. He was not going to get out of this one easily, that was for damn sure. But I didn’t want him to know I knew quite yet, not until I could get him in person, face to face.
“Hey dude,” Miles answered. “I was just thinking about calling you. I had some fine tail last night, though I had to kick her out, she was nesting already.”
“Sounds miserable,” I laughed. “But then again, you always do end up with the ones who just don’t get the hint, even when you tell them from the beginning you aren’t a relationship kind of guy.”