"Yes, for her lungs. There's a...there's a mass." I was having a hard time keeping it together, but as my own strength seemed to be fading, Erica's presence next to me actually helped. She moved nearer, stepping to face me, her features drawn together with worry.
"Why don't you come meet us at the hospital? We can talk to the doctors there."
"I'm on my way," I said. "Thank you."
I shoved my phone into my pocket again as my head spun and my chest clenched. "I have to go," I told Erica, shaking off the warm comfort of her hand. Having her next to me was a false comfort, one I didn’t need, one I told myself I didn’t really want. "I can't do this now."
"I'm coming with you," she said, and I almost didn't have the energy to argue. I couldn't focus on her, on us, on cheese right now. I needed to get to my mom.
"No," I told her. "I can't do this right now."
"We don't have to do anything. I just want to be there for you, to— "
"Erica, I have to go." I put my hand over hers for a second, and then turned and left, driving as fast as I could to get to my mother.
Chapter 29
Ice Cream Can’t Fix Everything
Erica
It was potentially the worst weekend of my life.
So far at least. I supposed there is always the potential down the line for something even worse.
I wasn't feeling very optimistic at this point.
I'd lost my job and the guy I had very strong feelings for was dealing with serious family stuff and had gone radio silent. Most likely I'd lost him too, thanks to a stupid cheese bet. The hours were stretching out, each minute ticking by in an endless march of self-doubt and pessimistic stress eating.
"Do you want me to go get your cheese?" Trace asked, standing over me Sunday evening, looking down at the spot where I'd dissolved into a miserable Netflix-bingeing pool of self-loathing on the coach.
I shook my head.
"Ice cream?"
I frowned. Nothing was going to help now. Nothing food-related, at least.
"Is this all about Fuerte?" he asked.
I shrugged.
"Your job?"
I nodded.
"Can I help?"
"No." I couldn't help blaming him a little bit for revealing the bet like that when Fernando had clearly come to make up. If it hadn't been for Trace, everything might be fine. Except I'd still be jobless, and Fernando's mom would still be sick.
Trace sank onto the couch next to me and pulled my feet into his lap, patting my ankles through the blanket. He sighed and turned to me. "I'm sorry, sis. I know things have been hard. For what it's worth, I think you should go out with Fernando. He's a good guy."
I didn't answer. I knew he was a good guy. I was beginning to wonder if I wasn't a good enough girl to deserve him though. Who makes bets on human beings for dairy products?
This girl, that's who.
This jobless loser.
“If you thought that, I don’t know why you had to go and throw out that bit about the bet,” I said.
Trace looked surprised. “You’re blaming me?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
My brother’s lips pressed together for a second, like he was formulating an argument, and then they turned down into a frown. “Sis,” he said, turning to face me, the blue eyes that matched my own looking painfully sad. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want my brother feeling awful too. Maybe just a little bad. Not awful.
“No, I really am sorry. Sometimes I take things a little too far. I forget that not everything is a joke, you know? It’s just…maybe it’s a little easier to relate to people if I keep it light.”
That was potentially the most self-aware thing my brother had ever said. “It’s okay, Trace. Really.”
He nodded, but didn’t look like he felt any better, and his sadness just made me feel even worse.
I had texted Fernando once after he left Friday night, just sending him my best wishes and letting him know I was thinking about him and that I was here if he needed anything. He'd answered with one word of thanks, and I'd heard nothing since then.
Trace and I sat watching Stranger Things for the next two hours, and then I finally gave up and shuffled off to bed. I didn't sleep, just gave my misery a new location in which to dwell, but when the sun poked through my blinds the next morning, I did feel just a little bit fresher and less desolate.
I got out of bed to begin hunting for a new job. I knew Trace could cover all the bills and the rent—and then some—but it didn't feel right to be a grown woman living off her brother. I needed something of my own.
Trace had left a note saying he'd gone out for an early run. This was the last week of pre-season, so I knew the nachos and cheese-bingeing were a thing of the past for my brother. Once the season really got rolling, he treated his body like a machine. He was much more fun in the off season.
As soon as I'd settled myself in front of my coffee and pulled up a job site, my phone rang.
"Hi Beckie," I said, trying not to sound mopey or like I'd spent all weekend on the couch wallowing in ice cream and Netflix.
"Why do you sound mopey and miserable?"
"Getting fired has that effect on some people." I'd texted her about my situation but hadn't been able to bring myself to chat over the weekend.
"I get that," she said. "But listen, I had an idea this weekend—I wanted to talk to you about it but you wouldn't pick up."
"Sorry. I was very busy being miserable."
"Right. Well, I talked to the News Director after the piece on Thursday night. She's really interested in meeting you."
I sat up straighter. This was probably too good to be true. I tried not to sound excited. "What?"
"Yeah, she liked your presence and your voice, and the fact that you found the story in the first place."
"Seriously?" A little shard of happiness found its way inside my darkened mind and lodged itself there. It was like the sun coming out again.
"Can you come down today to meet her?"
"Uh...YES." I gave a brief thought to the fact that I hadn’t showered in days and the level of maintenance I’d need to perform to make myself presentable, but I could definitely do it. For this, I could.
"Cool. I'll text you a time. Wear a suit, okay?"
"Beckie, I owe you. You are a golden goddess. I will buy you so many glasses of wine if this works out."
She laughed. "Okay, you. Go get ready in case she wants to see you this morning."
I stifled a squeal and hung up, racing to take a shower and get dressed.
At noon I was sitting across the desk from the news director, a put-together woman in her early forties who struck me as exactly the kind of mentor I needed in my life. She was smart and pretty, and there was a photo of two adorable boys on her desk. We talked for a long time and then she introduced me to the producer of the station news.
The producer and I had a quick chat, and he seemed impressed when Evelyn, the director, told him I’d done the Thursday night soccer piece. My heart soared when Evelyn gave me a frank look once we’d returned to her office and said, "Erica, I think you have real potential."
I walked out of the station an hour later with a job. I'd start as a junior reporter, but I didn't care about titles. What mattered to me was that for once I'd be in front of the camera, not behind the scenes. In every aspect of my life, I'd always been asked to work in the shadows, to let someone else have the glory. With Trace it had always been that way, and that was the nature of public relations—I wrote stories but didn't get bylines, I set up events for clients and they got all the credit. Even in my last relationship, he'd been the famous hand model. I was just...me. Just Erica.
My Monday was looking up.
Chapter 30
The Way to a Girl’s Heart (might be cheese)
Fernando
They kept Mom at the hospital for two days, treating her for a concussion, and pneumonia. The entire time we were there, the
doctors told me she would be fine, that she would recover. But we were still waiting on the test results from all the scans, and as far as I was concerned, they weren't releasing her until we had answers.
Every now and then a wisp of memory would float through me and I'd wish Erica was here, wish I could feel her next to me, hold her hand. But this was my family, and I wasn't sure where things stood with Erica, anyway. I couldn't have her here, distracting me from whatever Mama needed.
Monday morning, as I sat by her bedside, the doctor who'd been managing her care finally came in to talk to us, holding a folder and some films in his hand. "Mrs. Fuerte?" He said, coming to her bedside. "Mr. Fuerte," he shook my hand. "I have some good news."
The mass in her lungs was benign. They were still going to remove it in a few weeks, once she'd recovered fully from the infection, but it wasn't cancer. Mom wasn't going to die. The relief I felt was tangible—it flooded every cell in my body and made me believe in the world again, in my own ability to face it. I hugged my Mama tight and squeezed back some happy tears.
"You're squishing me, Nando."
I released her and took my seat by her bed again, keeping her hand in mine. "Sorry, Mama." I grinned. "I'm so relieved."
"Me too. Now I can be sure I'll see those grand babies you're going to make for me."
"Stop," I laughed.
"Where is this girl? When do I meet her?"
I sighed. With Mama in the hospital, I'd managed to push Erica out of my head. Almost. But now that the scare was over, it was time to figure out where things stood.
"I need to call her," I said.
Mama waved her hands, rolling them toward the door as if to say, "What are you waiting for?"
I pulled my phone from my pocket, remembering the sweet text Erica had sent late Friday night, wishing my mother well.
I’d had time to think since then. I didn't really understand the bet, and I'd never tasted Wensleydale cheese, but I was pretty sure there was more between us than that. I shoved my phone back into my pocket, changing my mind.
"You're not going to call her?" Mama clucked at me.
"No, Mama. I think I need to go see her. Will you be okay for a little bit?"
"You've been here since Friday. For heaven's sake, Nando, I'm fine. Go take a shower and then go see your girl."
I kissed Mama on the cheek and did exactly as she said, making a quick stop on my way to Erica's place.
I knocked on her door, shifting my weight uncomfortably as a sense of déjà vu swept through me. I'd been standing here with almost the same intentions just a couple days ago and it hadn't gone especially well.
"Hey," Erica said, pulling the door open. She was dressed in a red skirt suit with a silky white shirt beneath the jacket. Her hair was smooth and straight, and her lips were painted a dark red that made my heart pound harder the second I saw it. I had to struggle to regain my breath and my words as she pulled the door open wider, revealing red heels to match the suit. I nearly sank to my knees, she looked so hot.
"Hi," I managed. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah," she said, sounding a little confused. "I just got home. Come in." Her smile was bright but I could feel her uncertainty, her hesitation.
I stepped into the house, closing the door behind me. Erica waved me to the living room and I followed her to the couch, relieved to see that Trace didn't seem to be here.
"How's your mom?" Erica asked as we sat. She tugged the skirt down, pressing her bare knees together and angling them toward me. I had a hard time keeping my eyes from tracing the smooth skin of her thighs as the skirt crept up.
"She's fine," I said, settling the package I held onto my lap. "They'll let her out today, probably. The mass is benign. It's not cancer."
"Oh, Fernando, that's great," Erica said, leaning forward and taking my hand.
Every nerve in my body jumped when she touched me, and then deflated just as suddenly when she let go, seeming to remember that things were not smooth between us.
"I owe you an apology," I said. "Maybe a couple."
She shook her head. "No, I owe you a couple. Coming to the park like that without talking to you, and then the stupid insane bet with my brother..."
"No, it's fine. You tried to talk to me about the team. I just...I didn't understand how it would be, how the piece you wanted to do would work. But I saw it, and it wasn’t what I thought at all. It was really amazing, Erica." Her eyes glowed at the praise. "The kids loved it, too. Coach Valenzuela called to tell me. They loved seeing themselves on television, even just in the distance."
"Oh," she said, and it was more like a breath. "Good."
"I guess it helped," I said. I'd seen Marissa on HOT-LA, and though I'd been prepared for the worst, she'd flamed Theo instead of me.
Erica smiled. "Yeah, I think it did. Marissa changed her mind.”
“Dodged a bullet, I guess,” I said. I was also happy for Erica—it was a win for her.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I still lost my job though."
Fury ripped through me. "What?"
"Theo fired me."
I half rose to my feet, though what I thought I might do about Erica's job at that moment, I had no idea, and the package I was holding was kind of heavy. I sank back down, feeling strangely powerless.
"It's fine. I actually got another job today. That's why I'm dressed up. I had an interview."
"Already? That's amazing." I knew Erica was determined, but that had to be some kind of record. I was impressed.
"It is amazing, actually. I'm going to be a reporter. On camera." She beamed. “It’s something I’ve always wanted.”
"That's great, Erica." It was odd how my heart swelled, just seeing her happy about something.
She bit the corner of her bottom lip, dropped my gaze again before looking back up. "It's partially thanks to you. To the piece at the park."
"Oh, well..." I trailed off. I still felt shitty about the way I’d acted at the park. "That's good." I realized I'd miss seeing her at the stadium whenever I wanted to. "Um, so. I brought you this." I hefted the big paper bag off my lap and handed it to her.
She accepted it, confusion knitting her dark brows together. "What is this? It’s heavy." She opened the end of the bag and extracted an entire wheel of Wensleydale cheese.
"Oh my God." She burst out laughing and the sound filtered through me like confetti. It was a sound like the ocean, like seagulls crying their freedom calls, like children playing in the sunshine. I thought I might want to hear that sound for the rest of my life. "Thank you," she said. "The bet wasn't a real thing, I mean, it wasn’t serious...it was just, it was stupid. It was a joke before I really got to know you."
She hugged the huge wheel of cheese to her chest. I guess she really did like Wensleydale cheese.
"I don't care," I said. "The cheese, the park, the job...I don't care about any of that. I just want to know one thing."
She set the wheel of cheese on the coffee table and turned to face me, her face expectant. "What?"
"Will you go out with me, Erica Johnson?" I was as nervous as I'd been when I'd asked my date to the junior prom. My hands were sweaty and I had a wild energy in me I didn’t know what to do with. I held my breath after the words were out.
Erica answered by scooting closer to me on the couch and leaning almost near enough to brush her lips to my ear. "Yes," she whispered, and a shudder went through me as her hot breath tickled my neck.
When her lips actually touched the sensitive skin beneath my ear, I felt like I might lose control completely. A half-growl rose from my throat and a second later, my arms were around her, my mouth on hers hungrily. As I began stripping off the crisp red suit, I asked, "Is Trace home?"
She shook her head, the blush rising in her cheeks. "Not for hours."
"Good." I dropped my head and went back to work, dropping kisses on every square inch of her skin.
When I had her naked and panting on her back, I removed my own clothing and went immedia
tely back to work, worshipping every centimeter of Erica's body. Her skin was velvet beneath my palms, her little breathy moans and cries were the sweetest song I'd ever heard. And when I wrapped her legs around my waist and paused to make sure this was what she wanted, she looked into my eyes and smiled, and I felt my heart swell inside my chest.
Sex with Erica wasn't like any I'd had before. The way she smiled now and then, the way she wrapped her body around mine—it all combined with the slick tightness of her channel to take me higher than I'd ever been. And she was right there with me, like we were reaching some new height of pleasure that could only be achieved with the exact right person. With your match.
As we each found our release, I thought of nothing but Erica, but as we collapsed on the couch in a satisfied sweaty heap, it occurred to me that Max Winchell really was a fucking genius.
Finale
Don’t Doubt the Match - Max Winchell
Score another happy couple for Mr. Match.
That one had me wondering for a while, but like I told you—the numbers don't lie.
Erica and Fuerte probably had many more sexual encounters that I absolutely am not going to describe for you here before they joined the team out for the final pre-season happy hour before we headed to Vancouver for our first match of the real season. And some of us worried they might be planning to have yet another one right there at McDaughtry's.
"Do you think she's choking?" Hoss leaned on his forearms against the bar next to me.
I turned to raise an eyebrow at him.
"His tongue is so far down her throat there's no way she can be breathing." We both stared over the bar to the other side of the bar where Fuerte and Erica were "dancing." In this case, dancing meant making out furiously.
Scoring the Keeper’s Sister: Mr. Match Book 1 Page 14