For the Win

by Rochelle Allison

  “You doing anything tomorrow?” I ask, needing to change the subject. Rory’s a good guy, and I know he’s coming from the right place, but bullshit like this pisses me off.

  “Just a little sight-seeing.”

  “Maybe we can meet up. My mom needs someone to hang around with during the games.”

  “Sounds good.” He disappears into the bathroom only to come back seconds later in shorts and a T-shirt.

  Yanking my sneakers on, I stand up.

  “Where are you off to?” Rory asks.

  “Uh, I’m just going to go check on Allie before curfew. I’ll be back soon.”

  “You’re not mad, are you? I’m not trying to make things worse.”

  “I know, man.” I offer him my balled up fist, and he knocks his against mine. “We’re good. You’re one of the reasons the team is so strong this year.”

  I pat him on the shoulder and feel the paper in my back pocket, leaving the room to go for something I thought was out of my reach.

  *

  I wait for Melina on a bench behind building seven, housing primarily for track and field. Most of these athletes tend to keep to themselves, even more tense and focused than the swimmers. They track every calorie, every second and every hair on their body like it’s a religion.

  It’s a quiet place to meet, away from prying eyes. Like our building, there’s a small patio off the back. This building’s is hidden by a manicured hedge, though, dimly lit by the small lamps lining the walkway.

  She arrives with a wary look, eyes darting around. Once she sees I’m here though, and alone, her shoulders sag in relief. And then she spots the ‘contract’, open and flat on my lap.

  Yeah, there’s no going back.

  Without speaking she sits beside me on the bench, a wide gap between us. I hold up the paper. “You’re serious about this?”

  She hesitates. When she does finally answer me, her voice is low. “Yes.”

  “I’m not gonna lie...I wasn’t sure about this yesterday, Mel.” I stretch my legs in front of me, working through the ache in my muscles. “I didn’t really get your motivation. But it clicked after our win today.”

  She glances up from her hands. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. One thing, though.” Smoothing the paper over my knee, I pull a pen out of my pocket. Under the final condition I add, in my less than perfect handwriting,

  #6. Exclusivity.

  “You want us to be exclusive?”

  “During the rest of the games. No hook ups with anyone else.” No swimmers, I feel like adding.

  I’m expecting a snarky comment about what happened back in college, but all she says is, “I sort of thought that was implied.”

  “Then we have a deal?” I ask, offering her my hand.

  We shake and then she’s next to me, leg pressed against mine. Her hands rush against the stubble on my cheeks and, with a quick glimpse into my eyes, she kisses me.

  There’s little hesitation, just the hard, breathless release of pent up energy. It’s a little much, mentally, but physically I’m all in, touching her for the first time in years. I slide my hands over her thighs, and then her waist, re-discovering dips and curves. She’s different now, somehow both softer and firmer than the last time we were this close.

  I’d like to think I’ve improved my technique over the last couple of years, but Melina’s impulsiveness has thrown me for a loop. The Rules completely evaporate when she climbs into my lap, her knees bracketing my thighs, my dick no doubt poking her through the thin material of my shorts. What are the standards, here? Same as back in the day? Over the shirt? Under? Her teeth tug on my bottom lip; I chase her tongue with mine.

  And then her knee hits the bruise on my hip. I grunt in pain.

  “Oh God,” she says, pulling back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I am anything but fine—I’m close to exploding. Desire rolls over me in all-consuming waves. Pushing my fingers into her hair, I tug her close again, exploring her mouth.

  Melina is onto something here, something that went dormant during my year of celibacy. My sex drive, much like my competitiveness on the field, has kicked into gear. It’s gone from a want to a need.

  And in a matter of seconds, I shift from wanting Melina to needing her.

  She kisses my neck, breath hot, her hands twisted in the fabric of my shirt. There’s no way she can’t feel me hard beneath her, and she reacts by bearing down. My hands hover near her butt, sure she’ll run the second I commit.

  Laughter peels from behind the hedge, followed by whispers for quiet. Soft footsteps echo off the walls. Melina stiffens, and, just as quickly as it was cast, the spell between us is broken.

  “Well, that escalated quickly,” I say, staring at Melina’s puffy, red mouth as she touches it. She extracts herself from my lap, banging into my bruise once more. I flinch.

  “Where is it?”

  I shift, acutely aware of my tented shorts, and pull the fabric up on the side.

  “Ouch,” she says, gently pressing the back of her fingers to the hot, swollen spot. “I saw you stick that landing. Knew you’d pay for it later.”

  “It’s just sore. Not like I’ll be getting a lot of playing time in the next couple of days, anyway.”

  Laughing, she shakes her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nothing’s changed. Coach just threw me a bone because the documentary went over so well.”

  She offers me her hand, and I let her pull me off the bench.

  “You keep telling yourself that, Jules. The next week is going to be wild—mark my words.”

  She disappears into the night, and when I emerge from the hiding spot, pants adjusted, heart beating wildly, she’s nowhere to be found. If that make-out session and the last twelve hours are any indication Melina may be right: things are about to get wild.

  Chapter 34

  August 8

  Rest Men/women

  Melina, and our little arrangement, is on my mind from the moment I wake up. I’m used to being a lone wolf, so it’s weird having romantic entanglements again— if that’s what this even is. After breakfast with Rory at the dining hall, I head back toward the room. As I come around the corner I spy Melina coming my way with a group of her teammates. They’re close-knit and chatting, voices rising in laughter at something. Seeing her unexpectedly does things to my insides, but I keep my face straight. I realize have no fucking clue how to proceed after last night.

  I do know, however, if you want to make out with a girl again, or potentially ever see her naked, it’s best not to be a dick to her. I’ve learned this the hard way over the years, so as we pass I make eye contact, saying, “Good morning.”

  Maria, the women’s goalie, smiles and greets me back, followed a chorus of “hellos” from the others. Melina stares at me stonily before looking away all together, blowing a wave of ice in my direction.

  Fuck.

  *

  I track Melina down outside the gym later that morning, after her workout.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, skipping the pleasantries. Since, you know, we seem to be operating that way.

  “All of what?”

  “The cold shoulder this morning? I mean, I know we agreed to keep things quiet but…”

  “But what, Julian?” She wipes sweat from her face with a towel.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m not sure how to navigate all of this.”

  “Well,” she rests her hands on her hips, “maybe you should think about how you handled random hook-ups at school. I’m sure you had some awkward moments on campus after that.”

  Melina’s always been tough, but this is something else. Her tone is harsh, and hard lines settle around her mouth. I see now that she still harbors a lot of resentment toward me, no matter how much fun we had last night. The switch in her mood throws me off, leaving me unsettled. I feel like I don’t know this version of Melina. Not really.

  We stare at one another, the
years of silence having created a wall between us. Finally, I sigh. “Why’d you approach me if you have such a low opinion of me?” I ask quietly, slipping my hands into my pockets.

  “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t push it. We do this my way or not at all. You agreed to that—suggested it even.”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  She bears down on her lip, looking away.

  I know I should just walk, that Melina is too angry for this to go well. With everything else going on I certainly don’t need the hassle. But then I remember the weight of her on my lap, the taste of her mouth against mine. She’s ignited a fire in me, and I doubt I could put the flames out even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I don’t want to, even though I know damn well I should.

  “Fine,” I say, giving her a short nod. We go our separate ways and I wonder if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.

  *

  Melina’s father orders for the table. He’s fluent in Spanish, and although they speak Portuguese in Brazil, he and the waiter come up with some sort of hybrid. Other than the party—back home, the night before we left for the games—I haven’t seen him in years. I’ve been too chicken to approach him. He warned me clearly not to break his daughter’s heart, and I failed spectacularly to keep that promise. I don’t even want to imagine how he’d react to the agreement she and I made last night or the fact I’m a little hard right now sitting two seats away, just thinking about the way her nipples hardened against my chest last night.

  I haven’t seen Melina since our argument earlier today. In fact, I tried to beg out of dinner but my mother insisted, making me feel like an even bigger douche for trying to avoid everyone. Beyond a perfunctory “hello”, Melina hasn’t acknowledged me since I sat down at the table. I don’t know if this is because of her father or because she sort of hates me. Maybe I’m blowing everything out of proportion. We agreed, after all, to keep this on the down-lowest of all down-lows.

  Allie’s the buffer between us. My mother sits on my other side, and beside her sit Mr. and Mrs. Diaz, with Rory and his parents rounding out the group. Plates of meat are piled on the table—an athlete’s dream. Rory and I should probably be embarrassed by the amount we’re eating, but we’re not. Even our ‘days off’ consist of running and training in the weight room.

  “That was amazing,” Rory says with a contented smile. He leans back, patting his extended belly.

  “Sit up straight,” his mother chides, knocking him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you for suggesting this, Alvaro.” Mom smiles at Melina’s parents. They’ve always gotten along well because of Allie and Melina’s closeness; I pretend not to notice the displeased glint in Mr. Diaz’s eyes when he looks across the table at me. “I can see why it’s mandatory that all visitors try Fogo Chao.”

  “Ugh,” Allie says, looking a little ill. “I think I overdid it.”

  “You think?” I ask. I swear, she tried to out-eat the whole table.

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me,” I taunt. She’s so easy.

  “Good to see some things never change,” Mrs. Diaz says to our mother. She looks at me then, eyes going dewy. “Julian, the documentary has been wonderful. I’m proud of you for doing it. Educating others about your condition is commendable.”

  Mom squeezes my arm. “Me too.”

  I fight a grimace. The documentary is popular. Incredibly popular. A teaser for part two aired this morning—the full video comes out right before Allie’s match tomorrow. Rory’s mother spoke to me at length about my diabetes, sharing that her cousin suffers as well. The attention and discussion about my life is wearing on me—especially after my year of peace and solitude.

  “Thank you,” I manage, before excusing myself from the table. Allie picks up right where I left off, happy to talk about the newfound fame.

  “Looking for an escape route?” Melina’s voice carries down the hall just before I reach the restroom.

  I turn and face her. “How’d you guess?”

  “My dad has been giving you the evil eye for two hours. I figured you’d had enough.”

  I run my hand through my hair. “I’m not used to being around so many people anymore, even family.”

  “Your mom is excited. They all are. Your little documentary is tugging on all their heartstrings.”

  I smile at her tone. Of course Melina, tough as nails, isn’t swayed by my redemption story. That doesn’t keep me from pushing it a little. I mean, why not? She’s made it clear playing nice won’t win me any favors. “I’ve always been pretty hard to resist. Add in a life-threatening condition and a reformed bad-boy reputation...they never had a chance.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, but her eyes stay soft, at least more than earlier today. “You’re ridiculous.”

  I look her up and down, letting my eyes linger in certain places. “I think, maybe, you like me that way.”

  We stare at one another. Her mouth’s already forming a sharp retort, but all I hear are the clanking of dishes, the lilt of laughter, the cooks talking in the kitchen. The ambient noise is loud enough to cover the sound of my heart, which is pounding like a drum in my chest. Who am I kidding, pretending like I would walk away from this?

  She moves to pass by me for the women’s room door but I stop her short. “Don’t forget; you started this. You asked me to do this for—no with—you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I initiate the kiss this time, sure she’ll resist but she’s all in the instant my mouth meets hers. She presses against the wall, fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt. Her mouth is almost smoky, her tongue sweet from the pineapple served with dinner.

  Our make out session doesn’t last long—way too risky—but it’s better than last night. I’m calmer, for one thing. We split apart, and I smooth her hair over her shoulder as she straightens my shirt.

  “Feel better?” she asks.

  “Actually I do.”

  “Good. Because after you left my mom suggested we all hang out at the Village Visitor Center for a while.”

  I lean against the wall and groan. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” She grins.

  Chapter 35

  August 9

  (Game Day Women/Men Rest)

  I’m up at six, whether I like it or not. The rest of my suite is asleep, so I slip on my shoes and pull on my team jacket before heading out into the Village. It’s early and the temperature is cool, but the grounds are quieter than they’ve been since we arrived.

  The dining hall is nearly empty, and I decide to eat while there’s no crowd. With my tray and one of Rory’s magazines in hand, I find a table in the corner.

  I’m nearly done when a shadow hovers over the table, blocking the glare of the overhead light. I glance up, expecting a teammate. Instead I find Tyson Rickman with his hulking shoulders and genetically defying wing-span.

  “Hey,” I say, folding the magazine. “Tyson, right?”

  “Right. You’re Julian Anderson. We’ve never been formally introduced.”

  He’s holding a tray, piled high with a variety of food. I nod at the seat across from me. “You want to sit?”

  “Thanks.”

  He tucks into his meal and I’m curious about his sudden appearance, although I have an inkling what this may be about. That’s his issue to bring up so I just ask, “Do you have an event today?”

  “Three,” he says, between mouthfuls of food. “Individual events. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  I frown. “Where?”

  “In the dining area. My coach likes us to eat in the room. Less distraction, but I get tired of being cooped up.”

  “You have a pretty rigorous schedule.”

  “It’s brutal.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Although I’m sure yours isn’t a cakewalk.”

  “No. Team sports are just different I guess.” But I have no idea. I’ve never participated in anything other than soccer. I stack my plates on the
tray. “Well, good luck today.”

  “Thanks,” he says, but holds up a finger and I pause. “I wanted to ask you about someone.”

  Ah.

  “Melina Diaz?”

  “What about her?”

  “I’ve heard you’re friends—like you grew up together. You and your sister and her.”

  “We did. I’ve known Melina for a long time.” I don’t know where this is going, so I wait.

  He leans back in his seat, his physique imposing. “I’ve tried to get to know her a little but she’s tough. I thought maybe you could put in a good word.”

  “Well.” I cross my arms over my chest and mimic his relaxed pose. “Melina takes the games very seriously. She’s incredibly dedicated.”

  “I know. It’s one of the reasons I’m attracted to her. I mean, everyone here is a professional, but there’s something about her that I like.”

  “Right.” Fuck. I mean, I can still remember the way her mouth felt on mine last night. I’m definitely not in the position to give him advice on how to win her over. “Look, Melina and I have a bit of a rocky past. If you really want to find out how get close to her, I suggest asking my sister. She’s your way in.”

  I can’t believe I just told him that.

  “Do you think she’d help me out?”

  “Allie? Definitely.” Not a chance. I’ll kill her.

  He breaks into a wide, model-worthy smile. “I know this may sound kind of dumb,” he confesses, “but I have a hard time connecting with women sometimes. She and I just sort of hit it off at the training camp, but since we got here she’s been a lot more aloof.”

  I laugh and pretend like I don’t know why. “Yeah, I’m telling you, she’s amazing. Like, the best, but it takes a lot to earn her friendship. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Sure,” I say and he reaches one of those ridiculous arms over the table and offers me his hand. We shake, one of those complicated bro kinds, and I feel a little queasy to my stomach.