For the Win

by Sara Rider

  “I got this!” Lynn shouted, despite the fact a few more women raised their hands in interest. She craned her neck to glare at each one of her competitors, who immediately retracted their hands. “I’m a wiz in the kitchen. Taught all the tricks by my gram. My husband says it’s why he married me. That and the angle I reach when we do reverse cowboy—”

  “Oooo-kay,” Lainey interrupted. She didn’t have a good feeling about Lynn’s claims, but then again, who was she to judge? The most Lainey could accomplish in the kitchen was slicing a raw carrot without spilling blood. “Then there’s a trivia contest for fifteen points. We also need to come up with a charity fund-raising event. Chester insisted on this part to help restore our wholesome image. Whichever team raises more money gets another twenty points.”

  “Is that the big finale event?” Alyssa asked.

  “No. There’s one more aspect to the competition.” Lainey cleared her throat. “Four weeks from now, the Falcons meet the Surge in an exhibition game, for forty points.”

  “Awesome,” Alyssa shouted. The rest of the women whooped and hollered. “Wait a second. What happens if we lose?”

  “Officially, nothing. But I told Gabe that I’d speak to the higher-ups about changing our practice space. He thinks Cricket Field is cursed.” Lainey giggled at the ridiculousness of it. Her laughter was met by pregnant silence.

  “Cricket Field really is cursed,” Alyssa eventually offered. “Riviera in 2011. Elliot in 2009 and Alvarez in 2001. Heck, in 1997, Nielson tripped over a stray dog that had somehow wandered onto the field and snapped his arm in three places. It’s always the team captain who ends up injured.”

  “That’s just coincidence. Besides, Alvarez wasn’t injured while practicing on Cricket Field. He blew his knee in a semifinal match against the Philly Flash. It wasn’t even in Seattle; it was an away game.”

  “During a season in which Chester Stadium was being renovated and the Surge were playing on Cricket Field.”

  “There’s no such thing as curses. Just excuses for not working hard enough.”

  “Enough trivia, nerds. Save it for the competition. I want to know what we get if we win,” Jaime said, much to Lainey’s relief.

  “All the new gear any of us could ever ask for, courtesy of Gabe’s endorsement with Nike.”

  “New cleats?” Alyssa asked excitedly.

  Lainey nodded. “As many pairs as you need. Plus clothes, sneakers, heart-rate monitors, and anything else we need.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well . . .” Lainey hesitated, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at having to reveal another impetuous act on her part. “I sort of bet Gabe his car.”

  Jaime burst out in hysterical laughter. “Are you serious?”

  “It was the first thing that came to mind. I wanted to hit him where it hurts.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re too much.”

  “So I want to win. What’s so funny about that?” She crossed her arms and tucked in her chin, nearly pouting, while the rest of her team laughed. She hated being the only person who didn’t get the joke, which happened more than she liked to admit. At least everyone seemed confident they had a real shot at beating the men and weren’t going to let her rot on the bench the rest of the season, and that was what was most important.

  “You do realize that Gabe was just trying to flirt with you when you went off on him last night? Instead of politely rejecting him, you forced him to put all his pride and ego on the line in a public battle of the sexes. On top of that, you take his car? You aren’t just trying to hurt him. You’re trying to castrate him!”

  “Oh man, this is just too good,” Lynn said, slapping her thigh. “I guess she really is the Ballbuster after all!”

  7

  “Welcome, Seattle sports fans! It’s been more than forty years since Billie Jean King faced Bobby Riggs on a Houston tennis court. Now the eyes of sports fans everywhere are drawn to a new rivalry: Lukas versus Havelak. The first round of Seattle’s very own Battle of the Sexes starts today, and Channel 7 Sports has exclusive coverage of this exciting event!”

  IT WAS NEVER A bad time to take off your shirt when you were Gabe “Hometown Hero” Havelak. Sure, the light dusting of hair on his chest was out of style with today’s crowd of shiny, waxed pectorals, but none of the advertising executives he worked with seemed to have a problem with it. At that moment, he was a sweaty mess after winning the twenty-kilometer endurance race, and there was a small but adoring crowd cheering for him in the choice seats at Chester Stadium. He owed it to them to give them what they wanted.

  Plus, he knew it’d annoy Lainey.

  Despite the hint of chill in the air, Gabe whipped off his T-shirt and flexed his abs, inciting his fans to holler, just as Lainey was preparing to take her first penalty shot in the kickoff competition. Lainey stutter-stepped when someone in the first row catcalled at Gabe to take it all off, but she recovered gracefully. The ball sailed past Joe Sheridan and buried itself in the bottom left corner of the net. She turned around with a satisfied look on her face and walked to the competing players waiting just outside the eighteen-yard box. Like a high school dance, the men were huddling on one patch of perfectly manicured grass, the women on another.

  “You’re up, Havelak.” Lainey tossed a ball to him as the announcer boomed his name across the stadium. “Try not to screw up. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a penalty shot.”

  “Don’t worry, pretty lady,” he answered, stretching his arms above his head in a way that he knew emphasized his obliques just to bug her even more. Sure, he was playing dirty, but the stakes were high. He was willing to do anything to avoid the curse of Cricket Field. “I got this.”

  He walked to the penalty spot, waving to the fans and hoping they didn’t notice he was practically wobbling. The fierce ache in his knee was worth it, though. Winning the endurance race was a huge ego boost—even he was surprised that he still had it in him to beat the younger guys. Lainey nearly kicked his butt, though. The only thing that kept him a step ahead for those thirty laps was the knowledge that she’d have to stare at his ass the entire time.

  He placed the ball on the white chalk circle and fastidiously rotated it, taking in the wind and weather. He visualized slotting the ball into the bottom right corner as he backed up exactly ten paces, never making eye contact with the Falcons’ goalie, lest he give anything away. As a defenseman, it’d been many years since he’d taken a penalty shot, but his aim was sure. He took a deep breath and prepared to kick.

  “Hey, Havelak! You forgot your shirt!”

  Gabe looked over his shoulder to see Lainey Lukas pulling off her jersey and tossing it at his feet.

  “You can borrow mine,” she added while her teammates laughed.

  Gabe’s jaw nearly dropped. She was modestly covered by a black sports bra, but the woman had a freakin’ eight-pack. Her body was long, lean, and graceful, like a perfect work of art. Concentrate, man. He tore his eyes from her and refocused on the ball. He ran toward it and at the last minute flicked his eyes toward the net. Instead of seeing Dunkers in her fluorescent yellow keeper’s jersey, the image of a half-naked Lukas flashed in front of him. His right instep connected with the ball, sending it hurtling forward.

  Right into Lynn’s hands.

  The keeper hadn’t even needed to move a foot. Gabe groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair as the announcer bemoaned his pathetic effort. He walked back to the edge of the eighteen-yard box where the rest of his eliminated teammates were waiting. Adding to his shame, he had to walk right past Lukas, who had recovered her shirt.

  “Better luck next time, Havelak,” Lainey said with a smirk.

  “That mean you’re going to take off the sports bra next time?” he shot back with his dirtiest smile.

  Her smirk contorted to a snarl, which made Gabe feel a little better about the whole situation. And, h
ey, at least he could take a break now. After a bunch of supportive pats on the back from his teammates, he flopped onto the grass to watch Alyssa Adeyemi, one of the Falcons’ center midfielders, prepare for her shot. She drove the ball low to the right. Sheridan launched in the same direction, his fingertips barely reaching the ball and redirecting it wide of the post. Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t the only one eliminated in the first round. The rules of the penalty-shot portion of the skills competition had been set up differently from a shoot-out in a regular game. Rather than declaring a winning team, the shoot-out would continue in a sudden death until an individual victor was declared. He clapped for Alyssa and for Joe and hooted as Zazu was called to the spot. Since this was the last competition of the day, Gabe decided to relax and enjoy the proceedings as a spectator. He loosened his laces and leaned back on his elbows.

  Over the next forty minutes, the shooters were whittled down to two: Lainey and the Surge’s left forward, Aiden Green. Tension ratcheted higher with each shot. Green’s powerhouse shot, which had earlier earned him a victory in the most powerful kick competition, was wild but unstoppable. Lukas was no slouch either in the power department, but it was her impeccable aim that made it impossible for Sheridan to get a hand on the ball, even when he guessed the right direction.

  “Whoa. She’s really good, huh, Gabe?” Johnny said, playing with a blade of grass. “How much do you think she practiced to be able to do that?” he added when Lainey slotted another ball into the top left corner of the net.

  “Don’t know. I’ve never known anyone with aim like that before.” Lukas was his opponent, but damn if she didn’t make him and everybody else in the stands want to root for her. She had the kind of passion and fire that made everyone around her feel like no dream was unattainable.

  “Even in La Liga?” Johnny asked, referring to Gabe’s playing days in Spain’s top league.

  “After twenty-eight shots, I’d say that kind of perfection is pretty nuts even by La Liga standards.”

  “Damn.”

  “Don’t worry about it, kid, Aiden’s holding his own. Hard for anyone to stop a ball going sixty-five miles per hour,” Gabe said, referring to the winning number on the radar gun earlier that afternoon. He stretched out his stiff legs in front of him. The warm sun was starting to fade as the day went on. Gray clouds loomed on the horizon.

  “Looks like he might be getting distracted. Check it out, Aiden’s macking on Lukas.” Johnny pointed at the pair, who were smiling and chatting cordially just before Aiden lined up for another shot.

  A knot twisted in Gabe’s gut. What could those two possibly have to talk about? Sure, Aiden was good-looking, if you liked California-golden boys with perfect teeth and dreamy blue eyes. He didn’t peg Lainey as the type to fall for a Hollywood smile, but then again, what did he know? Every effort he made to have a civil conversation with her fell flat. Not that that made it okay. For cripes’ sake, Aiden had a pregnant fiancée at home. He didn’t need to be talking to another woman.

  Aiden sent another shot ripping into the net. Gabe forced himself to clap for his teammate instead of sulking.

  “Hey, Lukas, how many times are you going to aim for the top left corner? It’s getting a little predictable,” Gabe called out as she walked past. “Why not shake things up a little, eh?”

  She rewarded his comment with a blank stare but whispered conspiratorially to Aiden as she passed by. Aiden laughed and clapped her on the back before stepping outside the box. She lined up the shot as usual, paused, then removed her shirt once again. The crowd hushed as she rolled up the garment and tied it around her head so that she was blindfolded. Riveted, Gabe watched her rib cage expand as she sucked in a deep breath then took the shot.

  “No way,” Johnny whispered in awe.

  The ball zipped right into the top left corner, and the fans exploded.

  Lainey removed her makeshift blindfold and walked straight to Gabe with absolute confidence her shot went exactly where she intended despite not having witnessed the execution. “Exciting enough for you, Havelak?”

  THE LOOK ON HIS face was priceless. Lainey had never imagined she could render Gabe Havelak speechless. It was almost as richly satisfying as winning a real shoot-out. At the same time, a flicker of embarrassment tugged at her gut. She couldn’t believe she’d taken her shirt off in public. Twice! It had taken over a decade for the world to forget about the Brandi Chastain episode, and here she was ripping away the decorum from women’s soccer all over again. How could one man drive Lainey so bonkers that she lost her entire sense of etiquette? Watching him ham it up for the crowds was bad enough, but losing the endurance race to him was what really sent her over the edge.

  She turned her attention to Aiden, her new competitor. The awestruck look on his face told her he hadn’t really taken her seriously when she suggested the blindfolds as a way to up the ante.

  “Your turn, Green,” she said just as a drop of rain fell on her forehead. Another drop. Suddenly the skies opened up and started pissing all over her.

  Grace Mallery, who was emceeing the skills competition, stepped out onto the field with her microphone beneath an oversize pink-polka-dot umbrella carried by one of her lackeys. “Hello, Seattle soccer fans! It looks like we’re out of sun and out of time. The skills-competition judges have officially declared the penalty shoot-out a tie! Ten points will be awarded to Aiden Green and to Lainey Lukas. The total score for today is Falcons twenty, and the Surge forty. Make sure to join us next Monday morning for round two, when the Surge and the Falcons face off in the kitchen.”

  What? No fair!

  Aiden turned to her with a hand outstretched. “I have to admit I’m relieved. I didn’t think you’d actually go through with the whole blindfold thing. For what it’s worth, you would’ve won. But hey, it’s all for fun, right?”

  “Right,” Lainey said lamely, unballing her clenched fists to shake his hand. She could push past the burning in her lungs. She could work through the cramps seizing her quads and calf muscles. She could even overlook Gabe’s shenanigans. But having her victory ripped away because of the rain? Lainey didn’t know how to handle that. They were soccer players, dammit! They should be able to deal with a little rain.

  “Miss Lukas! Miss Lukas! A word for our viewers?” Grace shrieked, trotting toward her with a cameraman in tow. “How do you feel about losing the penalty shoot-out?”

  “I didn’t lose; I just didn’t win,” Lainey said with rising frustration. “Besides, the Falcons won the sprint race.”

  “Miss Lukas, everyone knows just how accustomed you are to winning. How did it feel to lose the endurance race to Seattle’s Hometown Hero? Are you worried the Falcons will lose what little fan base they have to the Surge if they come out on the losing end of this Battle of the Sexes?”

  It was as if the vile woman was trying to set a new world record for the amount of times she could use the word “lose” in a sentence.

  “Oh, look. Fans are waiting for an autograph. Can’t keep them waiting in the rain!” Lainey jogged to the sizable group standing near the hallway to the change rooms.

  The rest of the players from both teams eventually joined Lainey by the stands to sign autographs. But after nearly twenty rain-soaked minutes, she lifted her head to realize almost all the players had given up and headed inside to dry off. Everyone but Havelak, who was dutifully signing every bit of paper, forehead, and cleavage thrust his way.

  “You know, if you want to get some positive media attention on the Falcons, you have to play the game a little better,” Gabe whispered to her while scrawling a barely legible ink-bleed on a damp scrap of paper.

  “The woman has it out for me. There’s no way to play fair with her,” Lainey muttered.

  “Look, Grace Mallery is the type who needs to put other women down to make herself feel better. She has a thing for me and sees you as competit
ion. You just need to find a way to make that work in your favor.”

  “I see. The poor defenseless woman is simply entranced by your superpowered penis?” Lainey mocked. “Next time she harasses me, I’ll reassure your girlfriend that I’m not interested. You’re all hers.”

  “Gabe! Gabe! Can you sign my shirt on behalf of your superpowered penis?” a vixenish fan asked.

  “Thanks for that, Lukas,” he said wryly. Lainey peeked at the autograph he gave her. Sure enough, it was signed, “With love, Gabe Havelak Junior,” with a little winky face next to it.

  “Anytime.” Lainey rolled her eyes as the fan swooned.

  Though soaked to the bone, Lainey worked her way through the dwindling crowd of autograph seekers until every last one was satisfied. She should’ve taken the time to do a proper cooldown after the exertion she put her body through, but she’d made a promise to herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t be responsible for crushing anyone’s dreams. Fans were the whole reason professional sports existed, and they deserved her respect. If they could tolerate the rain, so could she. Besides, she intended to go through an extended yoga regime tonight, followed by a long bubble bath, which would ease her throbbing muscles. A good soak was the one luxury she allowed herself, since it was beneficial for muscle recovery and allowed her the peace and quiet to practice her visualization techniques.

  Lainey wandered through the gray archway leading toward the change room, where her teammates were probably already enjoying steaming hot showers and dry towels. The image beckoned to her like the sweetest fantasy.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Lainey sighed and turned around. Sure enough, the Hometown Ego was jogging after her.

  “Just so you know, Grace Mallery has not, and will never, experience my superpowered penis,” he said solemnly.