For the Win

by Sara Rider

  “Best stove-top peach-blueberry crumble this side of Spokane,” Aunt Marnie responded, walking behind the counter and poaching the ingredients she needed from the competitors’ respective sections like it was her own kitchen. She and Mrs. Havelak settled into the space between the Falcons and the Surge and got to work with the efficiency of a military strike force.

  “What the hell?” Jaime said, watching the older women working like they’d been cooking there for decades.

  “Ignore them,” Lainey whispered. “We don’t have much time left and we need to spend every last minute of this competition concentrating on crushing the Surge.”

  “Right on, Captain,” Lynn added, garnishing her salmon with flecks of parsley.

  Lainey tried hard to follow her own advice and not think about her aunt’s crumble, which was her favorite dessert. She also tried hard to not think about Frank scowling from the wings or even Gabe casting sideways glances at her. She especially tried hard to not acknowledge that the reason she was noticing his sideways glances was that she was casting some of her own. The man looked awfully good in a faded pair of jeans and simple gray button-up shirt. Her own outfit—jeans and a clean shirt that her aunt had lent her—wasn’t much different, but she didn’t look anywhere near as effortlessly put together. Once the season was over and her victory was in hand, she’d buy herself a proper wardrobe. That was number eight on her list.

  But Lainey had to focus on winning this competition right here, right now. Winning meant ten more points. Winning meant inching a step closer to her dream. Winning meant watching Gabe clean the mud from her shoes. She wasn’t going to focus on what losing this challenge would mean.

  “Ten more minutes! Time to finish up those dishes and get them plated,” Grace chirped. Somehow, Aunt Marnie and Mrs. Havelak had completely stolen the show out from under the Falcons and the Surge. The cameras were glued to the two matronly women, who managed to bicker as much as they agreed, and narrated their every move like they were the stars of their own cooking show. In the five minutes they’d been working, their simple meal looked leaps and bounds ahead of what the Falcons were putting together, despite the fact they kept sneaking ingredients to each other’s dishes when their backs were turned.

  A slight hip check by Mrs. Havelak reaching for a wooden spoon sent Lainey’s knife right into the soft flesh of her thumb pad.

  “Dammit!” Lainey stuck her finger in her mouth to keep the blood from spilling out and ruining all the food they’d slaved over for the past two hours.

  “Come on,” Jaime said, grabbing Lainey by the shoulder and directing her to a sink away from their workspace. She ran cold water over Lainey’s thumb, dried it with a clean towel, and pulled a bandage from her front pocket.

  “You carry bandages with you?” Lainey asked.

  “Of course. Never know when you’re going to get all nipply.” Jaime wrapped the bandage around Lainey’s finger. “We’ve done all we can in this round. We need to figure out what to say when that plastic whore asks you about the charity fund-raiser.”

  “I have no idea what to say. It’s pretty clear a bake sale isn’t going to cut it.”

  “We could always do a porno.”

  Lainey rolled her eyes. “I haven’t had enough time to think about it. Most of us are new to Seattle, and we don’t have the same social or media connections as the Surge. I don’t see how we can raise as much money as them. All Gabe has to do is sell one of his ego cars, and they’ll have more money than we could ever earn.”

  “Then we need to think of a way to get people to raise money for us, or to get something of equal value. What makes us special?”

  “I have no idea what you’re getting at, Jaime.” Lainey threw her hands up.

  “Cut the crap, Lukas. You are a star striker. Thinking on your feet and pulling miracles out of your ass in a split second is what you do best. So do it.” Jaime patted Lainey’s cheek, then pushed her back toward the counter where Lynn was putting the finishing touches on their plate.

  “TIME’S UP,” GRACE SQUEALED, not-so-coincidentally rubbing against Gabe’s arm. At least with his mama nearby, Grace wouldn’t try anything too overt. She just couldn’t accept no for an answer. All in all, though, the morning had been a blast. He loved getting the chance to show off his skills in the kitchen for his mama. Despite her grumbling earlier, Gabe had always wanted her to teach him to cook, but she refused every time he asked. Gabe knew it was because she desperately wanted to remain important to him. It was silly because she’d always be a huge part of his life.

  He and his teammates finished up plating and carried the food over to the judges’ table, where three audience members were randomly pulled to taste their efforts. They sampled the Surge’s plate first, with noncommittal mmms and head nods. Next came the Falcons’ salmon en croute and vegetable soufflé. The reactions of the panel were a little more expressive, causing him a twinge of concern. Gabe knew it was all meant to be in good fun, but the curse of Cricket Field was real. In his first year playing for the Surge, Gabe had witnessed Mitch Elliot snap his ankle in half by catching his foot in the unforgiving, rubberized Astroturf. In this third year, Gabe was standing right next to Jimmy Riviera when he was stung by a bee and discovered he was highly allergic. The anaphylactic shock was so severe, Riviera ended up suffering a mild stroke. It was touch and go for a while, but he recovered well enough to lead a normal life. Not well enough to continue on as a professional athlete, though. Gabe couldn’t risk being next.

  When the panel sampled his mama and Lainey’s aunt’s dishes, their measly attempts at remaining stoic dissolved into over-the-top food-gasms.

  “Oh, we definitely have a winner,” a fortyish, blond female panelist exclaimed. The other two nodded enthusiastically. She took another bite and pointed at the dish in front of her. “This one. Definitely this one.”

  Mama and Lainey’s aunt gave each other what Gabe considered to be the most awkwardly smug high five he’d ever witnessed.

  “Well, folks, we have a winner,” Grace chirped. “Looks like age and experience come before beauty after all!”

  “Whoa!” Gabe interrupted. “Who comes second?”

  “We need to know who gets the points,” Lainey protested at the same time as him.

  The panelists looked put-upon, but gathered their heads together and mumbled for a few seconds.

  “Well, the salmon dish was overly fancy for my taste and a bit dry,” the woman said hesitantly. Gabe smiled as he watched Lainey and Jaime instinctively restrain Lynn by latching on to her arms. Of course the Surge were going to win. Johnny knew what he was doing in the kitchen, and Gabe had the hearts and minds of Seattle soccer fans wrapped around his little finger. “But none of us really like olives, so we’ll have to give second place to the ladies.”

  “What?” Gabe shouted.

  Joe placed one of his freakishly large goaltender hands on Gabe’s shoulder. “Relax, man. It’s all good.” Though Gabe knew his teammate was extremely straitlaced, Joe had the overly relaxed demeanor of someone who frequently indulged in the Pacific Northwest’s most profitable and illicit cash crop.

  Gabe’s anger dissipated when he looked over and saw the trio of women giddily celebrating their marginal victory. Their extremely marginal, based-on-a-stupid-technicality victory. Seriously. Who doesn’t like olives? But Lainey looked adorable with a giant grin on her face. For the first time, she was showing genuine emotion in front of the camera. How could he be upset if this was the outcome?

  Grace fixed her hair in preparation for the segment’s ending. “Personally, I just love to suck on a nice, salty olive,” she said in an exaggerated tone, capping it off with a wink in Gabe’s direction. He shuddered. “But the panel has spoken. Now, Lainey, why don’t you give us that hint you promised us about the Falcons’ charity fund-raiser plans?”

  Gabe cringed on Lainey’s behalf. He’d trie
d to buy her some time earlier in the show because, despite that she was his direct competition, he was ridiculously fascinated by her. And attracted to her. There was no way around that little fact. But he should’ve known Grace wouldn’t let her off that easily.

  With the microphone once again thrust in her face, Lainey tensed. Then a confident smile slowly appeared. “Here’s the thing about the Falcons: we might not be the richest or most famous athletes in this city, but that means we’ve had to work harder and be more resourceful to get where we are today. We have skills you don’t know about. Skills”—she turned to Gabe, gloating—“you could only imagine. And in a few weeks, we’ll reveal our fund-raiser that will be bigger than anything you ever dreamed about.”

  FAKE IT TILL YOU make it. That was one of Lainey’s favorite mottoes in life. Never show any weakness was another. She’d just bought her team a few more weeks. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to come through on her promise of something spectacular.

  Fund-raising challenge aside, Lainey was relieved to get through the cook-off event relatively unscathed. She pushed through the Channel 7 studio doors to the freedom and anonymity of the busy sidewalk, letting out a sigh of relief. She’d planned to have a nice lunch with her aunt and uncle after the taping, but the show’s producers declared that “Marnie and Marika in the Kitchen” needed to become a monthly feature on the show. Lainey couldn’t begrudge her aunt, seeing as she almost never got the kind of praise she deserved, but the irony was weighing on Lainey. She’d been trying to get the media on her side for weeks, and with one cobbler her aunt had them wrapped around her finger.

  At least Lainey only had five weeks before she could wash her hands of this whole silly mess. Five weeks until she never, ever had to think about Gabe Havelak again. She hated him when she assumed he was directly sabotaging her. Now she was just confused about his motivations, and that made her hate him even more. But at least she didn’t have to deal with him and his obnoxiously sexy face until the next competition. She made an immediate vow to herself to spend the time fortifying her mental defenses against him. She couldn’t afford to be thinking about his thigh muscles when she needed to be focused on bringing her team together and winning the season.

  Someone tapped Lainey on the back as she strode down the crowded sidewalk toward her car.

  Gabe stood behind her with a wide smile, looking completely unfazed by this morning’s competition. Unlike Lainey, he’d escaped without a streak of flour or splatters of tomato sauce on his clothes. “Running off before the big reveal? Aren’t you going to tell me what you have planned for the fund-raiser?”

  “Now, why would I tell you that?” she replied coyly. Better coy than giving him a hint that she still didn’t have a clue.

  “Professional courtesy. Seems to me that I helped get you out of a bind earlier. Least you can do is let me know what you came up with.”

  He may have been ridiculously charming, but Lainey wasn’t a fool. “You wish, Havelak.” She turned on her heel and kept walking.

  “We need to coordinate for the gala,” Gabe said, catching up to her once more. “What are you wearing?”

  Lainey’s stomach dropped. She’d forgotten all about the gala. So much for a month off from the Hometown Hero. “It’s not a date, it’s a PR stunt. We don’t need to match.”

  “How are you wearing your hair?” he asked, reaching to grab a lock of her ponytail and run it through his fingers. “I want to make sure I’m appropriate so that you don’t go off on me for not matching your style.”

  That stopped Lainey in her tracks. She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing and couldn’t stop for a good minute or two, despite the weird looks she got from people passing them on the sidewalk.

  “I don’t know what kind of women you usually date, but I am not going to be doing anything special with my hair. I have no idea what kind of outfit I’ll be wearing. Maybe whatever’s clean in my closet. Or I’ll borrow something from Aunt Marnie.”

  “But it’s for charity,” Gabe responded, with a dumbfounded expression. “You have to at least make an effort.”

  “Sure. A bunch of rich people get all gussied up, throw a party, and call it charity. Forgive me if I don’t feel like playing dress up with you while you throw your money around to feel good about yourself.”

  “That’s what you think of me?”

  “That’s what your reputation tells me to think of you.”

  “Then let me show you otherwise. We desperately need volunteers for my soccer camps that run during spring break. Especially female volunteers that the young girls can look up to. Unless, of course, you’re more interested in casting judgment on me from the sidelines than actually helping . . .” He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge.

  “Name the time and place,” Lainey shot back, secretly excited. Kids were uncomplicated. They loved to be outside and play. And when they wanted to learn a new skill, nothing would stop them.

  “Monday morning at eight. Camps run every day next week until four p.m. I’ll text you the address.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and waved it in front of her.

  She really didn’t want to give him her number, but with the fakest smile she could muster, she grabbed his phone and entered the ten digits into his contact list.

  “You’re on.”

  9

  There are only eleven players on the field, but soccer has room for everyone.

  —Gabe Havelak’s opening speech of the Pro-Stars Soccer Camp

  THERE WERE THINGS ATTACHED to Gabe’s limbs, Lainey noticed with horror as she stepped onto the rocky field behind the crumbling brick school bright and early on Monday morning. Shaggy, wild, giggling things that kept screaming his name over and over again like it was the funniest thing they ever heard. He dragged his way across the field to meet her, towing a large ball bag behind him, eventually shaking the kids off one by one. Not that it made a difference, since they just kept jumping back on.

  When he reached her, wearing a giant grin, Gabe told the kids in a fake-stern voice to do fifty million laps around the field while he talked to Ms. Lukas. Laughing and shrieking, the kids took off at a run.

  “Cute,” Lainey said, wondering what she’d signed up for. She thought this was going to be a cakewalk, but now she was second-guessing herself. One-on-one, she was great with kids. But she’d never had to deal with quite this many of them before. She glanced at her watch. “Am I late? My watch says eight on the nose.”

  “Nah,” Gabe said distractedly. He glanced over at the group, who’d since sprawled on the grass. “Hey, did I say stop? Keep running! Forty-nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand and nine hundred and ninety-nine laps to go.”

  More shrieking and laughing. The kids held his attention until they rounded a corner and collapsed in another tangle of limbs.

  “You’re not late. There’re always a few of us who come early in case some kids show up before the start time, and so that we can check the field for syringes, broken glass, and other hazards.”

  “That’s responsible of you.” She meant what she said, though “surprising” would’ve been just as accurate as “responsible.” Lainey had expected a nicer field, and assumed Gabe would be ensconced in an office somewhere while others did the dirty work. She hadn’t expected him to be getting his hands dirty and learning all the kids’ names on the first day. None of this jibed with the image she had of the man. Lainey pulled the laces of her shoe, wrapping them in an intricate fashion around her studs before tying a tight double knot, then stood up to greet Gabe properly with a perfunctory handshake. A handshake was all the physical contact she’d allow herself. He smiled smugly at her as he accepted her palm, as if he knew she was nervous to touch him. The bastard probably knew the effect he had on her.

  “Someone’s got to do it every day. And tomorrow that someone is you, New Kid. I know you have to miss part of the aftern
oon for practice, so that’ll give you a chance to make it up.” He hefted the net bag at her. “Here you go. A dozen balls and ten cones. You’ll be paired with Johnny today for Team Elephant.”

  Gabe pointed in the direction of the other camp instructors, who were corralling the sixty kids into a big group. “I’m paired with Zazu and Team Monkey. Joe over there is working with the goalkeepers, aka Team Octopus. Then there’s my dad—Pete—and my baby sister, Tessa, on Team Lion.” From across the field, the teenager seemed to have a sixth sense they were talking about her. She gave a shocked, wide-eyed stare at Lainey, then quickly looked away. “You’re kind of her hero. She’ll work up the courage by the end of the day to hound you for an autograph. And before you accuse me of nepotism, everyone’s a volunteer, including my family. Well, not Tessa. She gets paid under the table, but from my own pocket, not the charity funds. But don’t tell her that or she’ll quit and I’ll be short-staffed.”

  Another group of kids burst out of nowhere and jumped on Gabe like a pack of wild dogs, wrestling him to the ground. Lainey watched with amusement as he roughhoused with them for a few minutes, then abruptly shifted gears to serious mode. He divided the kids into four seemingly random groups and sent them off with their respective coaches.

  After nearly eight hours of putting the kids through a series of drills interspersed with some games, Lainey was more than ready for the end of the day. She was surprised how well she and Johnny worked together, once she learned to ignore the dirty jokes he kept whispering to her while the kids were out of earshot. He managed to keep the energy light and fun while she focused on keeping the activities moving at a pace that held the kids’ attention. Luckily, the members of Team Elephant were surprisingly well behaved and eager to learn.

  “Great job, Bobby!” she called out to the ten-year-old, who finally got the knack of cushioning the ball with his foot, no small challenge for a kid who wasn’t wearing proper cleats. In fact, he was wearing jeans and a ratty T-shirt with the camp logo and last year’s date on it. Only a handful of the kids at camp were dressed in anything remotely near proper soccer attire.