Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  Jaime left the bistro shortly after, stepping into the bustle of the city that was made all the more surreal after the nomination. Her whole universe was on the precipice of change. With trembling fingers, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed her parents. The childish compulsion to make them proud was as strong as it had been when she’d first stepped onto a soccer field at eight years old.

  Her heart fluttered as the first ring blared in her ear. Panic tightened her throat. She picked up the pace of her stride as she wandered down the sidewalk, trying to shed some of the weight on her shoulders.

  “Hello? Jaime, are you okay?” Anxiety laced the sharp voice on the other end.

  “Everything’s fine, Mom. I swear.” It killed Jaime the way her own voice shook. “In fact everything’s great. I just found out I’m going to be on the cover of a magazine!”

  She held her breath, waiting to hear her mother ask her what magazine, when she could get a copy, or even just say how proud she was.

  “That’s nice, dear,” her mom said, voice cooling to the dull, distant cadence Jaime was accustomed to, the one that made it seem like she was on another planet entirely. “Are you going to make it back for the annual fund-raiser walk?”

  Crap. She’d forgotten. “When is it again?” Her mother rattled off the date. “That’s right in the middle of play-offs.”

  She could feel the frost crystallizing through the receiver. “It’s the fifteen-year anniversary, Jaime.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Chelsea would—”

  “I know.” A passerby knocked into her shoulder, like he was psychically connected to her mother and acting out her whims.

  “Well, a donation will have to be sufficient.”

  “I think I can give eight hundred bucks.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s my first year playing pro. I haven’t had much time to save.”

  “It will be embarrassing if we don’t raise the most money among the other Warriors this year, Jaime. You know, your father and I were thinking of selling some of your old trophies on eBay. We could consider that part of your donation.”

  Jaime closed her eyes and clenched her phone until her fingers hurt. Had she really expected this conversation to go any other way? “If we make the play-offs, we get bonuses. I’ll let you know in a few weeks if I have more cash to spare. Okay?”

  “Then we’ll hope for the best.”

  Jaime hung up at that point and straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to believe in herself enough to convince the rest of the world. She was damn proud of herself, and eventually her parents would admit they were, too.

  2

  “HOW THE HELL ARE you out of supplies already, Martinez?”

  Alex scrubbed a hand across his jaw and slumped back in the oversize lounge chair. It took every ounce of self-control to not chuck his cell phone across the hotel lobby. “Because you gave me a supply budget so small I need a microscope to see it.” He knew he was digging himself into a deep hole by speaking to his boss this way, but every other tactic he’d tried over the last few months had gotten him jack squat. He was done with false politeness and endless hoop jumping. He needed his damn supplies.

  “It’s a reasonable amount.” Carson Chester, the man who owned the Falcons and the affiliated pro men’s team, the Seattle Surge, responded tersely.

  “Bullshit,” he said a touch too loud, drawing a shocked expression from a gray-haired woman in a nearby chair. “It’s a fifth of the budget the Surge get, and these women play just as many games and have just as much risk of injury as the guys. Probably more, given the length of this road trip.”

  “And the Falcons bring in less than a fifth of the amount of revenue compared to the Surge.”

  “I need a bigger budget.”

  “What you need, Martinez, is to produce that damn status report on Jaime Chen and explain to me why one of my best players has been hobbling around on the field like a three-legged puppy for the last two months.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work harder. If Chen isn’t perfectly fit for the play-offs two weeks from now, you can kiss next year’s contract good-bye.”

  Chester hung up before Alex could get another word in, which was for the best, since the conversation was already veering off a sharp cliff. On the surface, Carson Chester was one of the biggest champions of women’s pro soccer. With the Seattle Falcons, he’d assembled an incredible group of players for the inaugural year of the American Women’s Soccer League and had given them access to the legendary Chester Stadium, where the Seattle Surge played. But the bigger truth, the deeper truth, was that he was a cheap son of a bitch determined to recoup whatever costs he could from the venture, regardless of the toll it took on the athletes.

  Unfortunately, dealing with his boss was only the start of a bad night that was about to get a lot worse. There was only one other person on earth who pissed Alex off more than Carson Chester, and he was pretty sure she was the source of the ear-shattering cheering that had just erupted from the hotel bar next door.

  Alex crossed the lobby and peered into the dimly lit lounge, searching for his prey among the crowd of Falcons players celebrating their victory. They’d beaten the New York Cougars 4–2 earlier in the day, and the mood was so high, at least half of the bar patrons had joined in the extended celebration. After four months with the team, there was one thing Alex knew for certain. If there was a party, Jaime Chen was at the epicenter.

  The evidence of her presence was undeniable. Endless stacks of shot glasses and a half-finished white Russian were perched at the corner of the battered wooden table in the middle of the room. The insipid lounge music had been replaced by a scratchy compilation CD of 1990s techno music—the inescapable sound track to Jaime’s life.

  But she wasn’t there.

  It was like the woman had a sixth sense for avoiding him. And driving him crazy. She’d skipped out on her postgame physiotherapy session with him for the fourth time in a row. He’d scoured the stadium looking for her after she’d run off. Her absence on the bus back to the hotel was even more conspicuous. But with two banged-up knees to assess, six ice-downs to coordinate, and an intensive acupuncture treatment to administer for the backup keeper, who was recovering from a nasty case of bursitis, he did not have time for this shit.

  He needed to focus on salvaging what was left of his career. But to do that, he had to keep every single one of the Falcons players in tip-top shape until the end of the season. Including Jaime Chen.

  Alex’s reassignment from the Surge to the Falcons earlier this summer had been euphemistically pitched as a promotion, making him the lead—and only—physiotherapist of the newly instated professional women’s soccer team. The reality was that his inability to play nice with Chester and toe the line had gotten him demoted. Instead of working with a team of physiotherapists, athletic trainers, and physicians traveling in luxury with the Surge, he worked fifteen-hour days, performing most of his consults on a bus with an air conditioner that had been broken since 1986.

  To his surprise, he didn’t hate working with the Falcons, despite the lack of resources. Having spent the better part of the decade in male sports, he had no idea how different it would be to work with female athletes. The players were just as tough as the men he’d worked with, and partied just as hard if not harder, but their level of suspicion and wariness was incomparable. For the most part, the men he’d treated had whined at first, then sucked it up and listened to his advice. The Falcons questioned everything he said. It was refreshing, most of the time. They wanted to know the minutiae of his diagnoses, the mechanics of the treatment and alternatives, and then made thoughtful, reasoned decisions. Except Jaime Chen, who preferred to make no decision at all.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of shiny black hair heading across the far e
nd of the lobby for the hallway leading to the pool. He followed silently down the dark corridor, expecting to find her drunkenly splashing around. Instead, he heard her hushed, husky voice, so he stopped short behind the corner.

  “No more self-doubt, Tara. You are a valuable member of this team. I want to hear you say it.”

  Alex realized she was talking to Tara Bilodeau. The younger player had been called in that day as a substitute for Jaime late in the second half, but her self-esteem on and off the field had been suffering in the past few weeks. And though it’d be a perfect opportunity to sneak up on Jaime, throw her over his shoulder, and force her into letting him inspect that swollen ankle, these kinds of confidence-building moments were sacred. He lived by the credo of helping athletes achieve their best, and that meant there were some lines he wouldn’t cross.

  “Fine, I’m awesome.” Tara’s whisper was unconvincing, but Alex found himself wrapped up in the clandestine conversation, rooting the young athlete to find her spark.

  Jaime punched her in the shoulder. “Louder.”

  “I’m awesome!” Embarrassed, Tara slapped a hand over her mouth after yelling loud enough to cause more than one head to pop out of a door to see what was going on.

  Attagirl. He wasn’t immune to the euphoric pride of fandom. It was the whole reason he became a sports physiotherapist. The thrill of watching the players overcome insurmountable odds or achieve a personal best gave him an unparalleled rush. The glorious moment where years of training, heartache, and perseverance come together to carve out a team’s slice of history. Knowing he was one of the many hands along the way lifting those athletes up toward greatness was his reason for being. And while he might not have predicted his path would lead him to the American Women’s Soccer League, his heart and soul were now fully invested in these women. Which is why he was so damn set on helping Jaime in spite of her evasions.

  “That’s more like it. And don’t worry about the little mistakes today. The most important thing is believing in yourself. Just keep focused on staying in sync with the defense when they push up on the counterattack. And if you think you need more help with your offensive positioning, I’ll work with you after practice as much as you want.” Jaime slung her arm around her teammate and walked her back to the bar. She raised her hand and flipped Alex the bird, who clearly wasn’t as well hidden as he thought.

  He chuckled and followed her to the bar, snatching an open stool that let him keep her in his sights.

  She climbed up to stand precariously on the dark wood divider between two booths, drawing all eyes her way.

  “Raise your glasses, ladies. And unwelcome gentleman.” She tipped her White Russian in his direction. “Today we celebrate the announcement of a new addition to the Falcons family! Jo’s going to be a mom!”

  Joanna, one of the Falcons’ starting forwards, held up her phone displaying a fuzzy black-and-white image of what could very well have been someone’s tonsils. “It’s true! Kara had the confirmation ultrasound this morning. That’s my baby in there!” Jo’s voice was filled with sniffles and pride.

  The Falcons hollered and clapped. Alex couldn’t help but smile. He and Jo had talked a fair bit about the challenges of getting pregnant while playing professionally when it didn’t look like Kara’s IVF treatments were taking. The couple had decided to give it one more go before seeing if Joanna had any more luck, but it looked like things had worked out after all.

  “To Jo and Kara! May the baby come out healthy and kicking!” Jaime raised her glass, sparing Alex a challenging look as she tipped it to her lips. He gestured with two fingers that he was watching her.

  His stare-down was interrupted when Alyssa sidled into the seat next to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, stranger. We never see you here. How come you don’t celebrate with us more often?”

  Alex shrugged. “Not really a bar kind of guy.” In truth, he’d love nothing more than a cold beer after a long day, but a certain amount of professional distance was critical as a sports physiotherapist. Especially as a male physiotherapist working in women’s soccer. It was too easy to get caught up in the successes and failures of the athletes. His role was to provide support along their journeys, and nothing more. But it had been a very long day, and he couldn’t resist taking a sip of the pint she’d poured from one of the many pitchers on the table and set in front of him.

  Alyssa nudged him with her elbow after he’d polished off half the lager. “We don’t bite. You should come by more often. Loosen up a little.”

  “How’s the knee? Are you keeping an eye on it for infection?”

  “It’s fine. Right now, I’m more concerned with exercising my brachioradialis.”

  He shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. “Your drinking arm?”

  “Yep! Hey, is it true that there are no muscles whatsoever in the fingers?”

  His internal nerd kicked into gear as he went into the details of mechanics of the finger joints. It felt good to relax. It took only a few moments for him to scan the room and realize he’d made a mistake.

  Jaime was long gone.

  JAIME PADDED BAREFOOT ALONG the musty green-and-brown hallway carpet, fighting the urge to run. She almost always relied on her speed when she wanted to avoid the more unpleasant parts of the life, but tonight’s mission called for stealth. It had been a roller coaster of a day, but kicking back with her girls was the perfect way to end on a high note. There was no way she was going to let Mr. Surly Face bring her down.

  She bypassed the elevators and headed for the stairs tucked away at the far end of the hall, wondering briefly if she ought to put her flip-flops back on. The thought of coming into direct contact with the cold, sticky cement was revolting, but Alex had ears like a damn cat and the echo of her flip-flops smacking against her heels would be a dead giveaway.

  Pain pierced her right ankle as she rounded a sharp corner. She bit her lip and kept walking—she was as good at ignoring her problems as she was at running away from them. It was the number one reason she clashed with Alex, a man who insisted on finding problems when there weren’t any to begin with. And by the look on his face at the bar, he was probably pissed off enough to cause an injury just so he could diagnose one.

  The floor creaked a few paces behind her, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Stay calm . . .

  “Jaime! Get your ass back here!”

  Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive at the sound of Alex’s voice. She took off, pushing through the stairwell door and bounding up the steps two at a time, not for the first time wishing she were at least six inches taller. When the throbbing in her ankle was too much, she slipped out onto a random floor and ducked into a recessed doorway halfway down the hall to catch her breath and figure out her next move. Minutes passed with silence permeating the air while she kept her eyes glued to the stairwell. Maybe she had lost him after all.

  “Interesting choice of hiding places, Chen.”

  She yelped when, out of nowhere, the man she’d been avoiding for the past four hours stepped in front of her. He slapped his hands against the door next to her head and locked her in the cage of his densely muscled arms. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t particularly tall. He had the kind of commanding presence that magnified his size fivefold. A shiver ran up her spine as he fixed his dark eyes on her. His expression was so hard, it was almost robotic. No blinking, no twitches. Just those endless black eyes.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, deep voice filled with dark promises.

  “Nah, just preoccupied with my quest to take over the world.”

  His eyes narrowed, showing no trace of humor. It blew her mind how much her teammates adored the man. She always got the impression he was secretly plotting ways to make her disappear.

  “Looks like your schedule just opened up.”

  Jaime knew there were only two ways to get out of a hairy situa
tion like this. She could knee him in the balls and make a run for it, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t catch up and hit back just as hard. The other option was to scare him off.

  It was an opportunity too delectable to pass up.

  She widened her eyes to make her look both innocent and flirtatious, a technique she’d perfected since she first discovered boys at the tender age of twelve. She relaxed against the door, arching her back in an utterly coquettish pose, and traced the muscle bulging in his forearm with her index finger.

  Victory, she thought as his eyes flashed with surprise and his body recoiled.

  “I have to admit,” she said in her most breathy voice, “it really turns me on when a man acts all bossy and domineering.”

  He recovered quicker from his shock than she’d expected. The corners of his mouth lifted into a slight grin. The look of desire on his face was the kind of expression that said he liked forbidden dangers. The problem was, so did she. Jaime swallowed her panic, heart pounding in her chest. He slid his hands behind her butt and hoisted her up until her legs wrapped around his waist, hands clinging to his muscular shoulders for balance. Her back hit the door, arching sharply as his pelvis pressed into hers.

  Jaime’s brain went dizzy. This was not what was supposed to happen. Her body, already ablaze with adrenaline and excitement from the chase, reacted traitorously to the hard planes of his body that she could feel perfectly through her flimsy cotton shorts and tank top. His large hands cupped her ass like they were designed to fit her body. With his mouth barely an inch from hers, she noticed his lips for the first time. They were remarkably thick and luscious. Kissable.

  Jaime was impulsive, but this was crazy even by her standards. It’s not like he was actually planning on ravaging her on the third-floor hallway of a Best Western. Right? “We’re not really going to do this here, are we?”