Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Translation: you’re still super-hot, and even though I was stupid enough to break up with you, I want your bod. Let’s hook up.” I shook my head. “Nope. No good.” I should’ve made Zelda stay and help me with this. Clearly, I was an abject failure when it came to writing a heart-felt and yet pithy message.

  “Fuck it.” I took a deep breath and tapped my thumbs over the keyboard.

  Hi, Tate. I saw your game today. You played so well—congratulations on the win. I was proud of you. I know this is out of the blue, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you. I was wondering if maybe, someday, you’d want to get together and talk. If you don’t want to see me, I understand.

  Hmmm. It was still a little stilted, but then again, this was a text. Maybe this was the best I could do, under the circumstances. My finger hovered over the send button, but before I hit it, I added one more line.

  I miss you.

  This time, I didn’t hesitate to send the message.

  For five minutes, I sat with the phone in my hand, staring down at it expectantly. When nothing happened, I reasoned with myself, coming up with excuses.

  He’s probably still getting showered and changed after the game. And they might have a meeting or something. Or maybe he had to talk to the press.

  Another ten minutes passed, and still no response.

  Ten minutes after that, the phone buzzed, and I snatched it up like it held the answers to all the mysteries of the universe. Disappointment filled me when I saw Zelda’s name.

  Did you send it already?!?

  I tapped out a reply. Yes. He hasn’t answered.

  A few seconds later, she responded. Give him time, G. Don’t freak.

  That made me roll my eyes. I wasn’t freaking out. Not by a long shot. I was just sitting here, watching the post-game show—oh, wait, no, it had moved on the evening news. But that was okay. I was keeping current on world events . . . while staring at the screen of my phone, which remained maddeningly blank.

  The news ended, and some boring local program came on. I clicked off the television and wandered into the kitchen, where I heated up a slice of pizza and sat at the table, picking at it half-heartedly.

  My phone still didn’t buzz or light up.

  I cleaned up from my dinner—which took about two minutes, even with wiping down the counters, which were already pristine. It was beginning to dawn on me that maybe Tate wasn’t going to answer my message.

  I wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers up so that I could wallow in my misery, but I knew that was a step backward. Yes, I wanted another chance with Tate, and yes, he was important to me. But my health and wholeness, and the journey I’d been on to get here—that was for me. I wasn’t going to give up and go back to the way things used to be.

  So instead, I left my phone on my dresser and indulged in a long, hot bubble bath. I forced myself to stay in the water until I was wrinkled, and then I carefully smoothed moisturizer onto my face, cream all over my body, and pulled on my comfiest cotton sleeping shorts and tank top. I walked slowly back to my bedroom, telling myself in one breath that it didn’t matter whether or not Tate had answered me and in the next breath that if he didn’t, there was definitely a reasonable explanation.

  I hung up my towel and moseyed over to the dresser, took a deep, calming breath and looked down.

  Message from Tate

  My heart stopped and then jumped. I always thought that was just a figure of speech, but I could actually see the thumping under my tank top. He’d answered me.

  It took two tries before I managed to swipe the screen to open it. But when I did, the waiting, the nerves and the uncertainty were all totally worth it.

  Gia, getting this message meant more to me than winning the game. I don’t want to come on too strong and make you second-guess contacting me, but I definitely want to see you. Give me a time and a place, and I’ll be there.

  I miss you, too. So very much.

  It was so Tate. I could almost hear him saying the words, and I grinned in pure happiness as I held the phone against my chest.

  Suddenly hope was something real and tangible, and the future wasn’t something I feared or dreaded. The lightness was odd and unfamiliar, but this time, I embraced the feeling.

  This time, everything was different.

  Chapter 19

  Tate

  “Son, you’re jumpier than a tick on griddle.” Pops glared at me from his seat at the kitchen table. “I don’t think you were this nervous before your first game with the pros.”

  I kicked at the table leg. “I didn’t have this much at stake with that game. This—today—is everything. And what the hell are you talking about, a tick on a griddle? Have you been watching westerns again? You always start talking like the camp cook after you binge on them.”

  Pops gave a half-grin. “Maybe I did sit in front of the television for five hours yesterday when the cowboy marathon was on. But don’t try to change the subject. What time are you picking up your girl?”

  I stifled a sigh. “We don’t know that she’s my girl, Pops. Not yet. And I’m not picking her up. We’re meeting at a coffee shop.” I glanced at my watch. “In an hour and a half.”

  “Why’re you ready so early, then?” He sounded innocent, but I knew he was messing with me. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

  “Glad you’re getting such a kick out of my suffering.” I slid back my chair away from the table and stood up to open the fridge. “Is there any of that barbecue left over from last night?”

  “No, I finished it for lunch.” He studied me. “Tate, what’s got you the most worried about today? You said Gia sounded better when you were messaging.”

  “She did. She sounded . . . healthy. And . . . I don’t know. Good. But it’s hard to tell over texts.” I sat down again and swallowed hard. “I don’t know if she just wants to see me so that she can apologize for what happened before, or if she wants to be friends again . . . or what. Part of me is just so happy about seeing her again, and the other part is thinking that there’s no way we can just pick back up where we left things.”

  “That’s the voice you should listen to.” Pops nodded. “Because you’re not going to pick back up. That would be impossible. Months have passed, and in many ways, you’re not the same people you were back then. You were both hurt when you broke up, and you’ve grown in different ways. But you saw something in each other before—and you were friends—and no matter what, that can happen again. It might be that’s the way to go—get back to being friends, and see what happens from there.” He patted my arm. “No matter what, Tate, it’s going to require patience. You’re going to have to give Gia some space to show you who she is now.”

  “I’d do anything for her.” One side of my mouth curled up. “I want to tell her that right away, but then, I’m afraid of scaring her off. So I figured I’d let her take the lead. But I don’t want her to feel as though I’m mad at her for what happened.”

  “Aren’t you?” Pops cocked an eyebrow at me. “Seems to me that you were angry for a while.”

  “I was angry at the situation. I was angry at Matt, for what he put her through and how that made Gia react to me. I’m still pissed that he made her feel she wasn’t whole, or that she wasn’t good enough for me. But I’m not mad at her.”

  “Maybe you should be. Matt Lampert may have treated your girl badly and broken her heart, but Gia knew from the beginning that you weren’t him. When we’d sit up on our porch together, watching you work in the yard, she used to sing your praises the whole time. She thought the sun rose and set on your head. But she still made the choice to walk away from you. No one forced her to do that.”

  “I thought you liked Gia.” I frowned at my grandfather.

  “I did. I do. I think she’s a lovely girl, and I think she loves you the way you deserve to be loved. I hope she realizes it.” He rose to his feet, wincing a little as he put weight on his sore hip. “And I think that if you’re both willing to work
at it, what you’ll have together will be even better than what it was before. Now, this old man is going to lie down with a book. You should get on your way. Might be traffic this time of day.”

  I looked at my watch again. “If I leave now, I’ll get to the coffee shop way too early.”

  “That’s okay. At least you’ll be there, driving those people crazy instead of annoying your poor elderly grandpa.”

  I shook my head. “Fine. I’ll go. Thanks for the empathy, the support, and the listening ear.” I made sure my sarcasm was impossible to miss.

  “You’re welcome.” He paused, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Good luck, son. I hope it goes well.”

  “That makes two of us,” I muttered to myself as I picked up my keys and swung out the door.

  When Gia and I had begun texting on Sunday, I’d been eager to set up a time to see her, face to face. From her response, I thought she felt the same way, but we still had to maneuver around my schedule of practices and team meetings as well as her work and school hours. As it had happened, late afternoon Thursday was the first opening for both of us.

  Gia had chosen the coffee shop on the corner near her old apartment, although I knew she didn’t live there anymore; Leo had long ago confirmed my assumption that she’d moved in with Zelda. Still, the coffee shop was in neutral territory that we both knew. As I parked my car down the block and walked toward the bistro, I wondered if the cute barista Gia used to talk about in such glowing terms still worked there.

  I pushed open the door, looking around for a table that would be visible from the entrance so Gia could find me easily, but private enough that we could talk without anyone bothering us. When I glanced at the corner, Gia was there sitting in a booth, a full thirty minutes before our planned meeting time.

  My feet moved toward her as though of their own free will, and she rose to stand, stepping away from the table. My first impression was that she looked different. Her hair was the same, the silky black strands cut short and framing her face, and her brown eyes were still wide and deep. She wasn’t quite as thin and brittle-looking as she’d been when we’d first reconnected last winter, but then again, she’d seemed healthier once I’d begun cooking for her on a regular basis. Right now, though, today, she looked damned good.

  She wore jeans that clung to her ass and a light gray cotton shirt that accented her chest without being trashy. The neckline dipped low enough to tease, but not so much as to give too much away. The bottom of the shirt flared and swirled at the waistband. I had the distracted thought that it would be so easy to sneak my hands underneath to skim over her stomach . . . but I held that in check, because something like that would definitely be moving too fast.

  Still, what was different didn’t have as much to do with any physical, tangible change as it did with the way she held herself, with the light in her eyes, and with the eager smile she offered me as I drew near.

  “Tate.” She held out her arms to me—that was something new, too. Gia had seldom if ever initiated hugs. “You’re early.”

  I pulled her close, resting my face just over the top of her head and sniffing her tantalizing scent.

  “Hey, pretty sure you beat me here, honey pot.” The endearment slipped out before I could stop it, and I drew back a little, worried I’d jumped in too fast, too soon.

  But Gia only smiled wider, shaking her head. “I know. I was just . . . I couldn’t sit at home any longer. I was driving Zelda nuts. She was working from home today, and she basically told me to settle down or leave. I figured I might as well come here and hang out. What’s your excuse?”

  She sounded so sassy that I just had to hug her again before we both slid into the booth opposite each other.

  “My excuse is pretty much the same. Pops said I was making him crazy, so I should come here and bother the nice people at the coffee shop instead.”

  She laughed. “Apparently, we’re both irritating the people we live with.” She shifted a little on the bench, tucking her foot up beneath her. “I’m so glad to see you, Tate. I’ve missed you more than you could ever imagine.”

  I steeled myself not to reach out to thread our fingers together. “I missed you, too. So much. I . . .” I coughed, needing to cover up the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm me. “I’m glad you messaged me. I had almost given up.”

  “I’m sorry, Tate.” Gia folded her hands on the table. “I’ve been practicing and rehearsing what I wanted to say since we set up the time to meet. There’s so much I want to tell you, and I know you must have questions for me. But I need to begin by saying that I’m so sorry for how much I hurt you. I didn’t mean to do it . . . and if I could undo that, I would.” She inhaled deeply and straightened. “But as much I regret it, and as sorry as I am, I know I had to do that. I could have made it happen with a little more grace, but at that point, I didn’t have it in me.”

  “Gia, anything you needed, you know you only had to tell me. I would’ve given you anything in the world. I still would.” I leaned back, drinking her in, noticing the calm strength on her face.

  “I know you would have. I just didn’t know how to do anything other than what I did. I felt like I was dying. I was so terrified of hurting you, of destroying you the way . . .” She trailed off. “Well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.” She managed a small smile. “I didn’t get my coffee yet. Do you want anything?”

  “Ah, I’ll get it.” I stood up. “What’ll it be?”

  “Just a regular coffee with almond milk, please. Zelda’s converted me to drinking it that way.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I took advantage of the time in line to pull myself back together. When I reached the barista, he greeted me with a smile that was full of admiration and invitation.

  “Hey.” He drew it out a few extra syllables. “What can I get for you today?”

  I leaned on the counter. “Two regular coffees, please—one black and one with almond milk.”

  “Coming right out.” He rang me up, and I paid before moving to the end of the counter to wait for the drinks. Carrying them back to the table, I set down the lighter one in front of Gia before I took my seat.

  “The barista,” I began. “Um, the one who just gave me our coffee . . .”

  Gia grinned, her eyes dancing. “Yes? What about him? Didn’t I tell you he was hot? Was I wrong?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to where the dude was chatting up a couple of girls who were trying to decide what to order. I guessed he was attractive, though not necessarily in a way I would appreciate.

  “Yeah, he is. But did you know—”

  “That he would be more into you than me? Of course, I knew it.” She winked at me. “But you never asked. And I’ll admit that it gave me a little boost whenever you were all jealous of me talking about the sexy coffee guy.”

  “Yeah, because you live to torture me.” I mock-glared at her.

  Some of the humor left her face. “I really don’t.” Tentatively, she reached across the table to lay her fingers over mine. “I don’t like to cause you any kind of pain or misery. Believe it or not, that’s actually why I ended things before. I couldn’t have explained to you then, but after months of therapy, I’m happy to say that I understand myself a little better now.”

  “Therapy?” I cocked my head. “You talked to someone?”

  “I did. It wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t a great patient at first, but Darla is very good at what she does. I don’t think I’ve solved all the problems of the universe, but I know myself better, if that’s worth anything.”

  “If it brought you back to me, I’ll take it.” I flipped my hand under hers so that our palms were touching. “Gia, I don’t want to push you or rush anything—”

  “Tate, do you know how much you say that? Almost since the night you found me in the chip aisle, you’ve been promising me that you don’t want to rush me into anything. And maybe I needed to hear it back then, because if I hadn’t, I might never have given us a ch
ance. I’m glad I did that. No matter how much I fucked it up at the end, what we had made me want . . . more than the way I’d been living.”

  “You want more than . . . us?” I didn’t want to believe that was what she meant.

  “I want more than what we were before.” She squeezed my hand. “I don’t know what you’re thinking or what’s been happening in your life since we broke up, but you always promised me honesty. And you always delivered on that, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I’m going to promise you the same.”

  My stomach clenched. “Okay. I appreciate that.”

  Gia held my gaze, her eyes boring deep within me, until I felt . . . peace. This woman sitting across from me, holding my hand, might be more confident and serene than she’d been before, but I could see my Gia still there, the girl who’d stolen my heart and tattooed her name all over it. She wasn’t here to say good-bye or let’s just be friends.

  “I’m going to be incredibly and uncharacteristically optimistic, and I’m going to believe what you said that last night, when I sent you away—that you’d wait for me forever. I’m going to assume you’re not madly in love with someone else.”

  “How could I be?” I couldn’t stop myself from speaking. “You’re the only one I see, Gia. You’re the only one I could ever see.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes, and I watched her chest rise as she sucked in a deep breath. “Then I’m going to be brave and impetuous and jump right into the deep end. I’m going to tell you that I want forever with you. I didn’t give you any reason to believe me before, but this time is different. I was going to say that I wanted us to try again, but I don’t want to try. I just want us to be us. I want to wake up in the morning and be excited about seeing you, and I want to go to sleep at night with a huge smile on my face, remembering something you’ve said during the day.”

  I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak, but I gave it a shot. “I want that, too. Only I want to be there when you wake up in my arms, and I want to see that smile on your face as you fall asleep.”