“That won’t work on me.” She shakes her head. “There’s something going on with you and Brook. Isn’t there? I mean, something more than the little ‘will they won’t they’ business. Something changed.”
“Shouldn’t we set up?” I gesture to the large clock on the brick wall. “We don’t have much time.”
“No, we don’t. Our brothers will be back any minute, so spill.”
“We’re just friends.”
“B.S.” she yells, then gives a sheepish look when the woman at the next both glares. “Last night, Brook took us out for dinner after the game. We covered the usual topics. ‘What have you been up to?’ ‘How’s the chiropractor’s office?’ But after we finished with the niceties . . .” Amelia cranes her neck around to make sure we’re still alone. “I’d say probably ninety percent of the time Brook was either talking about you or working your name into conversation.”
I try to sound surprised. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” She covers her heart with one hand and holds up the other. “I swear. You are my brother’s number one topic these days. Even above his football teams.”
“It’s only because we’ve been talking a lot lately . . .” I trail off. “He’s been helpful with my ankle. And the fantasy league.”
“Screw the league. My brother doesn’t get this worked up about a girl just because she’s into football or falls down when she’s drunk.” Amelia ignores my glare and opens her mouth to continue, but promptly snaps it shut.
“This is it.” Scott dumps his pile in front of me. “And I’ve decided you have to sell every piece of this stuff because I’m not carrying any of this out to the car when I come back to pick you up.”
“I can give her a ride home,” Brook offers. “Maybe we can grab dinner after. I kind of owe it to you for dragging you into raising money for the team.”
Amelia wiggles her eyebrows, and I pretend not to notice her “I told you so” look. Instead, I smile and say, “That would be great.”
Scott thanks Brook and shakes his hand. “Hey, man. We’d love to have you guys from the league over some time for a watch party.”
Would we? I’m not sure I want J.J. knowing where I live, but it’s not my house. Who am I to stand in the way of Scott’s happiness? His fantasy league has been a disappointment, and he obviously wants the bro time.
Scott picks up Jackson and takes him to check out some of the other booths on their way out. Knowing my brother, he’ll find something to buy because it will go back to support the team.
Brook lingers by our booth. “Can I grab either of you anything?”
“Water,” Amelia says. “And candy.”
Brook brushes off her request and waits for my answer.
“Water and candy,” I repeat.
He grins. “You’ve got it.”
I let out a small breath. Funny, I hadn’t realized I’d been holding one.
“See what I mean?” Amelia hisses through her teeth as he walks away. “You say jump and he grabs a trampoline to give you more height than you expected.”
“You’re being a little dramatic.”
“Listen to me.” Her words are hushed, but forceful. “You’re determined to play this cool, and I get it. But I also understand my brother better than anyone. He wants you, and he wants to be with you.”
“But—”
“Let me finish,” Amelia interrupts. “If you aren’t interested in anything more than being his friend, that’s fine. But if you’re pretending not to care because you’re afraid of showing your hand . . . don’t. You’re the first woman to grab Brook’s interest in years. You make him happy.”
“He’s a positive guy.”
“That’s the image he’s projected to the world for years, but now, he’s not pretending.” She glances up toward her brother who is on the other side of the room fishing out bottles of water from a cooler. He hands the kid at the table a few bills and picks up the candy. “He’s been married to his work so long that he’s forgotten how to play this game.”
“I don’t want to play games.”
“Sure you do. You want romance, even though you’re trying to keep your guard up. Brook is willing to give you the first, but he won’t understand the second. He’s already in. He’s too trusting to consider you might be anything but all in, too.”
“I . . .” Trailing off, I nervously clear my throat. I want to raise the issue that’s been bothering me even after our post-game make out session. “What if it doesn’t work?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Your brother is so good. I’m . . . nothing special.”
Amelia lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head. “Don’t take this wrong, but you need to get over yourself.”
I blink, taken aback. I begin to protest, but her glare silences me. I throw up my hands in defeat and lean back in my chair, arms crossed and mouth shut.
“You’re a smart, witty, and beautiful woman who is still trying to figure out life.” The corners of her lips twitch. “Join the freaking club. Your biggest problem is that you think you’re ordinary and irrelevant. But you’re not. You’re more. My brother thinks so. Wade does. Hell, even J.J. found something intriguing about you. Maybe it’s time you took a harder look at yourself and realized that you have a pretty decent hand of cards in yourself.”
Amelia’s right. Maybe she’s exaggerating about my assets, but self-esteem and confidence have never been among my stronger assets. And . . . her calling me out on my bullshit was due. I’m not giving Brook or myself a fair chance. I keep breaking us up before we’ve even gone on a proper date. I’m chickening out because my other relationships have gone sour at some point. Is this the way I want to spend the rest of my life? Do I want to miss out on living, because I’m scared of getting hurt? That’s not a good way to live.
“You’re right,” I say at last. “I . . . want to stop playing games. I want to go all in.”
“Good. Then do something about it.”
“Maybe I should wait until after the season.”
“Why?”
“J.J. will make our lives hell if he found out we were dating. He’s paranoid enough to believe we’re conspiring against him.” Brook stops by another student on his way back, buying us a few more minutes. “My team is basically a lost cause, but your brother still has a shot to win the title.”
“A fantasy football championship doesn’t matter to him.” Amelia places the last bill in the cash box and slams it shut. “Brook is doing everything he can to win you over. Now it’s your turn. He might seem like he has everything together, but when it comes to a relationship, he’s going to need more than a sign or a nudge.”
“We hang out whenever we can. We’ve already kissed,” I say, still watching Brook carry on his conversation across the room. “Maybe that’s enough for now.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Or maybe you should stop getting in the way of your own happiness.”
She’s right about this, too. Even though putting my heart out there again terrifies me, I have to do something. I have to show him I care.
“Tell you what.” I place the last item out for display and take my seat. “I’ll make the next move with Brook if you’ll make one with Wade.”
Panic crosses Amelia’s face. “I can’t do that. My brother would—”
“Your brother would want you to be happy,” I assure her. “Wade might be his best friend, but if you’re honest with him about your feelings, I guarantee he’ll tell you to go for it. Maybe not in those exact words, but you’ll have his blessing.”
Amelia ponders my words for a beat. Seeming to come to a decision, she nods. “Okay. I’ll do it. We’ll both be women of action and stop waiting for Prince Charming to show up and realize we’re his dream girl from the ball.”
“That’s right.” I laugh despite myself. “Who needs a glass slipper when we’ve got ourselves to get the job done?”
“OUT FOR THE SEASON.” Four words no team o
wner wants to hear, especially when it’s paired with one of her top point earners. I reread the note update to make sure I’m not mistaken.
Coaches say Tony Moor is out for the season as he recuperates from emergency knee surgery following an injury sustained during the first game of the season. While doctors are optimistic about his prognosis for next year, fantasy owners should look for a new first-string running back to fill the empty spot for the final weeks of the season.
Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Why now? I’ve finally managed a couple of big victories, and now I have to face the facts that there is no way I’ll make it into post-season. Am I being punished for something I did in my childhood? Or maybe a past life?
I should have done this a while ago, but it’s time to cut Tony Moor. The experts say it’s the right move to make, and they’re right. But it breaks my heart.
“Have you checked the waiver wire?” Scott asks, shaking the cereal box. I shrug at his question and decline his offer to top off my bowl. I’m struggling to finish off what I already have.
“I have a few options.”
“Anyone stand out?”
I shrug again. “What’s the point? They’ll probably get hurt, too, and I’ll still be screwed.”
“Screwed,” Jackson repeats. I smother a laugh under Scott’s death glare.
“Sorry,” I mouth, turning back to unenthusiastically finishing my breakfast.
“Is Alden Wynn available?” Scott asks.
“Probably.”
“I’d snap him up if I was you. He’s Moor’s backup, which means he’ll get a lot of those points you would’ve had.”
“Are you sure?” I pick up my phone and scroll through the list of available players. “Doesn’t it depend on how well he and the quarterback work together?”
“Yep, and these two will.”
Hmm. I scroll through the player notes, which echoes Scott’s advice. This might actually be a good idea. I click on the player and the app asks me who I want to drop before adding him to my roster.
“Should I trade him for someone on my bench in case Moor gets better?”
“Out for the season means out for the season. He’ll sit on your bench and waste space unless you drop him.”
I get what that means, but my finger freezes over “process waiver request.” Moor should have performed well for me this season. But from no fault of his own, he sustained a crushing injury, and now I’m going to drop him for a healthier model. It seems cruel to punish someone for getting hurt. For making one small mistake in an otherwise perfect season. But Scott is right. I need a strong roster if I want to keep winning.
And I want to win. Even if that means trading loyalty for practicality and sentimentally for sustainability. I select Alden Wynn and sigh as the transaction processes. Fantasy football is turning me into a bit of a dick.
WADE FLOPS INTO THE empty seat across from my desk to pout on Monday morning. He had a rough weekend. His star quarterback sustained what turned out to be a collarbone injury in the first quarter of the game, and his defense went negative points.
Apparently, he wants to commiserate with a fellow loser. Only, I’m on the verge of no longer being a loser. Not only was the craft fair a massive success—those are Brook’s words, not mine—but my team isn’t doing too badly either.
According to my point total and the projections for tonight, I’m set to win my fourth consecutive game. It’s still too soon to declare the curse over, but unless my opponent’s kicker scores twenty-some points—and my remaining wide receiver and tight end score nothing—this week is mine.
Wade doesn’t wait for me to say anything and starts in with his complaints. “I hate my kicker.”
I try not to look too smug when I say, “My kicker actually scored nineteen points.”
“But Flaherty isn’t playing this week.”
“No, he’s on a bye week.”
“Who did you pick up?”
“Our buddy Casey Zimmerman. I snatched him up a couple of weeks ago.” No need to tell him I traded Brook for him.
“Nice. I didn’t realize you’d remember who he was.”
“Of course I did.” Thanks to my friend, the crossword puzzle, Mr. Six Across is my hero. I check his stats, admiring how much better they look than my original kicker’s numbers. They almost make me want to cry, they’re so beautiful. “I didn’t realize you could actually get points from a kicker.”
“Probably not. Flaherty has missed more field goals this season than anyone else in the league.” He shakes his head. “Why did you even keep him this long?”
“Loyalty.”
“I figured as much.” Wade rubs his forehead. “Here’s the deal. I need to talk to someone about this, and I’m hoping I can trust you.”
My stomach flips at the change in his tone. He’s usually joking or teasing me about something. Even when he’s serious and giving me advice about love, life, or football, though never usually in that order. He sounds like he’s about to give a eulogy at a funeral.
He takes a deep breath and rushes out, “I’m in love with Amelia.”
Oh. That. I’m glad he wasn’t about to tell me he’s stealing money from the dealership. Or that Brook is now dating some gorgeous math teacher. Like I need another reason to hate math.
When I don’t respond immediately, he adds, “Amelia MacLaughlin. Brook’s sister.”
“No, I get who you’re talking about, and it’s not like this is some big secret or surprise.”
His brow wrinkles. “It’s not? But how—”
“Before you drag me too much deeper into this, like we’re high school students, you should tell Amelia you love her.”
“But it’s not that simple.”
“Are relationships ever?”
He lets out a breath. “I guess not.”
“Then tell her. What do you have to lose?”
“How about my best friend?”
I sigh, not that I fault the guy for worrying. He and Brook go way back, but that’s all the more reason Wade should be having this conversation with him instead of me. “Then tell him.”
“What if he punches me?”
“Has Brook ever punched anyone?”
“You might be surprised of what he’s capable of doing.”
“Wade, answer a few questions for me.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you want to date Amelia?”
He nods.
“Then here’s my second question: What are you waiting for? Talk to her. Talk to Brook. In that order, probably. But do yourself a favor and act on it, or you’ll end up living a life of regret.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay, you’re right. Amelia and I have been dancing around the subject since we were kids. I’d rather risk getting sucker-punched by her brother—or her—than not try.”
“There you go.” I pat him on the back and stand up to hobble back around my desk. “You’ll never regret trying for something that matters. Especially when it’s someone who matters.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Who knows? If we play our cards right, we could end up related.”
“Isn’t it a bit early in our flirtations with the MacLaughlin siblings to start registering for linens and flatware?”
“Babe, it’s never too soon to start dreaming.”
“Well, aren’t you a hopeless romantic.”
“You’re probably right about the hopeless part.”
“Oh, come on. You’ll never get her with that kind of an attitude. Seize the day, my friend, and stop your whining.”
“You’ve been hanging around Brook too long.” Wade jumps to his feet. “Even though you’re gimping around on that bad ankle, you sound like you’re a coach giving a pep talk before the team takes the field for the second half of the game.” He reaches for the door but turns before opening. “I like it.”
Wade steps out of the office, leaving me to ponder what he and Amelia have said. They’re righ
t. There’s no doubt Brook is interested. So far he’s been the only one making any plays. It’s my turn for an offensive drive, so to speak.
I need to act fast. We’re more than halfway through the regular season of fantasy football. This is my best opportunity.
Week Nine Recap: Queen Harper Takes the Lead in Wins
Call the presses. Queen Harper has done the unimaginable. She has gone four consecutive weeks without a loss. This victory in Week Nine was her greatest margin of success yet. She decimated the opposition 120-65. This is not the Queen Harper of Week One.
Fun fact: This week Queen Harper would have defeated every other team in the league in a big way.
It hardly seems worth making an analysis of Queen Harper’s performance because what can you say about perfection? And that’s what this week was. Sheer perfection.
Record: 4-5
Chapter Twenty
I’M BACK AT THE SPORTING goods store with a Todd Northwood jersey draped over my arm. This time, I’m in the world’s slowest line. I have less than an hour until the league’s Halloween-themed Thursday Night Football watch party begins. Every minute I spend in this line is one less I have in front of a mirror at home. While this could be the universe telling me not to be so vain, it probably has more to do with the fact that the store has only one person on the register. I would’ve ditched the jersey five minutes ago and left if my whole costume wasn’t completely dependent on it.
Get this—I’m going as Queen Harper, owner of the Queen Harpers. Channeling my inner craft queen, I made a sash with my team name on it in glittery hot pink puff paint, a football-shaped scepter, tiara, and a ribbon tutu. Paired with this jersey, some tights, and some heels—or probably ballet flats because my ankle still hurts—it’ll be perfect.
But the costume isn’t going to come together if this line doesn’t move. I poke my head around trying to get a glimpse at the front. What’s going on up there now? Is someone trying to buy the whole store? Is the clerk new? This is the reason I refuse to do Black Friday shopping in a store. I’m not built for waiting in lines.
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