Keeping Score

by Alyssa Kale

  Entering my townhouse through the garage, I set the bag with my dinner on the granite countertop and begin pulling out the to-go container filled with steak and steamed vegetables. I opt out of sitting at my dining room table. Another indulgence at the urging of my mom. A custom cherry wood farmhouse-style table, it sits unused most nights while I eat on my sofa while I watch tonight’s highlights on SportsCenter.

  After I bought this place, my mom and sister took over decorating. Three bedrooms and three bathrooms, the place is too big for a bachelor, but at the time, I had no idea I’d still be living here alone. I insisted on veto privileges when it came to final decisions, only using my “no” vote twice. Once, when they were choosing my bed, and again with this room. It may be the focal point of the main floor, but this is my domain. A comfortable sectional with multiple recliners, a seventy-inch television, and every gaming system available, I spend more time in this room than anywhere else in the house.

  Like they have since I was a kid, the sports highlights distract me from all other thoughts. My food is delicious as always, and it isn’t long before I’m done. Not only with the food but also the television watching. Besides, I stink to high hell and need a shower.

  The upside to not cooking, but eating takeout, is the easy cleanup. Shutting off the lights, I drag myself upstairs and make quick work of a shower. I keep it simple and under five minutes, which also means I don’t allow myself the opportunity to think of Sophie.

  I slip into my bed and grab my phone. Staring at the screen, I contemplate how to begin my search. Sophie, Clarence area photographer. Over ten pages of results pop up, but luckily the first site is the magazine’s website, and right under that is her profile page and portfolio. Skimming her profile, I pause for a minute at her headshot. Unlike today, her makeup is done and her long hair is down and falling over her shoulders.

  Backing out of the site, I find what appears to be her personal website and blog. It’s been a few months since she’s posted anything, but clicking through the photos, I see how talented she is. Portraits of families, brides, and newborns seem to be her wheelhouse. I click on the Contact tab and see a telephone number listed for booking appointments. I wonder if it’s her cell number.

  I keep scrolling through past blog posts and note these are more scenic shots and major landmarks. By the looks of it, she’s well-traveled. I pause and read a post about traveling through Europe. There are no photos of Sophie herself, which is a pity. Continuing to scroll endless images of a canal in Venice and the Irish countryside, I’m reminded of a promise I made to myself about sending my parents on a trip just like this. The woman has skills—and an ass to die for. I hate myself for being such a jerk to her today. I should send her tickets to the game or something as an apology. I don’t even know if she likes baseball, but maybe she’ll at least come and see what it’s like.

  Parking in my assigned space, I roll my neck in an effort to shake off the lack of sleep. I would like to blame the unrest on nerves, but it was thoughts of a certain photographer that kept me awake. I learned more about Sophie from blogs and photos she posted four years ago than I did from the woman who kept me waiting yesterday. Her recent posts were vague and more professional in nature than the carefree young woman she was in the past.

  I sit in the locker room, shaking off the lack of sleep and kicking myself for letting my thoughts interfere with the rest I needed the night before a game. I spent months distracted last season and vowed to myself that history would not repeat itself. Each of the players has their own gameday routine. Some are superstitious and don’t veer from their process, while others shoot the shit and catch up on life. I’m changing into my dry-fit shorts and shirt when I hear my name called.

  “Yo, Lee, where were you yesterday?” Collins, the catcher, asks as he laces up his shoes.

  I groan, throwing my head back in frustration. They all know where I was. Each of my teammates knows the damage control I’ve been doing the last few months. “More PR bullshit.”

  “Oh, Karen still got your balls in a twist?” someone else jabs.

  “Chill the fuck out,” Marion Spencer, our shortstop, orders. Spencer has been sort of a mentor to me since I joined the team, and if I had listened to him from day one, I wouldn’t be dealing with this shit. He warned me of the pitfalls associated with quick stardom and fame. Hopefully, it’s like my mom always says and I’ll learn from my mistakes.

  Everyone files out of the locker room, bullshitting and picking at each other as we head toward the field for warmups. Except Spencer and me. I’m not sure why he’s quiet, but my thoughts are currently on the clusterfuck that is my life.

  When there’s a few feet between us and the rest of the group, he asks, “How are you holding up, kid?”

  “Fine.”

  Laughing, he smacks me on the shoulder, sending me stumbling. He may have a decade on me, but there is no doubt he can wipe the floor with me. Marion Spencer is a beast.

  “Kid, I have a wife. I know fine is never fine. You had a shoot yesterday, right?”

  “Yeah. It was fine.” Tossing my hand up to stop him from saying anything else, I say, “It really was. We got off to a bumpy start, but the photographer is talented, and I’m sure it’ll be a great spread.”

  “How about we grab a few beers this week? Get you out with the living.”

  Spencer knows I’ve been keeping a low profile the last few months. Karen would have my ass if I ended up in a tabloid instead of one of her preapproved magazines. I’ll admit, a night out with the guys sounds like a nice change of pace.

  “Sounds good.”

  With that settled, we jog through the tunnel and out to the field for stretching and some batting practice. The sound the bat makes when it connects with the ball is still my favorite, even after all these years. My mom has pictures of my dad sitting on the couch, me perched on his knee, watching games in all stages of life. By the time I was old enough to really understand what was happening, I declared my plans to play on television. Each time I take this field, I feel a sense of pride knowing I’ve done just that.

  By the time we head back to the locker room, I’ve shaken off the thoughts of not only the PR nightmare I’m living but of Sophie. The next few hours will be spent with the guys playing cards or video games, some talking to their wives or video chatting with kids. Today, I’m going to relax in one of the plush massage chairs, insert my earbuds, and block out the world while I get my head on straight for the double header.

  4

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  As I wrap up the last of the images from Braxton Lee’s photo shoot, Cora steps into my cubicle. “Sophie, are these the shots from the editorial shoot?”

  “Yep. I’m finishing up the final image now.” I turn my screen toward her to flip through the images. “I really love this one,” I comment, pointing at shot of Braxton with the baseball bat over his shoulder, looking off into the distance. The expression on his face is serious but with a hint of a smile. Like he’s in the place that makes him the happiest. Plus, the way he’s angled, you can see his very defined ass. It’s the baseball pants. They just do things to a man’s rear end.

  “Ohhhh, yeah, I need that in a frame.” Her tone is a little flirty and triggers something inside me that feels very much territorial.

  I’m just going to ignore that for now.

  “I think this one could be a contender for the cover.” Cora follows my finger as I double-click and enlarge my favorite shot of the day. I knew the minute the shutter clicked it was a winner. Each photo is great in its own right, but this one has a little something extra. Looking off to the distance, the light hits the space around him perfectly, creating a bokeh effect behind him.

  Cora oos and aahs as I click through the rest of the gallery. She hasn’t said anything about my tardiness, but the guilt of my unprofessionalism is eating away at me.

  Turning my chair so I’m facing her, I say, “Cora, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I try
to not to allow my personal life to interfere with my work, and for that, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. I’m sure Maddie was able to run a little interference, since I didn’t hear anything from the team publicist. Speaking of, where is your intern?” Standing on her toes, she peers over of the wall of my cubicle, scanning the room for Maddie.

  “Umm…” I stumble over my words a bit. “About that. I may have fired her.”

  My eyes dart anywhere but at Cora. She’s probably going to fire me for this, since it’s absolutely not within my job description to fire people, even if I do catch them bent over naked on my bed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she doesn’t have any photography experience. She was basically my coffee and reflector holder person. And…” I hesitate, wondering if I should even say anything at all, and honestly, I just don’t care anymore. “I caught her sleeping with my boyfriend.”

  I spit that last part out quickly, and Cora’s lack of response has me wondering if she heard me. One look at her face and I have my answer when I see her eyes wide and mouth open in surprise.

  “Wait. What?” she asks, but before giving me a chance to answer, she continues, “Jared was cheating on you with Maddie?”

  I nod.

  “Whoa,” she whispers.

  “Yeah. It’s been a rough couple of days. I walked in on them before the shoot. So no, Maddie wasn’t there to run interference. Honestly, I’m surprised someone hasn’t called to complain. Braxton Lee was pretty pissed.”

  She shakes her head. “Nobody called. Damn, Soph. I’m sorry. I’ll let her advisor at the school know she’s no longer in our internship program.”

  “Thanks, Cora.”

  “Don’t worry about it. And hey, as soon as you get those images emailed to me, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You probably have a lot to sort out. Take a long weekend and get things done. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Okay, I will.” Truly thankful I have such a great boss who always puts her employees first, I turn my attention back to the task at hand. Finalizing the rest of the images, I upload them to the cloud and email her the link so she can go through them.

  As I begin gathering my things, my cell phone rings, Kendall’s face on the screen.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, hey,” she says a little too excitedly. She’s up to something.

  “What’d you do?” I ask.

  Giggling, I hear a door close before she speaks. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

  Oh boy. My best friend may have a science mind that amazes the average person, but deep down, she longs to be a bad girl. I thought it was a phase in college, but I have a sneaking suspicion she’s bringing that version of her out to play tonight.

  “It’s been three days, and I’ve decided it’s time for us to get out of my apartment. Since I know what you were wearing this morning, which by the way looks much better on you than on me, I’ll be waiting for you to pick me up.”

  “Ken, I don’t know that I’m ready for a night out.”

  “Oh relax. We’re going for a few drinks and food that we’ll regret when we hop on the scale this weekend. You like girls’ night out, and I can’t think of anything better to help you move on to the next phase of the breakup process.”

  If I know anything about my best friend, it’s that once she has her mind made up, there’s no changing it. This is one of those times. Gathering my belongings, I start my way down the hallway toward the elevators. “Fine, but I’m off now, so you better move your ass.”

  Squealing, she agrees and ends the call. Since I have some time to kill before I pick her up, I head toward Target to do a little shopping. I’m not quite ready to return to Jared’s place to get my things, and I can’t keep wearing Kendall’s clothes. A little retail therapy will help.

  “Do you think Cora would have fired her if you hadn’t already?”

  Swallowing the sip of my cider, I shrug one shoulder. “That’s how she made it sound. I was truthful when I said Maddie didn’t know anything about photography. I still don’t know why she was assigned to me.”

  Gasping with a loaded nacho chip in her hand, Kendall leans forward like she has a secret to share. “Do you think she was after the douche nozzle from the beginning? Like she Single White Female’d you?”

  “No way. Although it’s only been a few days, I can see now Jared is no prize. The thought that someone would put in that much effort for him seems ridiculous.”

  For years, I thought Jared was my future. That we were building a foundation so we could plan a life together. I see now that I was blinded by contentment and nothing else. Complacent. We both became complacent. Spending less time together the last few months was the first sign. The inconsistent and horrible sex life should have been the giant red flag that something was wrong. I mistakenly assumed most long-term couples went through a dry spell of sorts. Turns out, I was in a dry spell, and Jared was in my intern.

  “Oh no you don’t. Get that look of sadness off your face. Subject change. Oh… tell me about the hottie baseball player.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Liar, liar, your panties are on fire! Come on. You’ve gone from sad and mopey at the mention of he who shall not be named, to blushing and biting your lip. Spill.”

  Sighing, I gather my thoughts and take another sip from my glass. “Fine. He was a complete dick to me, but I deserved it, because I was later than is professionally acceptable.”

  “And the baseball pants?”

  “I won’t lie. He knows how to fill out a pair of baseball pants.”

  Kendall’s eyes brighten as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and a single brow raised. “So you think he’s cute?”

  “Cute? Come on, Kendall. You and I both know Braxton Lee is hotter than hot. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s named one of the sexiest athletes alive this year.”

  “And his personality?”

  “Ugh. It leaves plenty to be desired. Seriously, he was infuriating.”

  Then it happens. A moment far worse than walking in on my boyfriend of five years balls-deep in another woman.

  “I’m sorry I was such a dick.”

  My eyes dart to Kendall, who purses her lips in an effort to suppress a laugh.

  “No.”

  “Oh yes,” she says.

  Kill me now.

  5

  * * *

  BRAXTON

  My intention was to say hello and offer a quick apology for my behavior at the shoot. I hadn’t expected to overhear Sophie’s conversation, specifically her comments about me. When I caught her friend’s attention, she seemed to be having fun with me standing there. Now, as I pull out the chair next to her, I am fascinated by the blush not only on Sophie’s cheeks but her neck and chest as well.

  “No need to be embarrassed. If you promise it’s off the record, I can confirm there are rumors about that nomination.” As embarrassing as it is, the rumors are true. I doubt I’ll win the coveted designation as the sexiest athlete. That title will go to a player with a much cleaner reputation than the one I’ve been repairing for a year.

  “Kill me now.” Sophie rests her forehead on her arm while her friend barks out a laugh.

  “Hi, I’m Kendall.”

  Taking her offered hand, I shake it, and reply, “Braxton Lee. Nice to—”

  “What do you want?”

  Sophie’s curt tone stops me from finishing my greeting to her friend. Releasing Kendall’s hand, I turn to face the woman who has spent the last few days stewing on her anger toward me while I’ve been thinking of her in a much different manner.

  “I only wanted to say hello.”

  “But instead you decided to eavesdrop on our conversation? That’s an invasion of privacy. I thought someone like you would have more respect for privacy.”

  Ouch. Standing from my chair, I push it forward and glance to Sophie’s friend
. Her face is scrunched in a way that says the same sentiment.

  “If you’ll excuse me. Have a lovely evening, ladies. It was nice to meet you Kendall. Sophie.”

  As I walk away from the table, I hear heated whispers behind me, but neither woman calls me back. I suppose I deserve her brusque attitude. I cross the room toward the far corner where Spencer is sitting. Thankfully, the owner of the place is the big brother to one of our teammates, and it only takes a quick text and either he or his manager make sure we have a table in an area of the restaurant that is less busy. It’s no secret that players often hang out here, but still, we like the privacy.

  Privacy.

  Sophie is right. I shouldn’t have listened in to what she was saying. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that my life is a lot less complicated when I keep things away from the public eye. Now I owe her two apologies. Not that I expect she’ll accept either.

  “Took you long enough. You get lost?” Spencer asks as he slices his ribeye.

  “Nah. I saw someone I know.”

  “I know that look. It was a woman. I thought you were keeping your shit locked up until this PR jaunt is over.”

  “Nothing has changed. I saw the photographer from the other day and wanted to apologize. Instead, there’s no doubt she officially hates me.”

  Good thing I know better than to expect sympathy from my teammate. Instead of offering me any look of understanding, he laughs until he’s gasping for air. Once his hysterics dial down, he takes a sip from his iced tea and sits back, exhaling like he’s just cranked out a few hundred sit-ups.

  “I fail to see the humor.”