Keeping Score

by Alyssa Kale

  Sophie: Watched the game on TV tonight. Sucks y’all lost, but you played a good game.

  I can’t help but feel excited that she watched my game. That she cared enough, and she would’ve had to go somewhere, because unless she got a television in the last couple of hours, she doesn’t own one. I make a mental note to rectify that.

  Me: You watched the game?

  It takes a bit for her to answer, but before I put my phone down, I see the bouncing ellipsis signifying she’s typing.

  Sophie: Yeah. Now I have someone to root for.

  Me: Hell yeah, you do. How are you feeling? What are you doing right now?

  Sophie: Better. Hanging out at Kendall’s. I had to borrow her TV to watch the game.

  Me: You made Kendall watch baseball? [laughing emoji]

  Sophie: No, she had a date tonight. [laughing emoji]

  Me: Oh. Cool.

  I can’t think of anything else better to say, so I put my truck in drive and head home.

  If tomorrow wasn’t an early-morning travel day, I would go to Sophie’s. I know I shouldn’t want her like I do. I can’t have her, not really. I’m not looking to settle down. At least not anytime soon. My focus is on the game and keeping my face out of the news for any reason other than my stats.

  Besides, the baseball life is no life for a wife, let alone a girlfriend. Not that Sophie is my girlfriend, but even just dating thrusts her into the limelight, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone I care about. That, and we play over a hundred and sixty games per year, and that’s just the regular season. If we make it into the postseason, it can be up to another forty or so games. I don’t see how that leaves time to build a relationship.

  Not to mention the jersey chasers are relentless and annoying. Many guys will actually sleep with them just to get them to shut up. Married or not, I’ve seen so many guys cheat because of our schedule and the temptation. I don’t want to bring anyone into that. Not that I’m a cheater. Contrary to popular belief by the fans and press, not all athletes are thinking with the head between their legs. My focus is on my career.

  Plus—the humiliation from a year ago. I thought Amber was different. She said all the right things, and I believed her. I had no idea how that level of trust would start a ripple effect that would have me on a publicity tour to counter the scandal it created.

  When I get home, I climb in bed. It’s late, and I have an early morning tomorrow, but I cannot stop thinking about her. I also cannot stop thinking about what Kendall said. Sophie is not a friend with benefits type of woman. I knew after our night together that she wasn’t a one-night stand either. Sophie is the woman you bring home. She’s the woman you share your life with. She’s the marrying type.

  No matter how hard I try to push her out of my mind, thoughts of her consume me. The shy smile she gave me at the hotel. Our first kiss. The way she fisted my shirt. Sophie laid across the bed, open to me. Waiting for me, trusting me.

  I grab my dick and begin to jerk to thoughts of her.

  Her moan.

  Stroke.

  Her breasts.

  Stroke.

  Her pussy.

  Stroke.

  Her coming undone with my lips on her clit.

  Stroke.

  Her mouth on my dick.

  Stroke.

  Her hot center, welcoming me as I pump in and out. Slow, fast, soft, hard.

  Stroke.

  That’s all it takes. Thoughts of her calling my name has me moaning hers as ribbons of cum shoot onto my stomach. I don’t feel satisfied though. My dick only wants her, but I can’t have her. I can’t bring her into my world. As a girlfriend or anything more than that. I groan. I’ve never not loved baseball until now.

  14

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  “Soooo… you’re crushing on the hot asshole baseball player, aren’t you?” Kendall forms it as a question, but the look she’s giving me is all-knowing.

  “No... yes... I don’t know. Maybe?” I sound so indecisive, but I have no idea how I feel. “I can’t though. I just broke up with my boyfriend. My live-in boyfriend. There’s no way I can be crushing on a dude I don’t even know.”

  “Soph, be honest with yourself. Your relationship has been over for much longer, it just took Jared cheating on you for you to open your eyes.”

  I don’t respond, because what is there to say? She’s right. As much as it sucks to admit, Jared and I basically became roommates that would have sex occasionally. And the sex wasn’t even that good. Especially the night before I caught him with Maddie. That was less than climatic. For me anyway. Shit. He was sleeping with us both, and who knows how many other women.

  “Just be careful,” she warns.

  “What do you mean? It isn’t like we’re going to sleep together again. It was a one-time thing.”

  Rolling her eyes, Kendall nestles into the sofa cushions before saying, “Never say never on that. If Braxton Lee came calling, no woman would turn him away. But… I mean, he’s a player. Haven’t you searched him online?”

  I grab my phone and type Braxton Lee into the search bar. My heart falls when I see what comes up. Now, the publicity tour he was grumbling about makes sense when I see the headlines.

  “Basbeball’s Biggest Playboy Kocks Up Amber Collier”

  “Playboy, Braxton Lee, Refuses to Support His Child. A Tell-All by Amber Collier”

  “Braxton Lee Pays for His Girlfriend to Have an Abortion”

  The headlines go on and on and only get worse. I click on the “Tell-All by Amber Collier” one and skim through. Apparently, Braxton and this Amber woman had a short-term relationship during last season, and she got pregnant. The article says after telling Braxton the news, he refused to admit or believe that the child was his, which led to their breakup. Amber claims she never slept with anyone else and the baby was his.

  Her interview goes on to say Braxton offered to pay for an abortion, but she refused. As if it’s an afterthought, she relayed the history of their relationship, including how they met and, according Amber, how they were happy. Of course, the pregnancy changed everything, and he wants nothing to do with her now.

  My stomach begins to sour. The thoughts of the man I spent the night with treating a woman this way, discarding her and their unborn child like yesterday’s trash, make me sick. Literally. I click the home button on my phone and stand up, tossing the device onto the couch.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I announce before rushing to the bathroom. Retching over the toilet, I empty the contents of my stomach. When there isn’t anything left, I fall back, leaning against the wall for support with my eyes closed, praying the nausea is gone. That reaction was a little over the top. Checking in with my feelings, I don’t really feel overly upset by what I’ve read, so my nausea doesn’t make sense.

  A few minutes later, I hear Kendall knock and the door open. “Soph? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  My tone is meant to send her away, but I’m unsuccessful. Instead, she grabs a washcloth from the cabinet and wets it with cool water to put on my forehead.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, doll. You sure you’re okay?”

  I nod. I feel much better now that I’ve thrown up. “Yeah, hungry actually.”

  “Okay, I’ll call in takeout.” She gets up and goes into action. Taking care of me.

  We order in soup from our favorite deli and chat about everything under the sun, except the sexy baseball player who dumped his pregnant girlfriend.

  Unable to help myself, I find ways to check the score of the baseball game on my phone without Kendall noticing. She would only tease me. Still having trouble reconciling the man I spent the night beneath and who surprised me by showing up at my apartment to help put together furniture, with the one in the articles. While I haven’t known him long, or even that well, it doesn’t seem like him at all. Of course, I’m not the best judge of character, since I did
n’t realize my boyfriend had a completely separate life.

  After cleaning up, Kendall gathers her things to leave. Walking her to the door, I give her a hug and suddenly feel overcome by emotion.

  “Thank you for everything. For being here for me and letting me crash at your place. Just everything.”

  “Are you getting your period? What’s with all the emotions?” she teases through her sass.

  “Shut up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Waving at me over her shoulder, I watch her take a few steps down the walkway and close the door. As I walk through the apartment, turning off lights, I bring my phone to life to check the final score before I go to bed. The Aces won. Unlike the last game, I don’t shoot off a text congratulating Braxton on their win. Instead, I doze off into a fitful sleep.

  I sleep later than usual and am relieved I already have the morning off. As I peel open my eyes, I assess my body and the signs of any nausea. Initial inventory is hopeful. I’m exhausted, but otherwise, I don’t foresee another date tossing my cookies.

  A reminder goes off on my phone: Call doctor.

  With a loud groan, I dismiss the reminder. Thank goodness I had the forethought to set that alarm. There’s no telling how many women Jared was, or is, sleeping with. Plus, now that I’ve seen the headlines, I just had sex with a professional athlete who appears to have embraced the stereotype.

  The doctor’s office is able to get me in for a full workup next week. It’s a little longer than I wanted to wait, but whatever; at least it’s an appointment. Just thinking of Jared and Braxton sends my stomach rolling again, and I turn over, pulling the covers over my head until the nausea passes.

  When I finally arrive at the office and sit down at my desk, I notice the buzz around me. Unlike the usual busy energy, this is more tension-filled whispers. A few coworkers walk by, and I catch them glancing toward Cora’s office and giggling. When I manage a peek through the curtains hanging in her full-glass window, I can see why. Braxton is here.

  I perk up, a little bit excited, hoping it goes unnoticed.

  When the door opens and Braxton exits Cora’s office, his eyes find mine immediately. Busted. The arrogant jerk smirks, and his eyes brighten like he’s just caught me stalking outside the door waiting for him. I’m at my desk, thank you very much. Ignoring the whispers and stares, he walks right up to my desk.

  “Hey.” His voice is pure sex.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  “So… I was thinking.” Running a hand through his hair and gripping the back of his neck, he looks down at the ground, exhaling loudly before continuing. “Maybe we could go on a real date sometime soon?”

  My heartrate speeds up, and my mouth goes dry. A date? “Why were you meeting with Cora?” My question isn’t an answer, but it buys me time to process his question. Do I want to go out with him again?

  “Just finalizing things for my piece. Part of the deal was me having final approval.”

  I can see that being necessary after what I read last night. Although, I’ve not seen any of the other features in our office. Usually, it’s managers or agents giving their stamp of approval.

  “So, what do you say?” Braxton asks, pulling my attention back to his question. If we went out, I’d be able to confirm my thoughts that he isn’t as he’s been portrayed online.

  “Braxton, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I just got out of a pretty serious relationship.”

  “Oh.” He looks disappointed my answer wasn’t yes. Of course he is. Women throw themselves at him. Heck, I bet the women in this office are ready to take my place.

  “What about a friend date? I enjoyed hanging out with you yesterday. I’d love to hang out some more.”

  “Friend date? I don’t know, Braxton. I think we complicated things past the friend stage already.”

  The look on his face—like he’s a little boy and I just kicked his puppy—breaks my heart in two. I already know I’m not going to be able to resist him. My heart is screaming yes, but my head is screaming he’s trouble, and I need to stay away.

  “Please,” he says. “I promise it’s just a friendly date.”

  “Fine,” I reply far too quickly. The smile my response puts on his face makes it worth it. With my hands on my hips so he knows I’m serious, I warn, “But no funny business, mister. Friends only.”

  “Deal,” he says and holds out his hand so we can shake on it. “I don’t have a game on Wednesday. Can you do something… say around seven?”

  I look over at my planner, knowing good and well I don’t have anything going on Wednesday night. “I think we can make that work.” He smiles again, and boy it’s hot in here.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

  “Perfect, see you Wednesday.”

  15

  * * *

  BRAXTON

  In my career, I’ve never experienced what others call “the Mondays.” Or, in this case, the Mondays and Tuesdays. After leaving the offices of Clarence Monthly, I headed directly to the stadium and put my game face on. Literally. Then I woke up Tuesday to do it again. Regardless of how focused I was on our games, my conversation with Sophie was always on my mind.

  Asking her out was not on my agenda when I offered to come into the office to speak with her editor, Cora. Final approval on the feature could have gone through the Aces’ PR team, or I could have approved via email like the instructions said. But in doing so, I wouldn’t have seen Sophie, who was never far from my thoughts the last two days. I only wanted to see her. To say hi and check in on her and the furniture we put together. The disappointment I faced when I arrived and didn’t see her is something I’ve ignored.

  Driving to Sophie’s apartment, I try to think of the last time I hung out with a woman as friends, not counting this past weekend. High school comes to mind, but even then, I wouldn’t call my math tutor a friend. I’d prefer a repeat of the last night I spent with Sophie, but the look on her face when I asked her out hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut. In the end, I just like being around her and want to get to know her. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a woman has ulterior motives. She isn’t looking to trap me.

  I arrive at Sophie’s complex fifteen minutes sooner than we planned and hope she doesn’t mind me being early. Years of if you’re on time, you’re late is drilled into me; I can’t help it.

  The door opens after the third knock, a flustered Sophie standing before me with something in her hand and eyes wide.

  “Hey, come in. Sorry, I’m running a tad late.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I’m early.”

  “Oh, good.” Her shoulders drop, and her beautiful smile distracts me from whatever else she’s saying. “…at home. I need about five minutes.”

  Sophie scurries away but not too fast that I don’t notice her tight jeans. Stepping into her place, I take inventory of the changes since I was here just a few days ago. The curtains are hung, and images decorate the walls. It looks like a home. I think Sophie has more of herself in this place in just a few days than I do in my house.

  While I wait for my friend to finish getting ready, I look at the framed photos she’s arranged on the wall. Sophie’s talents are wasted on the likes of me. She’s beyond gifted, and each shot makes me want to do more traveling in the off season.

  The scent of vanilla surrounds me, and the rhythm of my pulse increases. Turning, I spot a smiling Sophie, and she takes my breath away. Her outfit isn’t overtly sexy, but she makes it so. Tight jeans and a black top that hangs off her shoulder shouldn’t make me want to wrap my hands in her long hair and cover her mouth with mine. Yet, here I stand.

  “I’m all set.”

  “You look great. Definitely worth the wait.”

  Rolling her eyes, she grabs her purse from the counter and looks at her wrist as if she’s wearing a watch. “I’m actually on time now.”

  Laughing, I open the door and usher her ahead of me.

  “W
here are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” I say with a wink before opening the passenger door.

  Thirty minutes later, we’re walking into Pot and Pan Cooking Co. A friend is the owner and agreed to a private cooking class. I offered to pay for what he’d normally make for a full class, but instead, he asked for tickets to a game. I happily obliged. I’m looking forward to uninterrupted time with Sophie.

  “Hey, y’all,” my friend Eddie greets. His southern twang makes me laugh. Nobody would guess we grew up together in Louisiana by how different our accents are. I tease him relentlessly that he turns on the accent just to impress his customers.

  “Good to see you, man.” I pull him in for a handshake and bro hug. Eddie never believed the rumors from a year ago, and for that, I’m grateful, and I value his friendship. “This is my friend Sophie. Sophie, this is Eddie. He owns the place.”

  “Hi,” Sophie greets, her eyes scanning the room.

  “Nice to meet you. How’d you end up stuck with this guy?”

  Sighing and dropping her head forward, my friend groans. “Would you believe I lost a bet?”

  Grunting in response, Eddie looks from Sophie to me and then back. “Yep. It’s really the only reason someone would hang out with the likes of him.”

  Her giggles send a straight shot to my dick, and I realize this friends thing kind of sucks.

  “Are y’all ready to do some cookin’?” We both nod. “Tonight, we’re going to make a roasted lemon and rosemary chicken with roasted asparagus and creamy mashed potatoes. Sound good?”

  Both Sophie and I let out a moan of appreciation that could almost be classified as R-rated, except that we’re both hot for the food Eddie mentioned and not each other. Or at least not right now.

  While my childhood friend rushes around gathering the last of the items for our lesson, I lead Sophie over to our station and hand her an apron. As she ties it on, a smirk appears on her lips.

  “A cooking class, huh?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow. “I thought this wasn’t a date.” She looks at me skeptically.