Keeping Score

by Alyssa Kale

  “Feel up to seeing how this present works?”

  Burrowing into the cushions, I smile wide in the hopes he’ll stick around a little longer.

  “So you’re not mad?”

  Scrunching my brows, I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “Oh no. I’m livid, because you spent way too much money on a second housewarming gift.”

  “Soph—”

  “I’m kidding, Braxton. Relax. Come sit down, power this bad boy up, and let’s see what awesome cheesy chick flick we can find.”

  Braxton takes the spot on the opposite end of the couch, kicking off his shoes before crossing his feet at the ankles and leaning back. His arm rests on the back of the cushions, and suddenly, the space feels much smaller than it did earlier when I was napping.

  “Thank you… for the television. Actually, for everything. The soup, the nap… it all means a lot.”

  Taking both my feet with one hand, he rests them onto his lap. “You’re welcome. Let the torture begin. Queue up some cheesy Netflix movies.”

  The giddiness bubbling inside me is absurd. Instead of showing Braxton how much I’m enjoying this moment with him, the simplicity and comfortableness of just being together, I take control of the remote and start our movie marathon.

  Three hours, two movies, and a pizza later, I’m exhausted. Again. Who knew a little peanut could suck so much life out of you? Not me. It probably doesn’t help that Braxton has been massaging my feet and calves the entire time. Releasing a loud and dramatic yawn, I twist and contort my body to stretch. I’ve not told anyone about the pregnancy, and in moments like this, I wonder how people will react. As I look at Braxton’s profile, part of me wants to blurt it out.

  “It’s getting late. I should go.”

  Shooting up from my reclining position, I quickly pull my feet off his lap. My movements startle him, and we both laugh. “You flew home today! Have you even been home?”

  I feel like a complete ass for not even realizing this earlier. He’s been on the road, and I know last night he was in another state.

  “Jeez, woman, relax. You’re going to give me a heart attack moving like that. Yes, I stopped by my house. That’s how I got the soup.”

  “You just have homemade soup sitting around your house?” I eye him suspiciously, and he shakes his head before standing.

  Now it’s Braxton who twists and contorts his body. My eyes are drawn to his abs as his shirt lifts, exposing some skin. Memories of running my hands across that part of his body flood my mind, and my temperature rises.

  “Yeah, no. I asked my mom to make it. She’s been staying at my house while she’s in town.”

  Tears prick my eyes as I realize he put all this effort in for me. His eyes widen when he spots the emotion, so I wave him off. “Shut up. It was sweet of you; that’s all.”

  Following him to the door, I stand with my shoulder resting on the doorframe. Friends. It’s a reminder to myself, and considering the new development in my life, I need to keep it that way.

  “If you need anything, just call, okay?”

  “Thanks. Again, for everything.”

  “What do you have going on this weekend?”

  Shrugging, I nod toward the television. “Now that I have that bad boy, I’m never leaving my home. Why?”

  “No reason. Maybe you could catch a game or something. I can send you some tickets if you like.”

  “Oh, I’ll be watching. From here in my nice air-conditioned apartment with an abundance of snacks.”

  Braxton laughs and places his hand on my elbow. Then he does it. He leans down, the warmth of his body near mine activating every nerve in my body. Zipping and full of energy, I hold my breath, waiting for his lips…

  …on my cheek.

  Well, that’s disappointing.

  “Night, Soph.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Flipping the lock on the door, I lean back and will my hormones back to normal. When it doesn’t feel like my lady parts are going to combust, I push off and pad my way through the apartment, cleaning up and switching the lights off. After a quick shower, I crawl into my bed and notice the notification light flashing on my phone.

  Braxton: I had fun today. I hope you’re feeling better tomorrow. Goodnight.

  Me: Today was great. Thank you.

  Not waiting for a response, I cuddle into my pillow with a smile on my face and hope for a less nauseating day tomorrow.

  19

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  Finally, a day when I’m feeling more human than I have all week. Part of me thinks this is all in my head, because I didn’t start getting this all-day morning sickness until after I found out I was pregnant.

  Pregnant. I still can’t believe it. My emotions on the reality are still all over the place, alternating from a nightmare to a blessing. Keeping this to myself feels like a ten-thousand-pound weight on my shoulders. I’m not sure what’s keeping me from telling anyone, especially Kendall. I know she won’t judge me. In fact, she’ll probably demand we celebrate immediately. The guilt I feel that she thinks I’m suffering from the longest bout of a stomach bug ever is at least half of the remorse I’m feeling.

  Today is her deadline for me to get well or she’s taking me to the doctor. Thankfully, the nausea is at a minimum this morning. Even with the potential that my apartment is a germ fest, it didn’t stop Kendall from coming to check on me all week. She really is the best friend a girl could ask for.

  It didn’t stop Braxton either though. He just barged in with his homemade soup and expensive electronics. I hate how easily I folded in my frustration bordering on anger with him. I’m capable of taking care of myself, of buying my own television. Maybe I lost some of that independence when I was living with Jared, but it’s still in me.

  The warmth of his gestures and the selflessness of him doing these things is stirring something inside me. Feelings of the romantic variety, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. It’s too soon. I’m quickly learning that Braxton is the type of man you can’t just be friends with. No, he’s the type of man you fall head over heels in love with. Dammit, I can’t fall in love.

  I can’t fall in love with Braxton Lee.

  Before I make myself get out of bed, I pick up my phone and run through my notifications. I have a text from Braxton telling me good morning and quite a few from Kendall checking on me.

  I decide to text Kendall first, but before I get a chance, there’s a knock on my door. Then I hear it open and Kendall’s voice. “Knock, knock, it’s me.” She’s obviously not shy about using the key I gave her last week.

  “Hey, I’m still in bed,” I croak out.

  She pushes my bedroom door open. “Hey, how are you feeling? And where in the fresh hell did that TV come from?”

  “That TV is a long story, but I’m feeling much better today. Thank you.”

  That apparently isn’t enough for her. “Long story? Spill. We’ve got time before I have to go into work.” I look over at the clock, see it’s only seven, and roll my eyes.

  “Fine,” I huff. “Braxton came over yesterday with homemade soup and then bought me a television.” My body language is one of nonchalance, but inside, I’m nervous at how she’ll react.

  Kendall eyes me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. The puzzle being what Braxton’s gesture of massive electronics means.

  “What?” I ask, nudging her off my bed as I fling the covers away.

  “Are you sure this isn’t more?”

  I shrug as I pad my way out of the room to the kitchen. Her footsteps follow as she settles at the counter.

  “I really don’t know. I placed him firmly in the friend zone, but everything he does seems to be… I don’t know... more.”

  “What do you want?” Kendall asks.

  Unable to answer her, I pour myself a glass of ginger ale and sip on the fizzy drink. It’s a poor replacement for my coffee. I catch Kendall’s eye over the rim of the glass as her face morphs into an obscenely hu
ge smile.

  “Aww,” she singsongs. “Someone is falling in looove.”

  “You’re such a hopeless romantic. We’re just friends,” I correct her.

  “I got a hundred dollars and a bottle of wine that says you’re not ‘just friends,’” she says, using air quotes.

  The wine reminds me of why I’m not indulging in the nectar of the gods with a splash of creamer. “Kendall, I need to talk to you about something in total cone of silence.”

  “Always, is everything okay?” she asks seriously.

  “No... I mean yes, I think it will be. Eventually,” I say shakily.

  Standing and rounding the counter, my best friend looks worried as she stands in front of me. “What do you mean eventually? What’s wrong?”

  “Well, remember I made that appointment to get tested for everything under the sun in case I contracted something from Jared’s screwing around?”

  “Shit, please tell me he didn’t give you a sexually transmitted disease,” she says angrily. “I’m gonna kill him. I swear he’s gonna die. Where’s my shovel and sulfuric acid? No one will be able to find his body.”

  She scares me a little. At least I know if my peanut needs saving, his or her auntie will be there in a pinch.

  “Okay, that’s kind of scary,” I reply, and Kendall shrugs. “It isn’t a disease, but—” I pause to take a deep breath, because I’m not sure how she’s going to take this news. “—I’m pregnant.”

  The ability to suppress my giggles is a bust as her mouth drops open, eyes widen so big I’m afraid they’ll stay frozen that way, and she lets out a squeal.

  “Ahhh, what!”

  “Yeah, it’s a little scary and why I haven’t been feeling well.”

  “This is so exciting! There’s going to be a little mini you running around. The world better watch out.” Kendall starts rattling off all the things we’re going to do with the baby and how adorable he or she will be, when she stops in her tracks and squeezes my arm, almost causing me to drop my glass.

  “Wait, did Braxton knock you up? Shit. Have you told him? Oh my gosh, this is just a repeat of what he went through with that other chick. I’ll kill the fucker if he dumps you.” She’s spouting off comments and questions quicker than I can keep up, and I stop her.

  “Calm down. It’s way too early in the morning for you to plot two deaths.” I need coffee. “It’s Jared’s. I must have gotten pregnant right before we split up. I haven’t processed it really. Mostly, I’ve just tried to not be puking all the time.”

  Kendall nods in understanding and then resumes her spot at the bar. I need to take my vitamin, so I drop two slices of bread into the toaster and peel a banana.

  “I don’t have all the answers, but I know I’m keeping this baby. I hate that I’ll have to tell Jared.”

  “Ugh, do you have to?” Her face scrunches like she just sucked on a lemon at the same time my toast pops.

  “Really?”

  She shrugs.

  “Yes, I have to tell him. More importantly, I can’t see Braxton anymore. There’s no way I can bring this chaos into his life.”

  “We don’t need Jared. Your dad is the best and can totally be the male role model in the nugget’s life. Plus, you have me.”

  She says it like everything is so simple. As if the idea of raising a child alone isn’t scary as hell. And life changing.

  I nod, too dazed to say more, and focus on my breakfast instead. Kendall chatters on more about doctor’s appointments, shopping, and potential baby names. It’s all overwhelming, but when she asks again about Braxton, she has my attention.

  “We’re just friends. Besides, even if there was a chance for more, I’m pregnant with another man’s child. That isn’t exactly the best way to start a relationship.”

  “I guess, but—”

  Holding my hands up to stop her, I say, “Nope. Like you said earlier, after what he went through last year, I doubt he wants anything to do with a situation like this. No, it’s best I just ease myself out of this friendship. It’s not like he’d want anything more once he found out anyway.”

  “You don’t know that, Soph. He’s already smitten with you. Something tells me that not even the prospect of a baby is going to scare him off at this point. And I’m totally jealous of that, by the way. He’s smoking hot and has bulges in all the right places, if you know what I mean.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows, and I try my hardest not to laugh but fail miserably.

  Later, when I’m sitting at my desk catching up on all the emails and updates I’ve received over the last few days, I realize I never replied to Braxton’s text.

  Me: Good luck at tonight’s game.

  Braxton: Thanks. Will you be watching?

  Me: Yup, I just paid for the streaming service that allows me to watch all the Aces games live.

  Braxton: Awesome. I consider you our good luck charm.

  Me: What? How am I your good luck charm?

  Braxton: Every game you’ve watched this season, we’ve won. The ones you’ve missed, we lost. So you’re the team’s good luck charm.

  I smile and shake my head. He can’t be serious, can he? Athletes are so superstitious. I’ve heard stories, but never actually witnessed it firsthand.

  Me: Well, okay then. I’ll have to make sure to catch as many as possible.

  Placing my phone back on my desk, I ignore the smile on my face and the lightness I feel after our exchange. I’ll watch the game tonight, but I need to slowly pull back from Braxton. He doesn’t need my problems in his life. He’s destined for greatness this season, and his focus should be on that.

  The rest of the day moves quickly, and my nausea only rears its ugly head twice. Both times, I’m able to work through it and pray this part of the pregnancy is going to be short-lived. When exhaustion overwhelms me, I duck out and head home. Comfy pants and a baseball game are calling my name.

  I curl up on my sofa with leftover chicken soup in hand and turn the TV on, moaning as the different flavors of the soup dance on my tongue. Seriously, Braxton’s mom is a godsend. This soup is fantastic.

  I find the game just as the team is walking onto the field. The camera pans the infield before settling on Braxton. He puts his hand on his chest, stretches his arm out, and points toward the top of the stadium. He holds it for a few seconds, then when the camera zooms closer in on him, he mouths, “This is for you,” right before he gets to his position at first base.

  He did this same gesture in his interview he asked me not to watch. I still watched it and I honestly don’t know how to feel about it. The mention of him seeing someone and the host assuming it was Amber about tore me to pieces. He’s spending a lot of time texting and seeing me, but who knows, he probably has some chick in every city. I just happen to be the one here at home.

  In the bottom of the ninth, the Aces are down by two runs, but Brax is up to bat and the bases are loaded. I can see the all-out concentration on his face when the first ball is pitched to him. He swings and misses, but that second pitch is exactly what he needed. Hearing the crack of the bat hitting the ball makes my heart race. The ball is flying, and the outfielders of the other team are trying to figure out where it’s going to go.

  The camera follows the ball as the announcer says, “And it’s out of here!”

  A three-run homerun that seals the win for the Aces. A victory dance alone in my apartment pales in comparison to being at the stadium, but I’m thrilled for him. Braxton rounds the bases, a huge grin on his face as he passes third base. His teammates have made it home and are waiting for him at home plate. The camera zooms in on him, and he places his hand flat on his chest for a few seconds then points to the top of the stadium again.

  My heart is nearly pounding out of my chest. He’s so damn amazing. I wish the world could see the man he is off the field. The true kindness and support he gives so freely. Timing is everything, and I hate how shitty ours is.

  The next day at work, the office buzzes with excite
ment. Our next issue is the one with Braxton on the cover. Cora is stressed and trying to plan for the influx of inquiries we’ll get once it goes live. Thankfully, she’s been in the industry long enough to have a long list of “what ifs” in case things go off the rails. Still, we have a week until the issue is live, so the buzz in the office is crazy.

  Braxton’s the highest profile celebrity to grace the cover in the two years the magazine has been running. Well, except for that “friend of” a Real Housewife. For the most part, we interview business owners and people in Clarence society, but no one classified as a celebrity.

  It’s about four in the afternoon when Cora comes out and says, “All right, everyone. Great job working together on this month’s issue. We came together as a team, and this is going to be our best issue to date. Go home and celebrate, but not too hard. I’ll see you bright and early at nine a.m. sharp. Next month’s issue won’t create itself. Thanks for all your hard work.”

  Everyone cheers and begins making plans to go to the bar down the road. I pass on the offers to join them and opt for a night of ice cream and leggings while watching our cover model in tonight’s game.

  Just as I’m packing up to leave, my phone vibrates with a text notification.

  Braxton: Hey, you have plans tonight?

  Me: Yes, me and ice cream are going to get cozy on my sofa and watch the game.

  Braxton: Would you rather watch it in person?

  Me: How can I turn that down?

  Braxton: My sister is going, and her friend backed out. I thought maybe you could take the ticket.

  His sister? I’m not sure how I feel about going to a game with someone I’ve never met.

  Braxton: I promise you two will hit it off.

  Home and my couch sounds relaxing, but after watching him hit that homer last night, I would love to see him do it again in person.

  Me: Fine. You convinced me. I’ll go.