The game, p.9
The Game, page 9
“You’re coming to the game, right?” Matti’s question broke me from my downward spiral. He stared at me expectantly, still clutching a very smug-looking Spock beneath his chin, and waggled the cat’s paws.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m coming, just have to finish up that paperwork for the new school you’ll be working with next week, but then I’ll be there,” I apologized.
“Cool,” he said, and grinned at me exuberantly.
I blinked. The energy that Matti expended merely living was baffling, and before every game he seemed to vibrate at a super-high frequency that was almost imperceptible. How could he keep it up twenty-four-seven?
“And afterward? We have that karaoke showdown team bonding event later tonight, but maybe we should try to check off some of Sylvie’s list. What do you think?” he asked. “It’s an afternoon game and still nice out. Maybe we could go down to that Bean thing before dinner?”
Ugh. The “Bean thing”—it was the lowest on my list of priorities for Sylvie’s photo ops and reminded me of a trip to Chicago that my family had taken right before my senior year in high school. My brother had graduated with his degree, joined the fire department in our small town and recently proposed to his childhood sweetheart.
We’d done all of the touristy things, including scarfing down Chicago dogs from a street vendor and the requisite trip to the Bean, where some other tourist had taken a photo of the five of us, me standing slightly apart with a pained smile. The four of them had seemed to be the family unit and me the stranger.
“Stabby Abby? You okay?” Matti asked with a strange expression on his face. “You look like you’re contemplating homicide and trying not to fart at the same time.”
“For heaven’s sake, Matti, I’m just thinking.”
“Ookay, sweetums, want to make sure you don’t live up to your namesake. I know I test you unbearably,” he said with a sassy grin. He thrust the cat at me. “Here, he wants his mommy. So the game then the Bean thing?”
“Thanks, yeah. Game and Bean thing,” I said with a grumpy frown.
“Aw, come here, it’s not that bad,” he said and pulled me and Spock into a big Matti hug. The long ends of his hair that he hadn’t pulled back yet tickled my cheeks as I leaned into him. His arms were almost hot as they wrapped around me and he smelled faintly of my shampoo and body wash since he’d run out of his own the other day and refused to buy more. I had plenty, he’d reasoned. Why waste money?
“Stabby Abby, baby girl,” he murmured as he started to sway with us in his arms, then surprised me as he dropped a kiss on the top of my head. He let go and stepped back, eyeing me up and down with a concerned tilt to his mouth. “You’re okay, though? No pain?”
“No, no pain. You know I’m not the biggest fan of some of the WAGS in the box lately and I really don’t want to do the Bean thing,” I muttered.
While I didn’t mind a few of the older players’ wives, the girlfriends of some of the younger ones were not my favorite people. No one except Mercedes, Daniel Lopez’s wife, seemed to know how to relate to a wife or girlfriend who wasn’t a professional model or influencer. But all of that paled next to how badly I did not want to do the bean thing.
He pulled me back in and this time kissed me on the forehead as he said, “We’ll make it quick then—game, Bean and back home. You want to cook tonight, or should we order?”
“Order, please,” I said with some relief. We’d started cooking together lately and it was a surprising amount of fun, but I wasn’t going to be in the mood after the day.
“You got it,” he said and, to my surprise, kissed my forehead again. His hands were tight on my shoulders and it felt like his lips lingered on my skin.
He’d always been very comfortable being physical with me. The man was a hugger and a cuddler to the point where it was almost annoying in its cuteness, but these kisses were new. I hated how much I liked them. Wanted more. And now he was staring back at me, pupils dilated with a rising warmth in his eyes that rivaled the blush traveling from my chest to my cheeks. My ears started to burn.
“You better go,” I blurted as he stepped closer to me.
He blinked, spell broken. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and his outstretched hands seamlessly rose to pull back his hair into a high knot with the elastic around his wrist. “See you,” he called out as he swept up the cleats Spock had found for him and headed for the door.
“See you,” I whispered as the door shut. I needed to cut him off.
* * * *
“You play too?” a voice that sounded like claws sliding on quartz countertops asked me a few hours later in the family and friends box at the Rebels’ stadium. “Is that, like, how you met?”
“Sort of. Matti was on the men’s team, I was on the women’s, but we’ve known each other for a while longer—we have the same agent,” I answered. I’d done this song and dance with various wives and girlfriends during each of the games and events I’d attended.
“Ooh, and didn’t you both get fired because you were together?” This time her voice went soft and she had big red hearts blazing out of her eyes. “That’s so romantic!”
She was a sweetheart, truly. One of the nice ones who was an actual fan of the game in addition to being the requisite young and beautiful, but she was there for Christian James, an asshole and one of the young guns who was always trying to get Matti to go out when he wasn’t supposed to.
“Yeah, I guess,” I answered. “Listen, I need to go to the bathroom and get a water. I’ll see you around?”
“Absolutely!” She glowed with enthusiasm and my tired, cynical soul wanted to smack her. Shove her face in the fact that the guy she was “dating” probably didn’t see their relationship the same way she did, that all he ever did was dog other players’ wives and girlfriends. And cause trouble for my fake fiancé, the absolute wanker.
“Abby, come sit over here!” Mercedes’ lightly accented voice was a welcome sound after the squawking from the various birds of prey I’d had to navigate through after going to the bathroom and snagging a bottled water.
“Mercedes, good to see you!”
“Mer, silly. How many times do I have to tell you?” She tut-tutted and went to work smoothing back some stray hairs that had pulled free from my ponytail. “Sorry, I’m a mother and can’t stop meddling.”
“It’s sweet, Mer. Thanks. You might want to give some of them similar treatment,” I murmured as I jerked my head in the direction of the girlfriends, the new accessory to Christian appearing a little lost among the glittering crew.
“Oh, that Michelle, right? Dating Christian?” Mer asked and I nodded. “Michelle!” she immediately called out. “Come sit by us!”
We could see Michelle’s relieved sigh from across the box. She excused herself from the crowd to squeeze into the empty seat on the other side of Mer.
“Thanks.” She laughed nervously. “Are they always like that? So…scary?”
Christian was going to eat this sweetheart for dinner. He’d slept with at least three or four of the girls she’d been talking to.
“Sometimes, sweetie,” Mer said gently. “Christian has dated a few of them.”
Michelle dropped her eyes to her lap. “I didn’t know that.”
I sighed, wondering where Mer was going to take this. She’d probably be all gentle and whatnot, whereas I lacked that delicate touch. “Listen, he’s not worth it. You seem really nice and smart. Don’t let him play with you—he’s a fuckboy. Try dating Bryce—he’s the real sweetheart on this team and completely single right now.”
Mer started to laugh as I harrumphed.
“What? She’d figure it out soon enough. And Bryce is cool.” I shrugged. “Whatever, it’s your life. Do what you want.”
Mer nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. “Bryce is a good guy,” she managed to choke out as she wiped away the moisture with the tip of her pinkie finger.
Michelle’s giggles cut off. “And he’s super cute,” she said dreamily. “I don’t really like Christian, we’ve only been out once. He doesn’t deserve a call back.”
“Nope, he totally does not. Mer, can you invite Michelle to your daughter’s party? Get her hooked in with Bryce?” Mer nodded and continued to laugh at us. My bluntness tempered by the nice manners of the sweet young thing next to me.
“There, settled. Now, can you two shut up so I can watch the game?” I was never going to lose the grump reputation. They’d have to pry that one out of my cold dead hands.
Out on the field, the team was being announced. Matti was one of the last names called and when he came out of the tunnel he looked straight up at the box where I was sitting and made an entirely goofy heart shape with his hands, then pointed at me.
“Oh my god! That’s sooo cute,” cooed Michelle next to me.
I grunted. All for show, I tried to remind myself. It wasn’t sticking though, and I felt the warmth of his eyes even when I turned away to talk to Mer.
The whistle sounded and they were off.
* * * *
“Stabby Abby! How was I? Super genius?” Matti’s voice boomed out over the heads of the rest of his team and their families.
I rolled my eyes and headed over to him, ignoring the glances—curious, envious and otherwise.
He was back in street clothes, wearing fitted gray jeans, a black T-shirt and an army green bomber jacket. Regardless of how hot he’d appeared in that bespoke suit this morning, this was how I preferred him. Hair styled back and showing off the buzzed undercut beneath the long hair, casual swagger with an undeniable edge. I wondered what people thought when they saw us, me almost a foot shorter than this tatted-up sex god, wearing trainers and a plain old T-shirt and jeans next to his trendier version of the same outfit.
“Great game, Captain. I especially dug that wicked tackle of Rodrigo charging up the middle. You literally made him flip over in mid-air—and no card,” I murmured as I hugged him tightly, nose buried in his chest. His arms reflexively wrapped around me and the jacket rustled in my ear.
“Thanks, Abby.” Like this morning, he lowered his head to brush his lips across my forehead. I sighed and leaned into him. He slid his hand beneath my hoodie to rub my back and my skin heated up beneath my thin T-shirt.
“Get it, old man!” A loud catcall and whistle had both of us springing apart and looking for the source of the noise—Christian James, who seemed to be partnerless at the moment. He grinned at us like a shark and I stiffened. Matti tightened his arms around me imperceptibly—a warning.
“Jealous, James?” Matti asked genially. Teammates and WAGs laughed as they also saw that Christian was alone. He flushed red and stomped away.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Matti. He’s going to cause trouble.”
“What? I asked him if he was jealous,” he said, and smiled innocently at me with wide eyes that watered as I punched him hard in the arm. “He can’t do anything and you know it. Coach will have his ass off the team and, unlike moi, he doesn’t have the talent to balance his bad-boy nonsense.”
“Ooh, is that what you are?” I said and poked him in the chest. “A bad boy?”
“You know it, baby. You’re the one who tamed me.” He winked and I heard a few of the wives and girlfriends titter in the background as they overheard our exchange.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down to my level. The laugh left him and he eyed me questioningly, but I didn’t give him a chance to ask what I was doing. I was tired of denying everything. Tired of pretending that I didn’t appreciate everything he did for me, that I wasn’t incredibly attracted to him, that him standing up for me didn’t mean anything. I cupped his sharp jaw in my hands and went up in my toes to quickly kiss him softly on the lips, then dropped back on my heels.
Matti’s hands had gone reflexively to my shoulders to steady me as I rose up on my toes and they stayed there as he stared at me. I winked at him, and it was my turn to smirk. “Get your tongue off the floor, old man. Let’s go check out a bean.”
I twirled around and grabbed one of his hands. Started tugging him toward the door.
“I’ll check out your bean, baby,” I heard him mutter behind me as we rolled out.
* * * *
I turned as I heard my name called, still in Matti’s arms. We’d had our picture taken at the Bean and were now wandering around the sculpture, pushing and pulling each other like a couple of horny middle school kids who need physical contact with their crush but absolutely don’t know what kind of touch is appropriate yet.
“Abby McKinnon? Is that really you?”
“Yes?” I said to a bouncy, curvy blonde who darted up to us. She was vaguely familiar, maybe from college?
“Oh my stars, I knew it had to be you! That hair! I’m glad it recovered after the gum incident.” She laughed suddenly and it clicked. Cynthia Morris, pastor’s daughter, homecoming queen and overall bane of my existence growing up.
“Cynthia,” I replied stiffly.
“You do remember me! How cool! What are you doing here? This is so funny!”
Sure, it’s funny. If you have a crap sense of humor.
“I live here with my fiancé,” I said and pulled Matti next to me. He nodded at her and went back to people-watching, his feet starting to shuffle. “He plays for the soccer team here. I’m rehabbing.”
“Oh, that’s right. I can’t believe you’re still playing that game. Anyway. We’re”—she gestured over at a guy with a paunch and receding hairline and a bored preteen who was the exact replica of Cynthia at age twelve or thirteen—“here looking for a special middle school dance dress for Dara. You remember Phil, don’t you?”
Oh, yes, I remembered Phil. Former football star, now managing his family’s used car dealership. He’d made my life miserable, along with Cynthia.
I nodded at him. “We should go,” I said.
“Nice to meet you,” interjected Matti as I started to tug him away from Mr. and Mrs. Evil.
“Abby! Don’t you want us to tell anyone hello back home? Your family maybe?”
Like in high school, Cynthia’s voice sliced through the crowd, past my carefully constructed walls. I shuddered and Matti glanced down at me in concern. I shook my head, picking up the pace to re-establish the distance between my old life and new.
Neither of us said a word until we walked into our apartment. Matti headed straight for the wine rack, grabbed a bottle that I could see had his family’s name on it and twisted off the screw top. “Here. Thank god I talked Max into using screw tops, am I right? Finding an opener in this place is impossible.”
I gulped straight from the bottle and a little overflowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I handed the bottle back to him. He took a swig, swished it in his mouth like it was mouthwash and passed the bottle over again. Another deep drink and the level of the liquid dropped to the halfway mark. I set it down on the counter with a sharp clink.
“Thanks,” I said and rolled out my shoulders, shrugging off my hoodie and rain jacket.
“No problem?” he answered quizzically. “Now, do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Not really,” I said, and threw my coat over a chair and walked toward the sliding door. The glass was chilly in the September evening and I pressed my flushed forehead against it.
Matti slipped up behind me and put his arms around my waist. “Please,” he whispered and I closed my eyes as his breath tickled my ear.
“Fine, will you start a fire and I’ll order dinner?” I stalled for time.
“Sure…” he said slowly, and walked over to the wall, where he flicked a light switch. The gas fire in the fake fireplace roared up.
I backed up into the kitchen and, with shaking fingers, tapped in an order for our favorite pizza place. Then I scooped up the wine bottle, grabbed a couple of glasses by the stems, and brought them over to where Matti sat leaning against the fireplace.
“So…?” he prompted as I plopped down next to him and poured each of us a glass.
I sighed as we silently clinked our glasses together. Was it endearing to anyone else that Matti was incapable of drinking anything without a toast? “As I’m sure you gathered, that was someone I grew up with.”
“Mmhmm,” he hummed noncommittally.
“And that’s really it,” I said.
He made that tuneless humming noise again, a sound I’d come to realize was a stand-in for “I don’t believe you,” and I wondered if his mother had ever pulled that crap with him. So annoying.
“Fine, we didn’t get along, and one time she stuck gum in my hair. I didn’t care, but it made my mom cry. And her husband was really mean to me too.”
Yet again he hummed.
“And she was messing with me about my family. I haven’t talked to them since I was nineteen and I have no interest in starting now. I’m sure she knows that, it’s a small town. My family doesn’t know me. They’ve never understood me—never even tried—and I can’t handle even thinking about them.”
“Nineteen?” he asked incredulously. “You’re twenty-eight!”
“I am?” I said sarcastically. “I mean, I am. Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“I barely go a day without talking to someone in my family,” he said.
“I know,” I muttered. I loved and hated that fact about him. Loved hearing him stomp in circles or dribble a ball around our apartment while barking in German at one of his family members. Hated feeling jealous when I knew that I’d been responsible for cutting my family off. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Can we leave it at the fact that we’re estranged and that it’s better if we remain separated?”
He was quiet for a long time, but finally nodded solemnly. “If that’s how you want it to be,” he said and held up his glass for a refill.
I leaned against him, craving his warmth. “Do we have to do this karaoke thing tonight? I really hate it unless I’m drunk.”
