Page 1 of A Whole New Play

1

CARTER

“You know, for someone who used to be known as the life of the party, you sure are a stick in the mud.”

I turn my head and look at my friend through my aviators. Dane lays back on the cushioned lounge chair next to mine, looking back at me with a disapproving frown. The sun shines down on his blond hair, making it look almost white.

“It’s called self-care, Larson. Look it up.” I close my eyes and lean back on the chair, tilting my chin up to soak in the Caribbean sun. This is the first time I’ve relaxed in months, and even though worries still dance in the back of my head, it’s nice to be in a place where I have no responsibilities.

No work. No childcare to arrange. No vindictive ex to keep at bay. I came to this all-inclusive resort to relax, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

But my good friend has other ideas.

“Hey man, I get it,” Dane Larson, the star hockey player says. “The season is over and you can finally chill, but I’m worried about you. You haven’t done anything this trip but sulk. Not trying to be an ass, but you used to be more fun.”

“I haven’t been sulking.”

“Fine. You’ve been wallowing.”

Keeping my eyes closed, I sigh, “I’m just not in the mood.” I haven’t been in the mood for a lot lately.

“I know. That’s what I’m talking about.” Dane is a good guy. He grew up in Minnesota but was drafted by the Texas Ranchers right out of college. We met at a charity event while I was there representing Dallas’s professional football team, the Texas Rough Riders. We bonded over our lowkey personalities.

Though we’re both star athletes in our own right, we don’t like to flaunt it. And we haven’t succumbed to the extravagant lifestyle a lot of our teammates experience. For Dane, it's because he’s a small-town boy at heart with an aversion to being the center of attention. He plays hockey because he loves the sport, not because he wants fame. The center has somewhat of a temper and aggressive streak. I imagine he picked up the sport to use as an outlet for his inner demons. Honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t an enforcer. I imagine he’s too skilled on the ice to forgo the center position.

As for me, I might’ve been more inclined to dabble in the rich and famous lifestyle after I was drafted to the NFL, but it wasn’t long after I signed my contract that I learned my college girlfriend was pregnant. Turns out, raising twin infants during your rookie season isn’t conducive to living a carefree, selfish lifestyle.

Realizing Dane isn’t going to let me lounge by the pool in silence like I’d planned, I open my eyes and sit up in the lounger. “Okay. Fine. You win. What cheesy event do you want me to force on you?” I scan the pool and see a resort employee running a karaoke machine for the crowd around the swim-up bar. Of the two of us, I’m far more outgoing. Dane is a borderline recluse. Hence, I have to force these kinds of things on him.

I’m about to suggest we get in the chlorinated water and make our way toward the intoxicated group of tone-deaf adults to join in the fun when Dane says, “How about beach volleyball?”

I follow his gaze to the sandy beach, separated from our spot by the pool by a wide walkway flanked by palm trees. A lone volleyball net stands in the sand, and two women are hitting the ball back and forth. They both look fit, but it only takes a few seconds to identify the brunette is more athletic than her friend. The lean woman with the long, black ponytail almost faceplants when she stumbles on the sand, reaching for the ball.

“You want to play with them?” I can’t hide my surprise. Dane isn’t the type to approach women. He waits for them to come to him.

“I want you to have some fun,” he counters. “Of all the guys’ trips you’ve dragged me on over the years, I can’t remember a single time you didn’t flirt with at least one beautiful woman.”

I snort. “Are you concerned about my love life?”

“Yes.”

Six months ago, I’d tell him not to be. But since the custody drama with my ex began, I haven’t so much as bought a woman a drink at a bar, let alone flirt or sleep with one.

I press my lips together and continue to watch the women.

They’re both undeniably attractive, but there’s something about the one with the ponytail that catches my attention. I think it’s her smile. She looks so happy and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she’s terrible at volleyball. Her easygoing demeanor is endearing, and it’s the kind of demeanor I could use myself right now.

“Fine.” I swing my legs to the side and stand from the lounger, ignoring the appreciative glances from the group of women sitting on the chairs next to us. I tug the end of my swim trunks down in a pointless attempt to cover more of my muscular thighs. “Let’s go play.”

Dane and I gather our beach towels and room keys and make our way out of the pool area, slipping off our sandals before stepping onto the white sand. It’s only ten in the morning so the sand doesn’t burn our feet. After a few more hours in the sun, I’ll need to wear sliders to walk across the uneven surface.

We approach the volleyball net with Dane in front. He pulls back when the women notice our presence, letting me take the lead.

I snicker.

Chicken shit.

The brunette catches the ball coming her way and props it on her hip, looking in our direction with a questioning tilt of her head.

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