Page 42 of Calm Before the Score

“Tell me whose jersey you’ll wear?” I ask with a more serious tone than I intended.

“Locke’s,” she doubles down, pursing those sassy lips.

Knotting my hands behind her back, I throw her on top of me. She’s straddling me in bed with my practice shirt on. It’s so big that I can barely see her body. Her hair is in a messy bun with her short shorts riding dangerously high. She’s laughing so hard she can barely catch air.

I begin rubbing circles around the sensitive part of her waist as my hands make their way under her shirt and up her bare back. Her laughing stops when my touch causes her head to tilt back. I move my wandering hands from her back up to her neck. She’s frozen and completely tuned in to my movements. I move her head forward toward my lips.

Tilting her ear to my mouth, I whisper, “Don’t play with me, Violet. Who’s the only name you’ll wear on your back?” She takesa big gulp and locks eyes with me, lips parted and ready for me to devour them.

“Answer me,” I say with authority.

“Yours,” she moans softly.

“That’s my girl.”

I kiss her with desperation. Her hands fly to my chest and touch every indent of my muscles. Her thumbs loop in the band of my favorite gray sweatpants.

“You drive me crazy. You know that, right?”

“Mhmmmm.” She's the sexiest woman I have ever seen.

“I wish this counted as my morning workout,” I smirk under her pouty lips.

“Please,” she says. I can’t deny her anything, ever.

“Trust me. I would much rather stay here with you than head to the field, but Coach will kill me if I’m late.”

She moans, “I know. I can’t wait to see you play later.”

If this is how I woke up every game day morning, I'd be a very happy man.

28

Violet

Ryan left a half hour ago. I was so worn out from our morning escapades that I fell back asleep for a few minutes when he left. My alarm buzzes, telling me it’s time to get ready for my first day of work. I can’t deny how excited I am to work at a local indie bookstore. I’m still nervous, though. Self-doubt has always been something I’ve struggled with. My mind runs through a list of things that could go wrong today.

Will I know how to work the cash register? Will I have enough knowledge about the authors that the store sells?

The more I question myself, the more I fall into a mental spiral. I pull out the worn piece of paper my therapist gave me. Grounding techniques don’t always help, but I’m willing to try. I mentally flip through which technique will work best for me today. I land on counting backward from one hundred. After a few minutes, I’m much calmer than I was before.

I hop out of bed and pick out an outfit for the day, choosing a modest pink sundress with yellow flowers and sandals. It’s Florida, after all. I apply light makeup: foundation, lip gloss, and mascara, and pop a few curls in my hair. I take one last look inthe mirror to double-check my look and say my affirmations. On my way out of the bedroom, I stop in the kitchen to grab a snack, noticing a ripped piece of paper on the table that wasn’t there last night.

Stop doubting yourself. You’re the hottest person in the room. Love, Ryan.

I must have the goofiest smile plastered across my face. He knows exactly what to say to bring me out of my darkest self-doubt thoughts. I stick the small piece of paper in my purse and jet out.

Hartley left the car this morning and caught a ride to the field.Coastal Booksisn’t far from my apartment, but I leave extra early to allow for traffic and nerves. I connect my phone to the car and decide onMy Tears Ricochetby Taylor Swift. Folklore always settles my nerves because sad songs are my thing. Belting out the lyrics takes my mind off of all my extra worries clouding my thoughts.

Before long, I spot my new job location and park out front. I take a deep breath, check my makeup in the small car mirror, and walk in. Fake it till you make it, T. Swift says. This is the cutest bookstore I’ve ever seen. I fell in love with the atmosphere when I came to my interview, but now I can really appreciate it. This will be my home away from home.

“Hey, girl!” A woman in her late twenties with jet-black hair, waves to me from the register. I immediately recognized her from my interview. She’s Mason’s sister, Paisley. I wasn’t thrilled when Ryan told me this information, but I would be stupid to turn down my dream job for my pride, so I caved.

“Hi! Do you remember me?” I ask awkwardly.

“Of course! You’re my new employee of the month. AKA my only employee,” she says with joyous laughter that is contagious.

“It’s just you and me?"This is perfect.

---