Playing the Game (3 page)

I blamed my mother for that horrid moniker.
She chose my outfits, my music, even the way I wore my hair. She
had me looking like an overgrown, brunette Shirley Temple.

I became obsessive over the National Anthem
voting and checked it hourly. I voted as many times as I could, for
other people, but it didn’t matter. I was a hometown girl, even
though the show was televised nationally, and the people of
Indianapolis wanted their Sweetheart singing for their Racers. It
further hurt my chances of losing that all the remaining
contestants were from places like Chicago and Cleveland. No other
Indianapolis natives had survived.

So I began to deal with the latest hand
dealt by fate. I watched more and more Racers game in preparation
for seeing Jess in the flesh. Maybe.

A new idea buoyed my spirits as I began to
observe others singing the National Anthem. They didn’t appear to
have any contact whatsoever with the players. Hopefully, I’d be
shuffled in and out so quickly, Jess wouldn’t even notice. That was
my dream anyway and I stuck to it like flypaper.

I allowed myself to get more excited about
the show. I even shook off Marissa and Richard’s nasty remarks the
last week before Memorial Day. Who cared? The other three judges
obviously loved my – gag – sweetheart image and passed me on to the
next week easily.

But I did worry to some degree what Richard
kept pounding into my head. He was right, I admitted. I wasn’t
getting into my music like I usually did. Maybe once the whole
Memorial Day crap was over I would be able to just let the music
flow over me again. I must be too tense.

The Friday before Memorial Day, my mother
received a call from Miguel with instructions for the game. I was
resigned to the fact that I would be doing it and blocked Jess
Rivers from my brain. It would totally suck if The American
Sweetheart forgot the words to the National Anthem.

***

Indianapolis Racers Stadium was decked out
for Memorial Day. Red, white, and blue banners hung everywhere and
soldiers dressed in camouflage roamed the concourse. My mother,
Miguel, and I followed the PR man for the Racers to a sort of
holding area near the field. My hands trembled as I ignored the
players – some close enough for me to touch – saunter out of the
dugout to warm up.

Jess was pitching today. I’d known that for
awhile. Like I said, I’d worked out the five man rotation and
figured it in my head the day Miguel told us of this dreaded
event.

From my own, personal training of the
singing of the National Anthem, I learned that the starting pitcher
usually warmed up in the bullpen which was located on the far end
of the stadium, near left field. Far enough away from the dugout
which was where I was to exit and enter the field. I figured I was
safe.

But nothing had prepared me for the throwing
of the first pitch. A local soldier had that honor, thankfully, but
who else would catch it but his favorite player?

As the announcement came,
the soldier walked out on the field and Jess sprinted from the
bullpen to take his place behind the plate. The ball was thrown and
caught and Jess trotted out to shake the man’s hand. When he walked
him to the dugout, he caught my glance. An irritating smirk crossed
his lips and in that second I knew that he knew I’d be here. Anger
burned my veins as I also suddenly knew the arrogant ass more than
likely
voted
for
me to be here.

As the PR man led me to the field, Jess
nodded at me. Lifting my chin to ignore him, I heard his soft
chuckle. We reached the microphone stand and I turned to face the
crowd, shocked to see Jess standing against the dugout rail,
baseball in his hands. I’d hoped he’d return to the bullpen or at
least sit in the dugout but no, of course he wouldn’t.

The players for both teams lined outside of
their dugouts to face the flag. The announcer asked patrons to
remove their hats and informed them who I was. A smattering of
applause filled me with enough confidence to ignore Jess and allow
music to fill my body. I belted each note perfectly and even waved
when I finished.

My mother was talking with Miguel, paying me
no attention, as I began my agonizing journey past Jess. Just as I
thought I might make it out unscathed, Jess grabbed my arm,
startling me, and crammed a baseball in my hand. He gave me a wink
and released me.

Sighing, I took my bag from my mother, not
looking back. We weren’t staying for the game.

“
What’s that?” she asked,
eyeing the ball in my hand.

“
Oh, one of the players
signed it for me,” I said as I shoved it into my bag. “Maybe I’ll
give it to Dad.”

She nodded, already forgetting about it. She
loathed sports.

When I finally reached the privacy of my own
room, I took the baseball out and found his scrawled autograph. And
there, below his signature, a telephone number with the words ‘call
me’ underneath. I groaned and fought the urge to sling the damn
thing through my bedroom window.

Chapter Three

“
So call him, sissy,” Gwen
said, insulting instead of endearing. “He obviously wants to see
you or else he wouldn’t have gone through the effort.”

My father had left for his office earlier
and my mother had followed soon after, claiming to need material
for a new outfit for me. Oh joy. I had taken that opportunity to
call Gwen with my latest whine.

“
I don’t know that I want
to ever speak to him again,” I declared petulantly.

“
Stop being a baby,” Gwen
chastised. “Call him and see what he wants.”

“
You were supposed to
remind me how broken-hearted I was,” I fumed. It wasn’t fair at
all. She was
my
sister, not his.

“
You were a teenager. Now
you’re a big girl.”

“
Goodbye, Gwen.” I waited
for her laughter. I wasn’t disappointed.

“
Call me
later.”

Ending the call, I snatched the baseball off
my nightstand. I turned it over and over in my hand until I stopped
on his signature. I dropped the phone to my bed and ran a finger
lightly over his scratchy writing. The J and the first R were huge
but the rest of the letters looked like chicken scratch. I wondered
how long it took him to perfect it.

But the numbers were perfectly legible as
were the instructions below them. Could I call him? Should I? I
closed my eyes and pictured him again. His hair was longer than it
had been in high school, curling slightly above his collar. His
eyes, still a smoldering gray.

Picking up my phone, I punched the numbers
before I could change my mind. It rang three times and I was
beginning to think I might be off the hook but alas, he finally
answered with a curt ‘hello.’

“
Jess?” The Jess I knew,
er…well…used to know, wasn’t quite so cranky.

“
Yeah. Who’s this?”
Someone needed a quick rubdown by a sexy sports trainer.

“
It’s me,
Aubrey.”

“
Well, well, well. I never
thought you’d actually call.” His grumpy tone quickly lifted only
to be replaced with amusement.

“
You told me to,” I
pointed out. I guess his cranky mood transferred to me.

“
Yeah but since when do
you listen to anyone but your mother?”

I growled. “Would you like me to hang up
now?”

“
Nah. I was hoping you’d
meet me for lunch today.”

Was he for real? Of course he was. Jess was
pretty much straight forward.

“
Maybe I don’t want to,” I
said. Not totally mature, I know. Shoot me.

He barked out a laugh. “You know you do,
that’s why you called. Come on, Aubrey Rose.”

“
Jess, you know I hate
that name. You’re not exactly endearing yourself to me.”

“
Sorry, sweetheart. I’m at
Champs. Meet me here in an hour. I’m buying.”

He hung up without waiting for an answer,
but he knew I would be there.

I rifled through my closet, searching for
the perfect casual outfit. After taking a quick shower, I dried my
hair, one eye constantly on my watch. Running to my room, I pulled
on a fairly new pair of jeans and my favorite band t-shirt before
shoving my feet into flip flops. I could have taken my time and
been late – he’d wait. But the thumping of my heart clued me in to
exactly how much I wanted to see him.

***

I found him resting his forearms on the bar,
leaning against it as he chatting with the pretty bartender. When
my heart fell, I nearly turned around and walked right out the door
but I’m stubborn if nothing else. I plastered a false smile on my
lips and sauntered to them. Wrapping my hands around his thick
bicep, I smiled brighter. If he was inviting me to lunch then I
damn sure was not going to allow some eyelash-batting hussy to tear
his attention away.

“
Hey, Jess!”

He peered down at me, a little surprised,
but his lips quickly curled into a tiny smirk. His gray eyes looked
straight down into my soul as he lifted a hand to place on mine.
“Hey, Aubrey.”

“
I knew you looked
familiar!” the bartender exclaimed. “I saw you on
American Star
!”

Stifling a groan, I gave her half a smile.
She pushed a cocktail napkin and a pen at me, begging for an
autograph. This was a first for me. Jess extricated his arm from my
grasp and crossed it with his other over his chest, watching
curiously. Sighing, I scribbled my name quickly, hoping she would
accidently use the napkin to sop up a spill.

“
I’ll talk to you later,
Tess,” Jess said, taking me by the arm. I snorted, couldn’t help
it. “What?”

“
Tess. And Jess.” My
giggles broke the barrier and tumbled out of my mouth. I knew it
was nerves because my pulse was still pounding and my heart was
trying desperately to keep up. But it sounded natural and Jess
didn’t comment. “You two should date. You could have a son and name
him Wes.”

He rolled his eyes as he tugged a little
harder on my arm, dragging me to a table. “No wonder you don’t
drink.”

“
Ha ha ha,” I said in a
snarky tone. I sank into a chair and watched as he folded his lean
frame into the one next to me. He yelled to Tess to bring us a
couple burgers and Cokes, eyes never leaving my face. My heart
overtook my pulse and I was certain he could see it pounding
underneath my shirt.

“
You look good, Aubrey,”
he said as casually as if he was telling me it was going to rain
tomorrow. He cocked his head, studying me thoroughly. “Still as hot
as you were in school, maybe a little more so.”

The blush flooded my cheeks before I could
even try to hide it. “You never called me hot in school,” I
mumbled, embarrassed. I didn’t know what else to say.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think I had to at
that time. Maybe I should have, huh?” He didn’t wait for my answer,
thank goodness, because he reached out and ran a long finger down
my cheek, rendering me speechless. “Nah, the other guys might have
heard me and taken another look at you. Then they would have seen
that I was right.”

“
Okay, Jess, enough. What
do want?” I’d intended my question to be sharp, cutting, but
instead it came out almost tearful.

He lifted a shoulder, lips in a straight
line. “I just thought it would be nice to get together for lunch.
We’re friends, right?”

“
Sure, Jess. Best buds,” I
scoffed, not hiding my scorn. “That’s why we’ve burned the
telephone and internet lines with all our
communication.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his
chair. “So we haven’t spoken for awhile; we’ve both been busy. Why
can’t we catch up now and keep in touch?”

I turned my face away from him as I expelled
a large gust of air. “Whatever.”

Tess shoved two red plastic baskets under
our noses and Jess gave her his sexy grin. “Thanks.”

Winking, she walked slowly away, putting an
extra wiggle in her hips. And Jess noticed. My hackles rose.

“
Hell-lo! You are here
dining with someone in case you haven’t noticed!”

His crinkled eye smile
tore at my heart and nearly chased away my jealous anger. “Sorry,
babe. Girls like her who
want
to be looked at are usually only good for that;
nothing else. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

I had no clue what to say to that so I took
a bite of my hamburger. Jess’s eyes sparkled with laughter but he
followed my lead and dove into his own food. We ate in polite
silence, each chancing furtive glances at the other. And it wasn’t
a comfortable silence in the least. My nerves were shot; totally
destroyed. I managed half my burger before dropping it back into
the basket. Jess looked at me from under his dark lashes.

“
Finished
already?”

I nodded, gulping my Coke. I pushed the
basket at him without thinking about it. It was just a natural move
– one I had done many times when we'd dated. A tiny smile flitted
across his lips and disappeared as he picked up the burger,
polishing it off in no time.

I took a deep breath before taking a deep
plunge. “So what does this mean, Jess?”

Wiping his mouth, he lifted a brow. “What
does what mean?”

“
This little lunch date,”
I said, reining in my frustration with all my might.

He shrugged as he leaned back. “It means
we’re eating together.” He narrowed his eyes as he rested his arms
on the table. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Aubrey,
you know why we ended things before. That’s still true. I’m all
over the country for the better part of a year and as soon as you
win this contest, you’ll be off recording CDs and touring.”