Playing the Game (6 page)

But he’d been in pain and
his hangover wasn’t going to help matters any, so maybe I should
stay and at least fix him breakfast
, I
thought.

A dish crashed to the floor followed by a
stream of curses that made up my mind for me. I crept toward the
front door, unlocked it, and ran to my car.

Chapter Five

Gwen’s lips formed an irritating smile as I
moaned about my whole adventure to her over coffee. Dane, her
boyfriend, leaned against the counter and tried to commiserate with
me. I adored Dane almost as much as I did Gwen and felt no
discomfort discussing my private life in front of him. All except
for the sex – or lack of – part. I'd get to that particular
incident soon enough.

“
Sounds like it wasn’t so
bad, kid,” Dane said. He was tall, standing at about six foot two,
with sandy brown hair and warm brown eyes. He was some kind of
banker and did pretty well for himself. And he was extremely kind.
It was easy to see why my sister loved him.

Gwen, on the other hand, looked a lot like
me. She was a few inches taller but our hair and eye color were
exact.

“
What aren’t you telling
me?” she asked with suspicion raging in her eyes.

Dane pushed away from the counter to ruffle
my hair. “And that’s my cue to leave.” He kissed Gwen’s cheek,
escaping to a spare bedroom he’d turned into his home office.

I explained what had happened last night;
how I froze and how Jess asked me to stay. I told her he’d been
drinking. I faltered a little when I described his sudden mood
swing this morning.

“
Aw, hon,” she said,
squeezing my shoulders. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to run you off. It
was probably a combination of the stiff shoulder and a raging
hangover.”

“
But he said he didn’t
want to date me,” I reminded her. “He said it wasn’t
fair.”

“
I think that’s a little
extreme but give him time. He’ll come around.” I wasn’t convinced
and she could tell. “Honey, I know you’re not…experienced…but
you
do
realize
that lots of people are very casual about sex nowadays. Doesn’t
make it right but it is what it is.”

“
I know. Even if I were
more experienced, I don’t know that I would have slept with Jess
last night. If I can’t have every part of him then I don’t know if
I want things to go … there.” I replayed my words in my head and
was surprised at how mature I sounded.

Gwen stared at me like I’d grown an extra
set of ears before her lips curved upward into a rueful smile. “I
like that attitude. If that’s how you honestly feel, then stick to
your guns.”

***

I provided the usual generic answers to my
mother that afternoon. She wasn’t happy that I didn’t give her
specific details of my ‘girls’ night’ but she didn’t press either.
I escaped to my room, promising to work on music later.

Digging out my phone, I turned it on as I
flopped on my bed. I frowned at the two missed calls and endless
text messages. I must have missed them while I'd been enduring my
mother’s version of the Spanish Inquisition.

There were all from Jess. My heart began its
usually flutter and I ignored it just as I intended to ignore Jess.
At least that was my intention.

Until the phone rang in my hand.

I was patient enough to wait until the
second ring before I answered.

“
Yes, Jess?” I said. “Can
I help you with something?”

“
Why’d you just leave?” he
snarled. “And then not answer your phone?”

“
I didn’t have my phone on
me,” I answered robotically. “And you didn’t sound like you wanted
company. I heard your potty mouth in the kitchen.”

“
Yeah, sorry,” he said,
not sounding in the least bit sincere. “I didn’t mean for you to
just leave, damn it.”

“
I had things to do,” I
told him. I could be as big a jerk as him with little effort. I
heard someone shout to him in the background. “Where are
you?”

“
The locker
room.”

“
Why so early? The game
doesn’t start for awhile and you don’t pitch until tomorrow,” I
reminded him unnecessarily.

He barked out a laugh. “And how do you know
all this? I thought you hated baseball.”

Damn, I thought. Damn, damn, damn. “Maybe
you told me in your drunken stupor last night.”

“
Nice try,
sweetheart
. I wasn’t
that drunk and I remember every single thing.” His voice was thick
with insinuation.

I was busted. I didn’t care. I’d make a fool
of myself more times than not in front of him lately, anyway. And I
hadn't done anything to be ashamed, either. Not really.

“
Well forget my phone
number,” I lashed out in an unbecoming, childish tone.

“
Nah,” he said with a
snicker. “Not a chance. You amuse me.”

“
Gee, glad I can be of
help,” I muttered.

His laughter was full and rich and too sexy
for his own good. Or mine. Goose pimples broke out on my arms and I
could almost feel his breath on my neck. And I thought my mother
had power over me.

“
Do you want to come to
the game tonight?” I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to ask.
“I can still get you a ticket. Bring Gwen.”

I had to talk fast and hang up quickly.
“Can’t, Jess, sorry. I do have to work on my music.”

“
Whatever, Aubrey. Come
tomorrow then. You can watch me pitch. I’ll leave you a couple of
tickets at the box office.”

And
he
hung up before I could. I
squeezed my phone so tight that I thought I would crush it. I hoped
I would crush it. If I didn’t crush it, I’d be tempted to throw it
through the window. My blood flowed hot and quick through my veins
and caused my temples to pulse. I dropped the phone and paced my
room, trying to calm my anger.

After several laps, my blood began to cool.
I grabbed the sheet music from the foot of my bed and stood in
front of my mirror. I began my scales, working on them longer than
necessary, and then jumped into the next selection.

Celine Dion. Yuck. Heat returned to my blood
as I clenched the music in my fist. I flung open the door and
stomped down the stairs. “Mother!”

My mom poked her head through the kitchen
door. “What’s the matter?” Her brow furrowed in concern as she
wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Are you ill?”

I brushed past her and
tossed the music on the kitchen table. It scattered everywhere, a
few sheets drifting to the floor. “You know I hate Celine Dion. You
know I have a hard time with this pitch. It’s uncomfortable. I
am
not
Celine or
Mariah or Whitney.”

She clicked her tongue at me. “Now, Aubrey
Rose, you know this is what the judges are looking for.”

“
No it’s not,” I shot
back, hitting my stride. “They want talent and I struggle with this
stuff. Why can’t I do something more me? Like Avril or Alanis or
Sheryl Crow?”

“
But they don’t have sweet
voices like the others.” She smiled warmly at me, approaching me
with open arms. I pushed them away.

“
I don’t have that sweet
voice, either. I don’t want to do Celine.” I folded my arms across
my chest, grinding my teeth.

Her lips twisted into a horrified frown.
“Aubrey. Why can’t you just do Celine this one time?” Her pleading
eyes highlighted the crow’s feet in the corners. She wasn’t getting
any younger, though she was hardly old. I could feel the guilt
coming and I had to act fast. Once the guilt hit me, the argument
would be over and I’d fold like the proverbial house of cards.

“
Fine, this time. But I’m
choosing my own stuff from now on.” She opened her mouth to protest
but I beat her to the punch. “Richard and Marissa are close to
booting me because I’m not putting enough personality into my
performance. I can’t do that when I’m singing music I’m not
comfortable with, you know.”

She shut her mouth as the wheels began
turning in her mind. “Fine, Aubrey Rose,” she finally agreed. “I
don’t know where this behavior came from; probably from your
sister. Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time with her.”

“
I’m not even going to
dignify that with an answer,” I fumed. Turning, I stalked out of
the room before I could upset her more. I slammed my bedroom door
and flopped on the bed. I
hated
being that way with my mother but I was happy to
finally win a battle.

Although Gwen and Jess constantly harassed
me about my mother’s influence on me, I couldn’t just leave. Not
only was there the issue of not having a job or a place to live,
there were other things that drove me that neither would
understand, ever. Things I knew that I seriously doubted Gwen even
knew.

I owed it to my mother.

I couldn’t let her down.

***

I worked on my music all night Saturday,
getting it down to a pitch I could handle. My throat tickled,
signaling me to stop, but I continued anyway. It was a useful way
to keep Jess and my mother off my mind.

My mother knocked on my door near eleven,
ordering me to get some rest. Her eyes avoided mine, causing guilt
to stab at my heart. I told her I would and watched silently as she
shut the door. I washed in my bathroom and climbed into bed,
exhausted enough to fall to sleep with little effort.

My throat was still a little rough in the
morning but I kept it to myself. I ate my breakfast in silence and
escaped as soon as possible. I prepared a salt water mixture with
the salt shaker I’d lifted from the kitchen and gargled for fifteen
minutes. It helped enough and I decided to give my throat a
break.

I considered the long Sunday before me and
vaguely remembered the tickets Jess had promised. I wouldn’t go. If
I could stand up to my mother, I could stand up to Jess.

I flipped on my TV before dashing into my
bathroom to fill my tub while the National Anthem filled my room. I
climbed in before the first pitch crossed the mound and closed my
eyes. I’d left my bathroom door open, not quite accidentally, and
could make out the announcers’ voices as they described what was
happening on the field. Jess was off to a shaky start, apparently,
but managed to get out of a jam without allowing a run.

Good for him, I snorted. I sank further into
the bubbles as my muscles untangled in the warm water.

When the water turned tepid, I reluctantly
climbed out, toweling off while Jess took the mound for the fifth
inning. After I dressed, I sat at the end of my bed, taking in his
lean, sinewy form. The Racers were losing by three runs and I
frowned as Jess fired off a pitch. His command was not up to par
and I wondered if he was playing off the sore shoulder. Maybe it
was something he should be a little more concerned with. I was.

After Jess loaded the bases, the portly Lou
Harding marched to the mound. He held out his hand and Jess slammed
the ball in Lou’s palm. He kicked the dirt angrily as he stormed to
the dugout. The camera followed him and his little temper tantrum
all the way to the clubhouse. He slung his mitt against the wall
and kicked a batting helmet out of his way. No one stopped him or
offered a word of comfort but I couldn’t blame them. I was all too
familiar with Jess’s dark moods.

But I felt his hurt in my own heart. Regret
knocked me off my feet as I clicked off the TV, no longer concerned
with the outcome. I should have been at the game. Maybe I would
have been able to get to him and maybe not. But perhaps it would
have lifted his spirits a little to see me there.

I ached to call him but he was so proud,
he’d either laugh it off or cuss me for being so stupid. Another
idea sprang to mind. I hurriedly turned on the television as I
combed my hair, waiting anxiously for the game to end.

I’d go to his house and confront him. What
I’d say, I didn’t really know. But I had at least an hour to figure
it out.

***

I told my mother I was going shopping and
would be back later. I had accumulated a decent sized bank account
from previous gigs and shows. I definitely wasn’t rich – not in the
least- but I could afford a new outfit or two. Thanks to Dane, I
had invested the little bit of money I’d earned and had nearly
doubled it. He was the one who had helped me get a loan for my
aging car and had set up my payments so that they were just taken
from my savings account each month. I just had to make sure I was
careful with my spending.

That’s no
problem
, I thought. I didn’t usually go on
shopping binges. My mother enjoyed making outfits for me to wear to
auditions and such. She had an eye for fashion and I never looked
or felt uncomfortable.

I parked in front of Jess’s house, relieved
to see his H3 parked in the driveway. My knees wobbled as I walked
up the path to his door. He opened it before I could knock, smirk
on his lips but anger glimmering in his eyes.

“
Hi,” I said
softly.

His lean frame took up most of the doorway -
arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You weren’t at the game.”

I lifted a helpless shoulder. “Sorry.” I bit
my lip. “I watched some of it, though. Are you…um…okay?”

Groaning, he dropped his arms, pushing the
screen door open for me. I grabbed it as he turned his back and
headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t start the pity party, Aubrey; I
don’t need it.”

“
All I did was ask if you
were okay. I could never feel sorry for an arrogant
bastard.”

Stopping, he spun to face me. His eyes
narrowed before his mouth broke into a wide grin. He threw his head
back and laughed. I relaxed as my cheeks tightened with a
smile.