Keeping Score: A Sports Romance Read online

  Keeping Score

  A NOVEL BY

  Dee Lagasse

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Isa

  2. Isa

  3. Isa

  4. Jake

  5. Isa

  6. Jake

  7. Isa

  8. Jake

  9. Jake

  10. Jake

  11. Isa

  12. Isa

  13. Isa

  14. Jake

  15. Isa

  16. Isa

  17. Jake

  18. Isa

  19. Isa

  20. Isa

  21. Jake

  22. Jake

  23. Isa

  24. Isa

  25. Jake

  26. Jake

  27. Isa

  28. Jake

  29. Jake

  30. Isa

  31. Jake

  32. Isa

  33. Jake

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books By Dee Lagasse

  Copyright © 2020 Dee Lagasse

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters, places, brands, and events depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by Kat Savage of Savage Hart Book Services

  Edited by Christina Hart of Savage Hart Book Services

  Proofread by Amanda Cuff of Savage Hart Book Services

  Formatted by J.R. Rogue of Savage Hart Book Services

  ISBN: 9798591051914

  ASIN: B08HM9YG5K

  For Travis Soucy, Amanda Masse, and Mark Rossetti.

  There’s something about childhood best friends that can never be replaced.

  Thank you for being by my side then, now, and on all the days in between.

  Prologue

  Isa

  If someone told me at the beginning of my freshman year that being surrounded by shirtless football players wouldn’t faze me, I would have called them a liar.

  If they went on to tell me I’d be sitting comfortably on the shoulders of Jake Pierce—in a small black bikini, nonetheless—I would have laughed in their face. Hysterically.

  Still, somehow, I ended up on Jake’s shoulders during a game of chicken.

  The concept was simple: lock hands with your opponent (positioned on their teammate’s shoulders) and try to push them down into the water.

  I shouldn’t have lasted as long as I did. The guys we’d been going against were athletes. Most of them spent hours a day in the gym. I was fairly certain they could easily bench press me. But it seemed as if they were too scared to be rough with me.

  “Eight and ohhhhh!” Jake called out triumphantly as Tommy Hannigan fell into the water. All six feet of Fox Hollow’s star quarterback crashed down, creating enough of a splash that even I felt the impact. “Who wants next?”

  “I didn’t realize you were keeping score.” I laughed, looking down just in time to see a devilish grin spread across my best friend’s face. The same grin that made my heart beat faster and my stomach knot up.

  “Always, Bug. Always.”

  Before anyone else had the chance to dethrone us as the “chicken champions,” my father casually strolled over to the edge of the pool. The sight of him with a backward baseball hat and a black “The Grill Father” apron earned him a well-deserved eye roll.

  “Food is ready!” His voice carried across the backyard so the twenty or so teenagers there could all hear him. “There’s a pink platter. Do not eat that. That’s the rabbit food for my favorite daughter.”

  This resulted in another even more dramatic eye roll before I called him out on the fact that I was his only daughter.

  “Even more reason for you to be my favorite.” He grinned as he waved me and Jake out of the pool. “C’mon, you two.”

  I hadn’t noticed that Jake and I were the only ones left in the water.

  Everyone else was already lined up at the food tables across the lawn. As Jake made his way out of the pool, with me still atop his shoulders, my legs tightened their wrap. In the pool, if I fell, I was going into the water. But I was not about to eat dirt in front of every senior on the Fox Hollow football team.

  “Relax. I got you.” Jake’s hands clasped over my thighs as if to secure me.

  The guilt of whatever I felt for Jake came creeping back in with his touch. It wasn’t enough to mask the physical evidence of my body reacting to the warmth of his hands covering my cold, damp legs.

  “Cold, Bug?” Jake teased. Reaching up, he placed his hands on each side of my waist. Effortlessly, he simultaneously crouched down and lifted me off his shoulders.

  The soft green grass under my feet was comforting—and disappointing.

  I didn’t realize how close we were. When I turned, I found myself almost face-to-face with him. In a backyard full of football players, Jake was seemingly modest in height. Most of his teammates towered over him. With me at only five-foot-two though, all of them towered over me.

  I fought the urge to fix the disheveled mop on his head. In the midst of all the graduation craziness, he allowed the black hair—both on his face and atop his head—to grow out. It was the first time in our friendship he wasn’t sporting a clean faded haircut and a shaven face.

  “I can hear you silently judging me, you know.” Jake laughed as he dried his lower half off with a towel. “I have an appointment tomorrow to get it all cut off.”

  “Keep the facial hair.” I shrugged once he looked up at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh, you like the scruff?” he asked, running his hand against his jawline.

  The knot in my stomach, a byproduct of the nerves I experienced only around Jake, made its return.

  Distance.

  I needed distance.

  “Damnnnn. Will you two just fuck already?” Tommy laughed as he threw a punch into Jake’s abs. All eight of them. “You can’t use the excuse that she’s Coach’s daughter anymore, bro. Coach Coleman ain’t your coach no more, ‘Bama boooooy.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” I shot back. The excuse was enough to end the conversation. For now.

  Anyone with two seeing eyeballs could tell there was more than friendship between me and Jake. But if someone so much as hinted there could be more than a platonic friendship between me and Jake, I went into defense mode. It was mostly self-preservation at that point.

  I had accepted that I felt something for Jake sometime during our sophomore year. It was a mix of physical and emotional attraction I assumed would dwindle if not acted upon. (Spoiler alert: it didn’t.) I figured Jake just didn’t feel the same way about me.

  I wasn’t exactly his type. The girls Jake dated wore Abercrombie, had fake tans, and always had their nails done. My wardrobe consisted mostly of ripped jeans and band tees. My nails were always cut short and painted black—which I did myself, thank you very much.

  My makeup was almost never done. It seemed silly to put on layers of concealer and foundation only to sweat it off at the skate park.

  I just wasn’t the kind of girl Jake Pierce liked.

  I accepted that and I moved on. Mostly.

  “Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jake added.

  The warning in his tone wasn’t something I heard too often. His eyes narrowed as Tommy stepped back. With a slight shake of his head,
Tommy sprinted to the line of teenage boys waiting for food.

  The four long banquet tables I helped my brother set up earlier that day were now filled with trays of food, bowls of salads, chip bags, and sodas. Behind said tables were my parents, my brother, my abuela, and the Fox Hollow coaching staff—all scattered about, assisting as needed.

  For as long as I can remember, my parents have thrown a “Senior Bye-B.Q.” every July for members of the football team. It didn’t matter if they were a player that started every single game—like Jake had—or if they were the team photographer like me; if you had a role on the team, you were invited.

  Normally, I’d be on the other side of the table with my family too. My dad wouldn’t hear of it this year. I was allowed to help set up, but the moment the players from the team started to show up, he instructed me to “go have fun.”

  Football had been over since November. So, despite the fact that we all went to the same school, we hadn’t been together in one place since the post-season awards banquet. Plus, the atmosphere in my parents’ backyard was much more relaxed than the hotel ballroom had been.

  The banquet turned into something of a press conference when Jake and Tommy accepted awards and announced where they would be attending college. I already knew Jake had accepted a full scholarship to the University of Alabama. In fact, I was the one that straightened his crimson-colored tie before he walked up to the podium.

  Admittedly, it was much easier to focus that day, considering his muscles were hidden behind his shirt.

  “Nice tattoo.” As I put space between us, I tried desperately to change the subject.

  There always seemed to be an awkward lull of silence between us after anyone questioned our bond. However, I knew if we didn’t move on by the time we made our way to the food tables, someone in my family would call us out on acting weird.

  The week-old ink on Jake’s back wasn’t his only tattoo. The day he turned eighteen in April, he got a fox on his forearm.

  On my eighteenth birthday last week, he took me to get the Jack Skellington now permanently inked into my left shoulder blade. What I didn’t expect was for him to pop into the chair right after me and get a tattoo of Sally in the same spot. We’d joked before about getting matching best friend tattoos a few times, but I never thought he was serious.

  “I could say the same to you.” He chuckled. “Has Abuela forgiven you yet?”

  “As soon as she found out you got Sally, it was fine,” I said as we inched our way toward the first table of food. “Speaking of your biggest fan…”

  At the sight of Jake approaching the table, Abuela’s entire face lit up. After dropping the tongs she’d been using to serve her famous enchiladas, she began to make her way around the table. For a woman in her seventies, she sure could move quickly to get to us.

  I call it: The Jake Pierce Effect.

  “Hola, Jacob!” my abuela exclaimed with open arms.

  Without hesitation, Jake wrapped my grandmother in his arms. Beating her to the punch, he kissed her on the cheek before he let her go.

  “Oh hi, Abuela.” I waved both of my hands, signaling my presence. “I’m here too. You know, your only granddaughter.”

  “Si, of course, mi mariquita.” A grin spread across her face. Her nose scrunched as she planted a kiss on my cheek, undoubtedly leaving the mark of her trademark red lipstick. “Pero, Jacob is leaving us dentro un poco.”

  “You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily,” Jake assured her as he reached for a plate and plastic utensils. He handed them to me before taking his own and then moved down the table. “Where else am I going to get tamales?”

  “I’m sure there will be Mexican restaurants in Alabama, Jacob,” I teased, scooping my dad’s homemade macaroni salad onto my plate.

  I didn’t start calling Jake his full first name until after I heard my grandmother say it while doting on him. She was the only person that called him Jacob. Typically, as soon as she’d turn her back, Jake would flip me off. Since her eyes were still fixed on the two of us, he stuck his tongue out before turning back and then winked at Abuela.

  “But they won’t be as good as Abuela’s,” he said. He skipped right over all the traditional American barbecue food and went right to the trays of food my mom and abuela spent the last two days preparing. As he scooped a heaving pile of rice onto his plate, he offered my mom an ear-to-ear grin. “Or Mama Alma’s rice.”

  “There’s nothing as good as the real thing,” my dad agreed as he wrapped his arms around my mom’s waist.

  I didn’t bother to argue that.

  I learned at a young age that America’s version of Mexican food and authentic Mexican food could be vastly different…and the real thing was almost always better.

  Once our plates were full—or in Jake’s case, plates—we joined a group of guys sitting on the deck that overlooked the backyard. Without being asked, three of them stood up at once and offered me their spot at the table. I waved them all off, taking a seat on the warm wooden planks below.

  After we ate, we hopped into an ongoing game of lawn volleyball. How Jake could eat multiple plates of heavy food and jump around immediately afterward was baffling. Volleyball somehow turned into a big free-for-all football game. Jake and Tommy were made captains, and after three very intense rounds of rock, paper, scissors, Tommy got to select his first player.

  It was of no surprise to anyone that he chose me.

  “Such bullshit,” Jake muttered under his breath as I stood behind Tommy.

  The thought of him being upset that I wasn’t on his team made me happier than it should have. Tommy picked up on Jake’s annoyance and utilized it to our team’s advantage. It was no accident I was put in Jake’s path during more than one play. The longer the game went on, the more Jake seemed to relax.

  By the time he had the opportunity to stop me from scoring—by picking me up and running with me slung over his shoulder across the yard—he was as cool as a cucumber.

  “Personal foul!” I yelled, while everyone looked on and laughed. “Where’s the ref?!”

  He looked real smug as he placed me back on the ground in his team’s end zone.

  Until the sound of a whistle blowing caught our attention. My parents both walked across the lawn until they joined the group of onlookers. My dad looked at my mom and nodded.

  At that, she called, “Personal foul. Defense. Fifteen-yard penalty. Automatic first down.”

  “Booyah!” I raised my hands in triumph as I did something that was supposed to resemble a victory dance.

  “All right, all right.” Jake pushed me playfully. “You wanna play? Come on, Bug. Let’s play.”

  Something in Jake shifted as we played. His touch was less gentle. Not enough to hurt me, but he certainly wasn’t apologetic when his hand grazed across my ass as he ran past me. The way he hungrily looked down at my body when we stood across each other had my head spinning. So much so that I started to move before the snap of the ball.

  “False start!” my dad called from the mock sideline. “Offense. Five-yard penalty.”

  “What’s the matter, Isa?” Jake teased lowly. “Can’t focus?”

  “Someone can play for me!” I called out. “I need water.”

  As I walked away from the formation to the cooler full of bottled water, I could feel the intensity of Jake’s stare on my back. I didn’t rejoin the game.

  For the next couple of hours, we kept our distance from each other. But as the afternoon rolled into evening, the crowd dwindled down until Jake was the last player left. It wasn’t surprising he was the only one to stick around. However, it made keeping him at arm’s length a little harder.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading to Kelsie’s?” I asked, scooping rice into the Tupperware container my mother had handed me moments before.

  At this point, most of the team had moved on to Kelsie Madden’s house for a keg party. As much as I tried to hide my disgust when the name of Jake’s on-again, off-again girlfri
end left my lips, there was no way to hide the downward curl of my snarl.

  I didn’t hate many people and, in the grand scheme of things, Kelsie and Jake made sense. For our last two years of high school, Kelsie was the captain of the cheer squad. Jake was a record-breaking, starting wide receiver for the Fox Hollow Cubs. Where Jake was kindhearted and genuine, Kelsie was conniving and as fake as the platinum blonde hair on her head.

  I experienced that firsthand a few weeks ago when she started a rumor that I slept with every member of Sulking Skulls—the rock band my boyfriend Devon played bass guitar for. Everyone knew it was bullshit. Kelsie even admitted to Jake that the only reason she even started it was because she was mad he went to prom with me instead of her.

  Mind you, they never had plans to go together, and they were on one of their “breaks” anyway. Jake ended things for good with her shortly after when she tried to slither her way back in. Jake had enough respect for her to do it quietly. Kelsie wouldn’t have that, though.

  She showed up to our high school graduation the following day, hysterical, telling anyone who’d listen that Jake broke up with her “so he could have as much college pussy as he wanted.”

  “I’m supposed to make an appearance.” He sounded less than thrilled about the idea. Until his eyes lit up. “Wanna come?”

  The hope in his voice was almost enough to get me to say yes. Almost.

  “To watch you get drunk and make-out with half the cheer squad?” I scoffed quietly, since my parents were within earshot.