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eleven

. . .

Tony

“This is dumb,” I tell Brody, who grins at me.

“You’re dumb,” he taunts.

Flipping him off, I focus my attention on the field again. Ostensibly, we’re here to see Cari. In reality—and the reason Brody tagged along with me—we’re here to see Vivienne.

Viv.

I can’t call her that. It’s an invitation to intimacy that I haven’t earned. In my head, she’s always going to be Vivienne to me.

On the pitch in front of us, the Boston Revolution are in the middle of a scrimmage, half the team in blood-red jerseys, the rest kitted out in royal blue. Vivienne is the hooker, which means she’s responsible for getting the ball backward to her team in a scrum. Cari is the tighthead prop, who helps support her while she’s fighting for the ball.

I’ll be honest; my sister has played rugby for six years, and no matter how many times she’s patiently explained it, I still don’t really get the rules of the game. While it’s fun to watch, and it’s clear they enjoy playing it, I’m not all that interested in contact sports.

In college, despite having a nationally ranked football team, I only went to two games in all four years. Once, my freshman year, was to see what the fuss was about. The second time, they recognized our gymnastics team in front of sixty thousand people for winning the conference championship the year before.

Our meets were lucky if we had six hundred spectators.

My social circle in college revolved around gymnastics. If I had a social circle nowadays, it still would. But where men’s careers typically take off after college, women’s careers tend to die down. The disciplines require different levels of strength and flexibility between the sexes. While there are still women competing until their mid- to late-twenties now, there aren’t many. Most women training at the national team training center are young , like, still in high school, young. I can’t hang out with them outside of practice without feeling like a creeper.

Brody and I are the oldest guys on the national team. Everyone else is younger. My friends have all moved on. The guys I went to college with gave up gymnastics and found new callings in life. A few of them became bodybuilders or powerlifters and do competitions. Some are “influencers” promoting themselves on social media. And then the rest have settled into their lives, finding jobs and careers and life trajectories.

I’m stuck in limbo. As much as I want to keep doing gymnastics, my body doesn’t. I want to move on to the next stage of my life, I want to go to vet school, but when I think about four more years of school, plus all the debt that will come with it…

I shiver, and Brody raises his eyebrows at me.

“You good, man?” There’s actual concern in his voice.

“‘M fine,” I mutter, zipping up my leather jacket like the brisk wind is the culprit.

We sit in quiet silence for a few minutes, the grunts and noise on the pitch our soundtrack.

“So…” Brody says.

“No.”

“Come on. You’re not even going to try?”

When he suggested coming to watch the practice, to see Vivienne, I balked. I don’t want to do this. I especially don’t want to do this in front of a crowd.

But when he threatened to set me up on as many blind dates as it takes to find someone I can jibe with… I asked Cari for two guest passes.

The coach’s whistle blows, and the group on the pitch dissembles, grabbing water and electrolytes.

My sister bounds up to us, relaxed and perky despite sweating and working on the field for the last hour and a half.

“You came!” Cari gives me a brilliant smile. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up. This is your first time at practice since I signed with the team.”

My stomach churns. I haven’t been supporting my little sister, not in the way I should be. She thinks I’m here for her when I’m really trying to score some points with her teammate.

“You’re looking good out there,” I deflect.

“It’s all Viv. She’s amazing,” she says.

My smile falls. What am I doing? Vivienne is my sister’s captain . They work together every single day. No way can I ask her out, not when it’ll make Cari’s life infinitely more complicated when this all goes to shit.

A group of women start in our direction, Vivienne hanging in the back.

“You’re the motorcycle guy,” says a tall, wide woman with cornrow braids tied up in a ponytail. I recognize her from the day the rugby players came to the shelter. “I’m Kiana. This is Andi and Grace,” she says, pointing to the other two women. “And you know Viv already.”

Vivienne’s face, red from exertion, turns nearly purple. “Ki, shut it.”

She’s sweaty, her hair slick with it and her uniform drenched, but she’s never looked more gorgeous to me. Sure, I liked looking at her dressed in casual clothes the other night, her hair and makeup done. Now, natural and in her element? I’ve never been more attracted to her in my life.

And that’s the problem. She makes me stupid. Usually with women, I’m calm, cool, collected. Maybe a little detached. I don’t invest emotionally.

But with her… I want to. I don’t know what it is about Vivienne that makes me want to break all my rules. It’s more than our night together and my winning the next day. It’s more than this attraction that thrums in my veins and calls her to me. It’s more .

“What are you up to later?” Brody asks Cari.

She laughs, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “Why? You dump your girlfriend yet?”

His face goes red.

The women are all interested in him, watching with glee. Vivienne is standing a little off to the side, her arms across her chest. As I approach, her stance tenses.

“What are you doing here?” she demands. For once, she’s not glaring at me.

“We came to see my sister,” I answer lightly.

She rolls her eyes. “Really? The season doesn’t start for four more months.”

I crack my neck. Here goes.

“Okay. He is here to see her. I’m here for you. ”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you.” I try to keep my tone light and breezy, but from the way she frowns and her forehead furrows, I don’t think I’m successful.

“Why?” she asks again.

“I wanted to.” My stomach swirls with anxiety and my palms sweat. She isn’t making this easy on me. “What are you up to later?”

Vivienne cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you up to later?” Do I need to spell it out for her? “Would you like to grab coffee?”

“That’s not a good idea,” she says, talking a slow stutter-step back.

“Just coffee. Don’t read into it.”

She shakes her head. “Yeah. Still not a good idea.”

“Because…” I cock an eyebrow.

“Because we shouldn’t.”

“Is a reason that you don’t want to?”

She chews her lip. “No?”

“Then I don’t see a reason two single, consenting adults can’t have coffee together.”

Glaring daggers at me, she says, “you know it’s more than that.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

But Vivienne shakes her head. “I—I can’t.”

My stomach drops. “Okay, then.”

I try to pretend like I’m not disappointed. Now that I’ve finally psyched myself into asking, I have to admit I was looking forward to spending more time with her.

Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

“See you around.” Heading over to where Brody and Cari are still flirting, her teammates having walked away, I give him a subtle shake of my head, and he frowns.

“We’re going to head out,” he announces, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You have time to come with us?”

Cari shakes her head. “We’ve got weights this afternoon. Another time, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I echo dumbly.

My sister turns her attention to me, and I shrink under her heavy stare. She’s always had a way of knowing exactly what’s wrong. I can’t tell her about this though. Not about Vivienne.

A beat passes before Cari sighs and shakes her head again.

“I’ll catch you at home,” she finally says. “Don’t do anything dumb.”

Does she know me? Dumb is practically my middle name.