Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) (9 page)

K
onstantin
: She can't, you're the heir. You will be queen.

A
nastasia
: Then I'll be like her.

K
onstantin
: Never, sister. Never you.

I
smile
.

A
nastasia
: Video chat later. I have class now.

K
onstantin
: Waiting for it, sister mine.

J
ason

I
'm still sitting there
when the rest of the players start piling in, exhausted from rigorous practice. The mood is dour. The last game was a win, but it was a close-fought win and we had luck on our side, and a trick. If I hadn't pulled that off, we'd have a losing record for the season.

I could not care less. Ana. Ana, Ana, Ana, Ana, Anastasia.

I want to scream at myself to stop it, but it won't work. With every passing moment it becomes clearer. I raise my head and I look, like Akele told me to. I see a future where I grind out my college football career and quit the sport, no matter how many hookers the scouts pitch through my windows, as Coach likes to say. I take my newly minted degree and I suffer through coaching high school football until I can get tenure, and I live a quiet life. Maybe I get a dog.

That was my dream. Now it sounds like hell.

The other path, I don't know where it goes. I can't see past the first few steps, and I don't have to. Anastasia is standing there, and if she walks it with me, it doesn't matter where the journey takes me, the destination won't matter anymore.

Akele and Aheahe are the last two in the locker room. They sit down on either side of me, and the bench creaks dangerously, bowing in the middle from their weight. I start to rise, and Akele's meaty fist lands on my shoulder like a bag of concrete and pushes me back down.

"So, you been thinkin', man."

"I don't know what to do."

Aheahe nods. Akele says, "I can only show you the door, cousin. It's you that's got to walk through it."

A
Matrix
reference? Really?

"All right, Morpheus. If you don't stop with that, I'm going to walk through you."

Akele laughs. "I'd like to see you try."

So would I. My head lifts up. Somewhere, angels raise trumpets to their lips and blow. The sky clears, the storm clouds roll back, and a light blazes down from on high to show me the way.

I might not make it down that shining path, but I'm sure as hell going to try.

I throw back my arms and slap the Thunder Brothers on the shoulders. The bench creaks under our weight.

"Boys. I need your help."

"What with?" Aheahe asks.

Akele smiles his serene smile, full of wisdom. He already knows.

"We're going to rescue a princess."

Akele stands, then kneels. He glares at Aheahe until he does the same.

"You have my sword," Akele pledges. "My quarterback. My captain. My king."

"We can't do this alone. We have to call in all our favors. Let's get back to the house. We've got plans to make."

Aheahe rises. "Great! I want a calzone first."

A
nastasia

On my way out of my last class of the day, my phone buzzes.

Jason: Ana. Call me.

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Please.

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Please!

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Pretty please with fish on top?

I snort. It takes effort to type
no
.

Jason: If you love me you'll come study with me.

Anastasia: I don't love you.

Jason: You lie.

Anastasia: I barely know you.

Jason: I'm a knight. You're a princess. We fell in love at first sight. It happens.

Anastasia: There is no such thing. It is childish.

Jason: I think it's the most mature thing in the world.

Anastasia: I can't be with you.

Jason: Can't be or don't want to?

I chew my lip and look at the phone.

Anastasia: Can't be. Let it be.

I start to put the phone away and it buzzes in my hand. Squeezing it, I shove it into my pocket and make it three steps before I pull it out again.

Jason: I'm going to save you.

The words sit there on the screen, burning at me. Cocking my head to the side, I drift to the wall and lean against it, trying to understand what he means. Save me?

"Princess?" Thorlief says. "Is someone bothering you?"

"No," I yelp.

I shove the phone in my pocket and head for the stairwell. Descending slowly, I mull over my options for the evening. Eat and study; study, eat, then study; study, then eat. Perhaps watch a movie.

I want to jog back to the house, but I end up walking. Slowly. I take a circuitous route that sends me walking down Main Street.

The broad avenue is lined by shops, cafés, bars, and restaurants. The Deerhead is at the far end, the public library and the McDonalds at the other. I walk that way, planning to cut across the street and walk the back way to my house.

I pass the Days of Knights, the game store. Stopping at the big picture window, I look down at the miniature figures on display, tiny knights and monsters arrayed for fantasy battles. Beyond them I see a young man, tall and skinny, with a petite girl in an oversized sweater, talking animatedly to each other about a book entitled
The Temple of Elemental Evil
.

Across the street at the cafe, the cast-iron tables are all peopled by small groups and couples. One such are sharing a single tall coffee, passing it from one to the other and sipping as they talk. Their fingers touch when one takes the cup from the other, and they smile and touch their feet under the table.

I hurry along before anyone notices I was staring, choking the strap of my messenger bag. All around me, pairs of students walk up and down the street, holding hands or embracing each other.

A young man and woman ride up the street on a tandem bicycle, one riding behind the other.

Oh please, is that really necessary?

More couples swarm around me and my temples begin to throb as I wait for the walk signal to cross the street. Thorlief and Bjorn walk tightly behind me as I cross, eyeing the drivers as if they expect one of them to try to run me down.

I happen to glance into the car closest to the far side of the street as I pass. The couple inside are kissing while they wait for the light to change.

My pace picks up. I turn up the street to my house, and there I find a red ribbon on the ground. I stop with it between my feet and blink. At first I thought someone dropped it or discarded it, but it's taped down, and it's running up the sidewalk.

I follow it. I'm going that way anyway.

Cautiously, I follow the red path down the sidewalk, stopping again when it takes a sharp right turn. It is taped flush to the steps leading up to my front door. It leads up the door to an enormous pink cardboard heart.

"Princess, wait here," Thorlief says, nodding to Bjorn.

Thorlief goes first, carefully walking up to the door. He sniffs the heart, literally sniffs it, before lifting it from the door, pulling it free from the tape.

Crouching, he removes the lid.

He looks at me, at the box, then at me, and then closes the lid.

Do I see a hint of a smile on his lips?

"What is it?"

"Candy."

"What?"

"Chocolates."

"It's candy."

"Yes," he says.

"Give it here."

I walk up and hold out my hand.

"Princess, we don't know where—"

I yank it from his hands and snatch off the lid. There, I find a note resting on top of the candy pieces.

"'Sweets for my sweet,'" I read. "'from Jason.'"

I glare at Thorlief.

"It could be poison."

I pluck out a cherry cordial and hand it to him. He sighs and pops it in his mouth, chews it, and swallows it.

Nothing happens. I yank the ribbon off the box and take it in the house with me, then up to my study.

When I set it on my desk, I notice something… odd. There appears to be a picture under the candy.

My eyebrow twitches. I lift up a chocolate truffle and find an eye. My eye. I eat the truffle, then start picking the rest of the candies out of the box, lining them up neatly in the lid.

Most of them. I'm hungry.

When I'm done I find a set of pictures printed on the bottom of the box. One of Jason and one of myself. The legend reads, in swooping lettering,
You're Already In My Heart
.

I scowl at the box and throw it away. I'll have Mavra stick the candies in a baggie. No, I'll do it myself.

The cook looks up when I step into her domain.

"Princess," she says with a curtsy. "Tonight's entrée will be meatballs and cream sauce with baked potato and rice. Can I bring you anything else?"

"Thank you, no. Milk to drink. I need a plastic baggie."

She hands me one, and I thank her and head upstairs.

As I tuck the candies in their new home and lay a paperweight on my economics textbook to hold it open, I hear music, faintly, from outside. I dismiss it as a passing car.

It's not moving.

Sighing, I get up and head for the window. It opens out over the street. I lift the sash and poke my head out to see what's going on. Odd things happen on the street all the time, sometimes amusing, usually not.

When I look down, I see Jason holding up a huge stereo music player over his head. He must have it turned all the way up. As I lean out the window, the sound is almost painful. He stands with a grim look of determination on his face, meeting my gaze when I look down.

"Turn that off," I yell.

He shakes his head. "Listen."

I stick my tongue out at him and jerk back inside.

I also hit my head on the window sash.

"Ow!"

My fingers grip the window. I stop before I pull it down. The song is catchy, and I catch myself listening a bit. I finally close the window and step away, but, curious, I sit at the computer and type the lyrics I heard into the Google.

The name of the song is "I'm a Believer."

I roll my eyes, but inwardly I feel a little tickle. The lyrics have a certain optimism about them.

It's almost cute.

My phone buzzes.

Jason: You're my fairy tale.

Anastasia: Go away, Jason.

Jason: Eat dinner with me.

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Let's hang out.

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Marry me.

Anastasia: No.

Jason: One day you'll say yes.

Anastasia: I'm sending my bodyguards out.

Jason: Okay, okay, I'm leaving.

Anastasia: Good.

Jason: I'll be back.

I roll my eyes and put the phone in a drawer so I can study. I actually enjoy these courses. Economics is, as the Americans say, my jam. I pour over the book, and I can actually read it, since I know most of this already. What matters most is knowing what the professor expects me to know on the test, and making sure I am properly brushed up.

After easily breezing through my math, science, and economics work, I sigh and find myself staring at my battered copy of
The Great Gatsby
. As soon as I open it to the page I marked—no, the page Jason marked—I realize I am going to be hopelessly lost again. I try to read the first paragraph, and once more, my eyes slide down the page, like trying to write on a block of ice.

I sigh, hard, and prop my chin on my hand. No, I will not stop. I take my pencil and start making notes on the page, trying to learn.

The phone buzzes in the drawer. I decide I will ignore it.

Then I take it out and read his message.

Jason: Are you trying to read Gatsby yet?

Anastasia: No.

Jason: Liar.

Anastasia: How did you know?

Jason: You just told me.

The phone rings. It's his number, of course. I silence it and set it on the desk. A minute later it begins to ring again. I snatch it up and hit the Receive button, annoyed.

"What?"

"Hi, honey. Listen."

Without preamble, he begins reading the book. I move to hang up.

Then I press the phone to my ear. I listen to his voice, following him along with the pencil and mouthing the words myself.

It is almost a beautiful book. Certainly less dull than the sagas I was forced to read when I was younger. Taking the book in one hand and the phone in the other, I move across the hall to sit in the side chair next to my bed, with the book on my lap and Jason in my ear.

"Following so far?"

"Yes."

He stops after a few pages, and asks me questions, like he did last night.

I tense every time he breaks his narration, expecting some lewd comment or proposition, but it never comes.

My yawn interrupts him.

"You're cute when you yawn."

I roll my eyes, then realize he can't see me. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"You just did. Moving on."

He begins to read again. Mavra brings my dinner and gives me a quizzical look. After I eat, I set the plate aside. I have a glass of milk yet to be drunk, so I dart back across the hall and grab the candy, and pop the pieces in my mouth, and wash them down with the milk while Jason reads to me. Something about his voice warms me.

"Let me ask you a question," he says, drawing in a breath.

"No."

"Are you lying down or sitting up?"

At the moment, I happen to be "Lying on my bed."

"Oh my. What are you wearing?"

"A hooded sweatshirt and jeans."

"Mmm. Ask me what I'm wearing."

"No."

"Come on, ask."

"I'm hanging up."

"Ask."

"Fine. What are you wearing?"

"Socks."

"Socks? That's it." I giggle.

"Yes."

The image of Jason wearing nothing but socks floods my mind. Damn him.

Before I can snap at him, he begins to read again.

He reads to me until my phone beeps. The battery is dying. It's full dark outside, and the clock has just ticked over nine forty-five.

"You still need help with your history homework. You should meet me in the library tomorrow."

"No I shouldn't."

"You're so cruel, Anastasia. I just want to look on your gorgeous face once more. My heart lifts at the sight of you."

"It's not your heart that's lifting."

"Why do you always have to make it weird? God, there you go with the innuendos."

"I'm hanging up."

I cut him off with the button, stick the cord in my phone, and get up to change into my sleeping clothes.

The phone buzzes. Exasperated, I yank it from the nightstand.

Jason: Are you in your jammy jams?

Anastasia: GO TO SLEEP, JASON.

Jason: I can't, you're not here.

Anastasia: Good night.

I type it angrily, not that he can tell, and put the phone in the drawer. Except I can't, because of the cord. I turn the buzzer off instead, so it won't bother me until morning, and turn on my alarm clock. My anger turns into laughter as I imagine him hunched over his phone, grinning at me. Suddenly I'm not angry at all, just warm.

Rest, I must rest.

Sleep drags me down hard, and I am out cold in minutes. When I wake up in the morning, the light warming my face, I find myself on my back, clutching Jason's hoodie to my chest. I lie there for a few moments, sniffing the fabric and feeling its warmth before I gently lay it on the bed and get up to face my day.

My phone rings. I pull it out, expecting Mother to be calling.

It's Dee.

Dee never calls me.

When I answer she says, "Princess, get outside. You need to see this. Just go out in your backyard."

Bleary-eyed, I get up, pull on last night's jeans, and stumble onto the porch, barefoot. I yawn, loudly. "What am I looking for?"

"Up. Look up. The airplane."

Airplane?

I hear it before I see it. It's buzzing low over town, not far above the rooftops. An old-type biplane, bright red. Something trails behind it.

A banner.

I squint and read it as it passes.

It reads, in big bold letters,
GO OUT WITH ME, ANASTASIA
.

I'm not the only person watching. All of the other student renters on the street are on their back porches, either talking or texting on their phones.

A groan escapes my lips.

"He's crazy," Dee tells me over the phone. "I think he means it, Princess."

The plane makes another four laps before flying off. Presumably Jason couldn't afford any more.

As I walk to class, people pay even more attention to me than usual. Thorlief edges closer as they snap pictures of me, or text at my appearance. Ignoring them, I tromp defiantly to my first class.

Jason will be there, I realize. I sigh, expecting him to sidle up to me as soon as I step into the building.

Instead he waves as I pass him in the hall. He and his two enormous roommates are passing out yellow t-shirts from a stack of boxes set up along the wall. They are wearing shirts of their own, all three identical.