Page 20 of Scoring Lessons

Fight for a chance.

Fight to catch up to the rest of my teammates.

I was still clawing onto the little strength I had left for another chance to stay in Chicago, and she dared to imply I wasn’t?

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” I muttered, slapping a few twenty-dollar bills on the table before getting to my feet.

Showing Olivia the cracks of my life wasn’t the ammunition I wanted to give her.

Running away was what I did best.

I thought she was going to agree. But I should have known better than to think she wasn’t going to argue with me. I’d forgotten that was her favorite way of torturing me.

She didn’t miss a beat and quickly followed me. “You’re scared.”

I forced a laugh like a damn clown as we stepped outside. My laughter was the sound of a man pretending he wasn’t unraveling. It was the type of sound I’d mastered, because showing people what was happening would be the last thing I’d ever do. That would break the perception people had of me. I’d lose every single one of my friends if they ever found out who I truly was.

And that was a heartbreak I couldn’t survive.

“Have you met me, Olivia? I’m the most confident guy you know.”

She grabbed my arm and yanked me back around to face her. “Cut the bullshit.”

I made the stupid mistake of settling my eyes on her. The way her gaze pierced me—like she could see right through the smirk and the weight I’d been dragging behind me—burned. It seared me like I was standing too close to the light that was threatening to expose every lie I’d ever told.

“You need to stop pushing yourself so hard.”

I gnawed at my bottom lip, trying to hold back my frustration. “What are you talking about? If anything, I’m not pushing myself enough.”

“You forget we live together. When we’re not at work, you practically live in the gym. Like if you train harder and kill yourself in the process, maybe it’ll finally be enough.” Disbelief crossed all over her face as she slowly shook her head. “You’ve been a professional athlete long enough to know that isn’t how it works. There has to be a balance.”

The air between us crackled with tension. The sounds of the city’s nightlife filled the silence—drunken laughter spilling from nearby bars, the occasional honk from the traffic.

There was a bitter, ashy taste in my mouth from the knowledge that even though we couldn’t be in the same room without it turning into a sparring match, she was the only person who knew me. She saw my splinters easily, like she’d been carrying her own wounds and recognized the signs. But that was impossible. Olivia wasn’t a woman who let life beat her up. I’d always admired her tenacity. When life tried to knock her down, she’d come out swinging even harder. She’d challenge anything and anyone to keep true to herself.

But that was then.

The painful truth was, I had no idea who she was now.

“Good thing you know me, then. That way we can stop this useless conversation,” I muttered, already turning away.

In true Olivia fashion, she wasn’t done with me. She grabbed my arm again and stepped in front of me. Her glare was strong enough to stop me cold in my tracks.

She took a step back and ran her fingers through her long strands of shiny black hair. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not going to stop.” She sighed, hesitation passing through her gaze. “So…I’m here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Since when do you do things out of the kindness of your heart?” The words slipped out before I could catch them. Regret clawed at my throat, making it difficult to swallow. Sometimes, I went too far. But frustration and fear took hold of me and refused to let go. I was afraid that we were dancing too damn close to the fucking truth. Afraid that she would unveil everything that lay underneath the armor I wore like a second skin.

Her eyes shifted—not with the usual fire or annoyance, but something quieter that tugged at my heart painfully.

She blinked once. Twice. Then she squared her shoulders, the softness gone, like these flickers of the true Olivia weren’t real and only a part of my imagination.

“It’s not out of the kindness of my heart,” she replied coldly. Her maroon lipstick faded as she bit down on her bottom lip in contemplation. “I want something in return.”

“What could you possibly want from me?”

She hesitated for a beat as I stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell she could have possibly meant. Then, in a tone that was too casual to be truly casual, she said, “I want you to teach me how to flirt.”

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