Evening the Score: Enemies w/Benefits on Pre-Order

3/30/2019

This story was one of my favorites to write because a lot of the plot is based on a real time in my life: the summer where my husband and I coached a youth softball team. He's a baseball guy, I'm a softball girl, and our ideologies clashes the entire summer. Yeah, we never hated each other or fought but we did spend hours talking through every single strategy and it was so much fun. We were lucky we got to experience that and the entire plot bunny (the term to use when you think of a new shiny story idea) came from the question: what if two people who hated each other (but were seriously attracted to the other) had to coach everyday for four months? What type of fights would they get in? How would they banter and push each other's buttons? How would they hide their disdain in front of the kids?

Fiona is... foul-mouthed, obnoxious, confused, and struggling to deal with loss. Gideon is bitter, grumpy, and desperate to get his career back on track after an injury. It was a challenge to write two characters who aren't necessary like-able and not only get them to fall for each other but for them to realize they aren't perfect.

This excerpt gives a preview of these two. I love them so much... even their attitudes and awful language.

“Guess who the fuck I got paired with to coach this team. Guess.” I plopped onto our long-standing burgundy couch. It had been a family piece and my mom had given it to us. It smelled like an old basement, of stale popcorn with a mix of lemon furniture polish. I loved it. Michelle ran her manicured red nails over her chin, humming in thought.
“My mind is blank. Tell me.”
“Gideon Titan.” I smirked, pulling up a picture of him on my phone. “The Gideon Titan.”
“Fuck me sideways.” She snatched the phone out of my hands. “I want to sit on his face.”
“Girl, join the club. I want him to sit on my face.” I fanned myself with my free hand. “I have to send him an email, or reach out to him somehow. Practices are four times a week! Then, forty games.”
“I hate you.” Her dark brown eyes widened, her hand going to her heart. “I’m not one of those jealous bitches. But I could cut you right now.”
I snickered. “I don’t blame you. Here, will you help me type out an email to him? Or should I call? What do you think?”
She took the schedule from my hands and skimmed the bottom line--contact me for details. She pursed her lips. “He left a number and email. What would you rather do?”
“It makes more sense to text, right?” Nerves took over. I would be texting someone whose face was plastered all over our city. Wow. But what if he’s driving?
“I think so. If this wasn’t Gideon Titan but some random person, you would text, right?”
“I’d rather call. I’d want to talk about logistics and division of coaching duties. It’d be easier to talk than type.” I wiped my palms on my jeans. “Shit.”
“Girl, this is insane. Call now. I want to hear his voice.” She grasped my hand, with her face a little too happy, a little too eager. I couldn’t blame her, though. My excitement and nerves took center stage and the reality of the situation had me stiff. “Call.”
“Okay, okay!” I skimmed the informational sheet the woman had given me and his number sat at the bottom. Gideon Titan’s number. I dialed it, hesitating for a second before pressing call. Then it rang. “Shit. Ah!”
It rang three times, each tone causing more sweat to form on my brow. The fourth ring, he answered.
“It’s Gideon.”
His voice was rough and strangled, but my body reacted to it anyway. My legs clenched together, the deep tone affecting me way too much. Michelle said something to get my attention and I cleared my throat. “Hi, Gideon Titan. My name is Fiona—”
“Who fucking gave you my number?”
His sudden verbal attack made me jump. My tremulous voice gave me away, I was sure. “Los Soles, sir.”
“Why?” Something shuffled in the background, the accusation clear as day. “What do you want?”
“We-we got paired to coach the fourteen-blue team.” Goddamn my nerves.
“Christ.” He released a long, aggravated sigh. “I don’t need another coach. Tell them you can’t do it and never call this number again.”
Then he hung up.
The first spark of anger began in my stomach. It worked its way up to my chest, then to my neck. I wanted to murder this guy. He was an asshole of epic proportions. Michelle’s eyes were the size of small saucers.
“Did he for real just do that?” Her brittle voice matched mine.
“Yeah. The fucker hung up on me.” I fisted the paper into a crumpled ball. “Fuck him.”
I hit redial, his rough voice answering the same. “Listen, asshole. I’m coaching with you. I want this opportunity. So fuck off. I’ll see you at the first practice.”
Then I hung up.
“Oh my god. What did I do?” I threw my phone onto the small coffee table. Michelle’s face remained unmoving, as though my actions had frozen time. Whoever cusses at Gideon Titan?
“When is the first practice?” she asked.
I unfolded the paper, glancing at the date and times. “In five days. That should be enough time for everyone to cool down, yeah?”
“Sure, hon.” Michelle got up, shaking her head at me a little bit. “I knew I liked you for a reason. Your balls are bigger than most men I know.”
I laughed. “Then you aren’t around decent guys. Ball size is everything.”
She cackled, shouldering her purse and reapplying lipstick. “Balls are a deal breaker for me.”
“Dude, I know.” I leaned farther back into the couch, wishing it would swallow me up. Regret and embarrassment would hit me later, with Michelle at work and no one to distract me. “I’ve said it all the time, but balls are weird. Guys have to have them, but where do they go when they ride a bike?”
“Right! Or when they sit? Do they squish them to the side or flatten them?”
“How can they cross their legs?” I added. “And why must they touch them all the damn time? And do the reach-down-then-smell-their-fingers thing?”
“Why do they ball tap each other? I don’t mind a titty twister now and again, but I don’t greet my friends with a boob grab every time.”
I laughed—Michelle had a great point. “I mean, the thought they walk around with a stick hanging out boggles my mind. But add two squishy sacks of skin next to it? Why?” I closed my eyes, thoughts of balls and penises overtaking my mind.
Michelle snickered and headed toward the door. She had to work and the thought of doing homework alone depressed me. “I’ll be home later than normal. I might be staying until breakfast.”
“Damn, well, be safe. I’ll be here thinking about balls.”
“God.” She shook her head. “I’m glad we’re roomies. See you.”
She shut the door and I smiled. I liked Michelle as much as I could like someone outside my family. Hope blossomed in my chest that maybe, just maybe, I could let her in.