High Sticking the Heart (Scoring Chance #1)

1. Ariella

ONE

ARIELLA

I’M A STRONG, INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO DOESN’T NEED ANYTHING FROM A MAN—EXCEPT FOR HIM NOT TO TALK TO ME

I’d never realized swamp-ass was a literal thing and not just a figure of speech.

“Why didn’t you tell me you lived in the bowels of hell, Graciella?” I yelled into the open doorway, wildly throwing my head around in an attempt to redirect another droplet of sweat threatening to run into my eye.

It had been two weeks since I’d breathed freely, living in air-conditioned air so cold I was left with a choice between switching to thicker sports bras or heading out to endure hell’s atmosphere.

“There is a river running between mis nalgas at the moment. This is not a little humidity. This is the end of times or something.”

Sure, I knew logically that moving out of California meant leaving California weather, but I hadn’t fully grasped what that would look like.

My new reality?

Every time I stepped outside I resembled a drowned rat with my hair plastered to my head thanks to perspiration, all while I sucked down breaths, hoping I’d finally inhale something other than hot, thick air.

I looked at my cousin’s blunt bob, contemplating chopping mine, but since my wardrobe consisted solely of black leggings or shorts, my long hair and colored sports bras were the only fun, girly accessories I had.

Fine. I’d learn to endure the torture.

Gracie’s voice cut through the inner bitching. “Foul, Ariella. That was foul. And don’t let a Texan hear you speak poorly on their state.”

I rolled my eyes at the warning. They had to know their weather sucked, right? Who was happy in these conditions?

“Well, you know what would have been nice to know before I decided to move out here with you? That there was enough humidity in the air to drown you,” I said, carrying in the last of the boxes I’d shipped to my new residence.

In typical cousin fashion, Gracie only shrugged, ignoring my suffering. “You’re the one who decided to move here at the end of August.” She tugged at my shirt and wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, that shade of gray? Never wear it again. At least not in summer.”

My groan echoed off the brick walls.

“I wish I could say you get used to it, but you don’t,” she added unhelpfully, reclaiming her spot on the worn green velvet couch so she could watch me play live-action Tetris with my boxes of shit.

There were only three of them, but Gracie’s place—now our place—was the size of a rich housewife’s walk-in closet. Not tiny, but we had to take turns walking in certain areas.

Nearly every corner had bits of her style—yellows and greens with dainty details. But now there were also bits of my bright oranges and hot pinks, as well.

Our personalities were as different as our favorite colors, yet somehow, we worked. Like the sun and the moon, we complemented each other.

She was sunshine and fun, always seeing the best in the day. I was fiery and fierce, and my mood was liable to shift on a dime.

“Thanks for helping me carry that, by the way,” I bit out with faux irritation, shooting her a glare over my shoulder when the final box was precariously placed on top of the others.

She shrugged, unfazed by the attitude. “ ?órale! What was I supposed to do with these?” She gave a pitiful attempt at flexing her bicep. “You’re the one who has a job showing men how to pick up heavy things. Mine requires me to keep up with what’s trending.”

“Strength and conditioning, Graciella,” I explained for the hundredth time. “I’m a strength and conditioning coach. You should know this—you work in sports too.”

She waved a manicured hand in the air dismissively. The stupid smirk on her face told me she hadn’t forgotten what it was called.

“Correction, I work in sports marketing . It’s not the same. I have to make sure my clients’ brands look good and capture content for sports shit. You yell at men in the gym.” She smirked. “It’s honestly perfect for you. Anyway, the point is, you’re the strong one. We both know if I need something carried, I’d delegate it to a man. You should try it sometime,” she said, pointing at me over her screen.

I clucked my tongue at her awful idea.

“I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anything from a man…except for him not to talk to me,” I said, pulling off my sweat-soaked shirt, grimacing at the wet plopping noise of it hitting the concrete flooring.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you done yet? I’m ready to do something fun,” she complained, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and setting her phone on the table, giving me her full attention now that she was bored.

Gracie’s outlook on a fun night was very different from my own. To me, a fun night consisted of some cafecitos, no bra, and a murder show. Maybe throw in an overpriced FoodRun delivery.

Hers usually involved a margarita and a man.

I walked to the kitchen, taking my time to finish the heavenly cool water I’d poured myself so I could weigh my options on how to respond.

I’d put her off since getting to Dallas, and if I didn’t agree to go out with her soon, I was afraid she’d hire someone to kidnap me and force me out of the house.

Probably one of the guys she matched with on an app because, apparently, that was how my cousin got everything she needed done.

Leaky sink? Get a Tinder match.

Need new tires? Get a Tinder match.

I wasn’t sure if she was setting female empowerment back or shooting us forward…

Sighing at the thought, I finally asked, “When you say fun , what exactly are you talking about, Graciella Xochitl Barrera?” She opened her mouth to answer, but I cut her off, concerned by the twinkle in her eyes. “I do mean, exactly what are you talking about? Because I do not want you to tell me we are going to some kickback at your friend’s with only a few people, and then I find myself crammed into the random room of a frat house off of 11 th and San Antonio St. where a random dude is playing his DJ set while a bottle of UV Blue is being passed around. It’s shocking we are even alive,” I scolded, my hands on my hips to keep from flailing them around.

A habit that was hard to break, truthfully. I was pretty sure it was a trait ingrained in our cultural DNA to talk with our hands and add emphasis with sound effects.

As if to prove my point, Gracie made a clucking noise with her tongue, waving away the accusation. “Well, the first problem in that scenario is we aren’t in San Jose, so there’s no chance of that. Plus, how pathetic would it be if two twenty-five-year-old women showed up to frat parties to get drunk? I’m not that desperate for a man. You, on the other hand…”

She fell into a fit of laughter when I chucked my sandal at her, grazing the top of her head while I called her every insult I could think of.

“Okay, okay.” She held her hands up in surrender, attempting to control herself. “No men. It will be a primas night. One of my clients knows of a sports bar’s soft launch happening tonight. The guest list is all athletes, agents, and marketing people.” She sat up on her knees, looking like an excited puppy. “It will be fun,” she promised, wagging her eyebrows, trying to entice me .

There was definitely no way I was getting out of going somewhere with her tonight.

“So let me get this straight. You want to have a primas -only night at a bar crawling with hot athletes?” I asked, the cold stainless-steel biting into the exposed skin of my torso as I leaned against the countertop.

Her smile was so sickly sweet I was shocked she still had all her teeth. “ Nothing says girls’ night like free margaritas and staring at athletes’ asses,” she said.

“Oh, now the margaritas are free, too?”

“They are if you wear that black halter top that makes it look like your boobs are in your chin.”

I shook my head at her logic. She wasn’t wrong, but I wouldn’t tell her that. It would go to her head.

Pointing my finger at her, I tried my best to sound stern, “ Mira , we will go—” An ear-piercing cheer cut me off.

She’d been hoping for that answer for days, but I’d avoided going out until now, using that time to try and adjust to the new time zone, weather, and the fact I didn’t live in my childhood home anymore.

There was a reason I’d applied for the job in Dallas. I’d needed a reprieve from my family’s expectations, and there was no way in hell they’d be okay with me moving out of state by myself. Explaining that concept to my white friends was always a humiliating experience. It led to some variation of the same questions.

“What do you mean you can’t make those decisions yourself?”

“But you’re twenty- five…you’re an adult.”

Yeah, it wasn’t that simple in my household. Cultural expectations and generational normatives loved to cockblock a woman’s independence. What made my situation particularly difficult was that I loved my family.

It would be far easier to be the family’s disappointment if I didn’t care what they thought. Sometimes I wished they were shittier to me so I could justify cutting them off completely and living my life on my terms.

Ironically, thousands of miles didn’t stop my dad and brother’s onslaught of questions or attempts at control. They wanted to know what I was doing, where I was going, or the million-dollar question—who would I see?

I sighed, rubbing at my chest. I hoped that with more time apart, they’d start to see I was living my own life and that the weird sense of guilt sitting on my sternum for wanting to do my own thing would subside.

Gracie hopped off the couch, rushing to the mini bar she’d set up on a wall shelf. “This calls for a shot.”

The declaration caught my attention. Tequila and Graciella had trouble written all over it.

If I was being honest, tequila and me had trouble written all over it.

“No trying to set me up while we’re there, Gracie.” She rolled her eyes at the warning, passing me a shot glass. The clear liquid balancing precariously at the top of the rim threatened to run down the side of my hand. “I’m being serious. I’m out here for my career, to show everyone I can do this…” The last part was barely above a whisper.

Her eyes softened, the corner of her pink lips pulling into a sad smile. If anyone understood the cultural pressures coming from home, it was Gracie.

She’d managed to break the hold when she left for college, but it came at a price. My tío still refused to speak to her. Despite the differences in opinions on how I should live my life, I had comfort in knowing my family would never cut me out the way my uncle had with her.

I shook my head, needing to clear the sour mood.

“ Vamos ,” I said, raising my glass and waiting for Gracie to join. “To new opportunities, breaking generational machismo?—”

“And amazing cousins who let you move in with them,” she added.

I smiled at her, all of my earlier worries suspended for now.

“ ?Salud! ”