The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill

Three

Zeke

I’ve always loved to play games. Doesn’t matter which one. Monopoly. Chess. Darts. Cards. Video games.

Anything but solitaire because that shit makes me feel lonely.

Which, sadly, is what I am, holed up in my condo the past few weeks. I’m also so bored that I’ve resorted to balling up paper and tossing it into the wastebasket from every corner of my living room. My floor looks like a hailstorm came whipping through.

It’s true what they say. You can take the player out of the game, but not the love of the game from the player.

Marek suspended me after I walked out of Dr. Rush’s office and didn’t return. I’m not playing with my team and, on top of that, I’m accruing daily fines for my insubordination.

It’s become a game of wills and Marek has me by the short and curlies. It’s torture watching my team play without me, but I will not be forced into talking with Kendall Rush. Damn it all. I will not roll over like a mangy dog under Marek’s ultimatum and the pressure he exerts over my career.

Admittedly, I’m acting willfully stubborn when, truthfully, meeting with Kendall Rush wasn’t a hardship. She’s a beautiful woman and smelled like orange blossom. She’s a person confident in her own skin.

Unlike me.

There’s something about the way she pushed and I, in turn, pulled back. I enjoyed the competitive sparring with her. Sure, I was acting like an immature asshole, but I’ll give her credit. She didn’t take my shit. She just kept pushing. And pushing.

Pushing until she struck a nerve. Like biting down on an abscessed tooth, the moment she brought up the panic attack, it hit me with an explosive blow to my head, tripping a switch inside me. It all came rushing back in a flash. That moment I failed spectacularly in front of thousands. When I flipped out and began spiraling out of control, down, down, down.

The innocuous question was like a hot cattle prod poking me in the chest.

“How did you end up on the floor during a game, suffering from a panic attack?”

It stirred up something inside me like a dust storm, swirling fast and furious, blinding me with its velocity and strength. It took my breath away, leaving me wanting to curl up in a fetal position the floor and hide from the world. I knew she could see right through me. It’s why I don’t want to go back.

I’m a failure and a fraud. I’m not worthy of the accolades and recognition I receive from my fans.

“You’ll never amount to anything, kid. You’re a loser with no talent.”

My dad’s voice booms loud in my ears, followed by the same whooshing sound that brought on the static in my head the night of my collapse. My breaths become shallow, chest tightening as I clasp a hand over my heart. Oh, hell. Here we go again.

Then everything goes black.

When I wake,it’s dark in my condo and I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I reach for my phone on the table and check the time. It’s nearly five A.M. Messages scroll on my lock screen, one after another that were sent after the game last night from the guys.

Isaac: Where you at, bro? Did you see that score?

Alan: Yo, we hanging tonight?

Ansel: Call me. I need a Call of Duty night. And have you thought more about visiting Germany with me?

Carver: I haven’t heard from you in a few days. You okay, man? I’m worried about you.

The last one from Carver is like a punch to the gut. He and Marek are the only ones who know the truth behind my suspension. The rest of the team and the world think I was suspended for my arrest. Which was what led to all this, but isn’t the entire truth.

In the past, I would’ve been game to go out with the guys and hang out at the clubs, enjoying my bachelor life. Being treated like kings everywhere we went, surrounded by beautiful women and booze. I’m not sure when it happened, but it’s lost its appeal. Maybe it stems from my moodiness or my indifference toward having that kind of fun these days. I used to make a game out of the number of women I could hook up with, as immature as that may sound. It was a competition I thrived on.

Reading over their string of texts and checking out a few pictures they sent, that girlfriend game has no appeal. I’m tired of the randomness of one-night stands and hookups.

Maybe I should consider getting out there and dating someone seriously?

I’m not sure how I’d make that happen and who in her right mind would want to date a down and depressed dude like me, but I need something to do. Someone to be with because most of my friends and teammates are leaving for the summer, and I don’t want to be left alone to sit in my condo with no one to hang with.

Even Carver is taking his wife on a two-month European vacation. Everyone is hooked up with someone, leaving me the last of the single veterans on the team.

I suppose I could hang out with the twenty-two year-old rookies if I wanted to, but I don’t feel up to it. All they’ll want to do is get laid and party.

While I may have snubbed my nose at therapy, I did make a promise to Marek to remain sober through the summer. That takes clubbing off list if I want to keep myself out of trouble.

I grab a sports drink from the fridge and plop back down on my couch, my head spinning too fast to consider going back to bed. With a bored sigh, I open my phone apps and flip through my social media accounts. I swipe through the usual suspects—the bikini models, other professional athlete profiles, and thousands of wannabe creators. I scroll and scan without really noticing much, if anything, at all.

I’m in a funk, stuck in a rut, and I don’t know how to get myself out of it.

Then I recall a conversation I had with Ansel last week while we were out on a hike. We’d been discussing our social lives—or rather, my non-existent social life—and he’d mentioned a dating site he’d tried out and touted as the greatest dating app ever.

“Bro, it’s great. It’s designed for guys like us who want to meet someone we connect with who is interested in us personally, not our fame or profession.”

I tipped back my water bottle and wiped the sweat collecting on my brow as we jogged along the trail. We’d gotten up early and taken a drive out to Cougar Mountain, a densely wooded state park with amazing views at the top of the trail.

Ansel continued up the hill, but I grabbed the edge of his T-shirt to stop him. He whipped his head back toward me.

“Tell me more about this. How it is different than the other hookup apps like Tinder or whatever?”

I’ve never tried a dating app before. Never needed to. It’s cliché, but there has never been a shortage of women who wanted to hook up with me.

But that was then, and this is now. At thirty-three, I’m seeing life differently and I want something different.

Ansel bent over at the waist, placing his hands on his knees, working to catch his breath. Long wisps of his blond hair fell into his eyes over the headband that secured it back from his face. I always tease him that he could be one of the characters from The Sound of Music with his strong European jawline, blond hair, bright blue eyes, and of course, his thick German accent.

When he pushed himself upright, he took a swig of water and shrugged. “It’s an app that hides your identity from everyone but the admin on the site. When you sign up, they verify who you are, you complete a questionnaire, and then you set up your online profile name. The site matches people based on their personality profiles, not their profile picture or other identifying aspects. It’s completely anonymous until you match and prevents the possibility someone’s into you based on superficial criteria or photos.”

“Or dick pics,” I snorted, scrunching my forehead suspiciously. “It sounds like a good way to get catfished, if you ask me.”

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah, man. It’s a way to weed out those chicks who only want you for your money or fame. That’s how I met Giselle. I didn’t know who she was until we met in person. Our connection was strictly based on our mutual interests and finding out we shared our motherland in common.”

I considered that for a moment and remembered meeting Giselle once at a party last year. They did seem like a perfect match, and she was gorgeous, to boot.

“What happened between you guys, anyway? You broke up earlier this year, right?”

He heaved out a heavy sigh, moving to the side of the trail to allow room for a family of four to motor by us. A young kid hanging from a backpack on his father’s back smiled and waved as they passed. We waved back. I made a funny face at him, and he giggled.

When I turned back to Ansel, he frowned. “We couldn’t make it work. Our schedules never seemed to coincide, and it became an issue because she lives in New York. We never got to spend time with each other.”

“That sucks,” I lamented, beginning our ascent back up the trail.

Ansel waved a hand and pushed forward. “Yeah, it does. Because I thought she was the one.”

Now as I stare at the open app on my phone, I consider my motives for wanting to date. I’ve never had a great track record for it. Just like Ansel said, our schedules during the season can wreak havoc on a relationship.

Am I considering this out of sheer loneliness? Or perhaps it’s because I’m blue and down in the dumps, and it would be nice to seek solace in the arms of a lover and companion.

Fuck it.

If I’m going to invest myself in this dating game, then I should ensure I’m healthy, both physically and mentally. I know my body is in great shape and I’m healthy after the plethora of medical tests I just went through.

That leaves my mental health as the questionable factor. And the only way to get that back in top notch form is through therapy.

I open my calendar and find the previously scheduled appointment that Marek’s administrative assistant set up for me with Dr. Rush.

With only a few more games left in the regular season, I don’t want to be the guy on the team who can’t be counted on to help his teammates get to the playoffs. I want back in the game and if this is the way to do it, so be it. Screw my pride.

I hit accept to the schedule request and then return to the dating app.

My finger hovers over the Create and Accept button as I read through the app’s description and agreement.

Heart and Soul.

We are a unique and anonymous dating site for like-minded singles who are tired of the games and gimmicks of other dating sites. We help people find the perfect match, connecting you with the other half of your heart and soul.

Part of me still thinks it’s cheesy, but I glance around the emptiness of my Belltown condo with its white walls and extensive floor-to-ceiling windows opening to views of the Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. My condo is as lifeless as I am. We both need some color in our life. And if this app can offer that, then I’m in.

With a deep inhale, I press the button and let out a long exhale.

Didn’t Dr. Rush ask me what brings joy to my life? At the time, I answered basketball. But shouldn’t there be more to my life than that?

I’m tired of being blue and depressed and anxious all the time. Sitting in my condo alone doesn’t offer me the same level of enjoyment that a woman could.

Whether it leads to something substantial or permanent is yet to be determined. But anything’s got to be better than sitting around on my ass and moping all the time.

“Here goes nothing.”