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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded 
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to 
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as 
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of 
acquiring this material.

   (Copyright 2005, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

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THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME III

A Novel

by R.C. Mather



- 47 -

PLAYING TO WIN



"Hey, dude, you've got a groupie."

I turned to see what Lightspeed was talking about. He was pointing
to a small group of coeds sitting in the bleachers, watching our
practice.

"Groupie? I don't think so," I said, peering at the girls. I had
seen some of them around campus for the past couple of days. I didn't
recognize any of them, but it was a little curious they seemed to be
around me, either during practice or popping up in odd places.

"Sure," said Lightspeed. "See that one in the black shirt? She's
been watching you, man."

"Black shirt?" There were a couple of girls with black shirts. One
had long, mousy brown hair. The other was a Goth girl, complete with
large, aggressive-looking boobs, crude tattoos on her arms, and a
pageboy haircut. There were quite a few Goth freaks on campus, but
visible tattoos were generally limited to the guys. You didn't often
see a girl with markings. "Oh, great," I muttered. "Just what I need,
another psycho following me around."

"It's happened before?" asked Rico, joining us.

Spencer laughed. "Maureen Saunders," he said.

I grimaced, just hearing the name.

"So tell us," said Lightspeed with a smile.

"Nothing to tell," I said curtly. "She balled my roommate my
freshman year just so she could meet me. She used to follow me around
like a little lost dog."

"She loved you," cooed Rico.

"She was obsessed with me," I said. "There's a difference."

"So, how'd you get rid of her?" asked Lightspeed.

I shrugged. "Every time I saw her, I would sic my roomie on her," I
said. "After a couple of times, she stopped trying. It was the Westie
Cure."

It was the end of the first week of practice, and I was in a foul
mood. As promised, there had been a letter waiting for me when I got
to my apartment in Gainesville. As soon as Spencer and I got there, I
found the stack of mail, grabbed Kayla's letter from the pile, and
ripped it open. Inside was a short note, in letters cut from
magazines and newspapers, like a movie ransom note:



"Trust. It's all we have. Check tomorrow's mail."



The next day, I received another letter from Kayla, this time
delivered by Federal Express. Again, it was a ransom note:



"Do you trust me? Check tomorrow's mail."



She had her home address on the return, and it was stamped from home.

'She's deliberately driving me mad.' I crumpled up the note, and then
panicked. I carefully smoothed it out on the table and set it aside.
'She's got a plan. I have to trust.'

Another FedEx letter arrived the next day, this time from Nashville.

"At least she's moving south," I said to Spencer. He was looking
over my shoulder at the message:



"We are in the car. More tomorrow."



The next day, and another red and white envelope. This one was also
from Nashville. "She must be going to Vanderbilt. Or Tennessee
State." I was unhappy. That was too far away.

"Open it up," said Spencer.

I ripped it open and took out the single sheet.



"Soon, my love. Check tomorrow's mail."



"Aaarrrgh!" I cried. "What is she doing to me?!?"

"Okay, so she dropped off two in Nashville. You still don't know
anything," said Spencer soothingly.

"Maybe this just isn't worth it," I said, my mood worsening by the
day.

"Give it a chance," encouraged Spencer. "After all, she went through
just as much as you did to get to this point."

I sighed. "Yeah, you're right," I said. "It's driving me fuckin'
nuts, though."

"And maybe that's the point," he reminded me.

I didn't want to hear it, even if it was the truth. I stomped off to
my room without another word.

Freshman orientation began the next day. I was tempted to go stake
out the dorms to see if she was moving in, but I knew that would only
increase my frustration. Too many dorms, too many kids moving in.
Instead, I worked. We practiced two hours in the morning, and for
lunch Eddie and I watched tapes of opponents we would be facing in
our first few games. Eddie brought Gator Tails in for us, and we ate
our sandwiches and drank our sodas while we talked about some of the
changes we might see against South Carolina, Alabama, or Ole Miss. In
the afternoon, we had another two hours of scrimmages, as Pick began
to work the starters together. Incorporating Rico, Sugar, and the
other newest members into our starting lineup would be a learning
experience, but time on the field would accelerate the assimilation.

That afternoon's letter was also sent from Nashville.

"You are a tricky, surprising girl," I muttered, somewhere between
frustration and admiration. I knew what would be inside.


"Closer."


Okay, so I didn't know exactly, but it fit. Not much information,
and perhaps a little misdirection.

"Probably not Vandy or Tennessee State," said Spencer with a tight
smile.

"Probably not. And not Maryland, or somebody would have leaked it to
me by now." I strode over to the window and looked out. Across the
street, there were four girls walking away, toward campus. I watched
their backsides without really seeing them. I did notice two guys, on
the opposite side of the street, turn and watch the girls. I looked
again, mostly out of habit. One heavy girl with bright yellow hair, a
slender girl with a distinctive wiggle to her walk, a girl with short
black hair, and a short girl in a tight tank top. None of them were
Kayla.



* * * * * * * * * *



On the other hand, my life on the pitch was outstanding. Pick moved
me over into Frenchy's old spot, on the left, and gave the right
defender's position to Rico.

"Keep 'em guessin', that's my motto," said Pick when he told me of
the move. "Every opponent we meet for the first four weeks will be
expectin' you over in your usual spot. When they don't find you
there, it's another advantage for us while they scramble to adjust."

"And, while they're scrambling, we're switching," I added.

Pick winked at me. "You betchum, Red Ryder," he said.

"Huh?" asked Sugar.

Picked looked at him in amusement. "What's the matter, son? You
didn't wallow your youth away in wastrel indulgence in front of the
television tube?"

"Sure I did," drawled Sugar. "But my time was spent drooling over
Marcia Brady and Laurie Partridge."

"Who?" asked Pick, but the gleam in his eye told me he knew what
Sugar was talking about.

During practice, Lightspeed and Rico began to develop a great
working relationship. They would work the ball upfield together in a
two-man game, consisting of give-and-go passes from the middle to the
right as they zigzagged across the center line. Many times, they
would engage another player and mix up the set, creating even more
fluid movements on the left and in the middle. Spencer, Chris, Luke,
any of us could be involved quickly. Spencer and I had to stay on our
toes to switch our coverages on the field once Rico and Lightspeed
got going, but it was fun to do. Outsiders would have found it
hopelessly confusing, and I had hopes most of our opponents would see
it that way, too. For my teammates and me, it was logical and yet
improvisational, not at all the randomness it seemed to be.

We began to see reporters from all over at practice. "Soccer Today"
assigned a freelance writer to cover us, and he was there a lot. He
watched our practices, taking notes, and he interviewed Pick, Eddie,
Lightspeed, Rico, and me several times. It was heady stuff, being
noticed by the premier publication in our sport. Even so, I counseled
our team to keep their heads. After all, we hadn't played a game yet.

During one of our first team meetings, Pick brought up the subject
of choosing team captains.

"Now, before I open up this discussion to you all, I want to remind
you we normally choose seniors for this honor," he instructed us.
"With that in mind, do I have any nominations from y'all?"

"Yes," said Luke, standing up. "Porter and Goldman." He sat back down.

"Both juniors," said Pick. "We'll drop them names. Anybody else?"

Sugar stood up. "Yes, Coach. I'd like to nominate Porter and Goldman."

That brought a laugh from the team, and even a tight smile from Pick.

"Seems like I heard them names before," he said. "Anybody got any
seniors they want to nominate?"

Lightspeed stood. "How about if we make Porter and Goldman honorary
seniors?" he suggested, drawing another laugh from the room.

"You guys are persistent," said Pick. "Like I said..."

Jeremy stood up. "I'm a senior," he said. "And I think we ought to
acknowledge the leaders of this team. I renominate Porter and
Goldman."

No laughs that time, but a murmuring started up as teammates began
mulling over what Jeremy said. I sat there, next to Spencer, a little
embarrassed over this. Pick and Eddie put their heads together for a
whispered conversation.

Finally, I stood up. "Look, thank you for thinking of me as a
leader, but Pick's right. Seniors should be chosen."

"I can only say this now, before you're elected and I can't talk
back to the captain of the team," said Chris. "Shut up and sit down,
Boss. It will be what it will be."

I looked at Spencer, who shrugged. I took Bolden's advice, and I sat
down and shut up.

In the end, Spencer, Jeremy, and I were elected as co-captains, a
compromise with Pick's wishes for a senior representing the team. The
three of us stood at the front of the room and accepted the
congratulations from the team and coaches. While Pick might have been
a little put out about the team going against his wishes, I knew he
was quite happy about the unity he saw during the discussion. That
was, ultimately, more important than the names of the captains.



* * * * * * * * * *



On the day before classes were to start, we had a grueling day of
practice. Our first game of the season was against Florida State, and
we worked hard to prepare. We also had Media Day, and the practice
fields were packed with sound trucks from radio and television
stations across the state. Everybody wanted to talk about Gators
football, but even soccer, track, and tennis got their share of media
attention. We practiced in the morning, participated in a long
luncheon for all the fall teams, and then put up with endless
interviews from newspapers, magazines, and television talking heads
trying to fill their sports agendas.

I was tired from the week, and tired from the frustration of Kayla's
letters. Every day I was expecting to get the news. At that point, I
just wanted it to get to me, good news or bad. Anything was better
than the torture I was putting myself through, courtesy of the
devilishly diabolical Miss Lehigh.

I was being asked a bunch of inane questions by a reporter by the
name of Arch Stanton, from some nameless newspaper from somewhere in
central Florida. We were sitting at a plastic table set up by the
grandstands. There was an umbrella, advertising Gatorade, stuck
through a hole in the middle of the table, anchored by a stand with
sand in it to keep it all upright. 'At least it's shade,' I thought
miserably as I tried to pay attention to what the reporter was asking.

From the grandstands, I heard a cheer floating down.



"One, two, three, four,
It's Sean Porter we adore!"



Both Stanton and I swiveled to peer up into the stands. I saw that
same group of girls, the ones who had been birddogging our practices
over the past couple of weeks, chattering among themselves. The only
indication I had that the cheer had come from them was the occasional
glance in my direction, apparently to gauge my reaction.

"That your fan club?" asked the reporter with a knowing smile. "Must
be nice being an athlete on campus."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He nodded in the direction of the group of coeds. "Lots of
opportunities," he said, favoring me with a cheesy grin.

"Lots of opportunities is just another way of saying lots of ways to
go wrong," I grumbled.

"Do I detect a little woman trouble in paradise?" he asked. He was
way too curious. 'He probably wants to live vicariously. Thinks I've
got it made. Wouldn't he be surprised.'

I just shook my head. "I don't know them," I said. "They just show
up for practice occasionally."

"Really?" I could see the wheels turning, rolling the tidbit over in
his mind. Was this a hook for a more personal story? "Hmmm... a group
of admirers, watching from afar..."

"Give me a break," I said.

"What? It's a good angle."

"It's got nothing to do with the team," I said.

He looked at me. "If it's got something to do with you in a soccer
uniform, it's got something to do with the team, Sean. I may be just
a hick reporter, but that much I know for certain."

"I didn't mean anything by..."

He waved me off with a smile. "Don't worry about it, Sean. Hell,
we're in this together, right? Let me go up and talk with them. I
promise I won't publish any names, so if you want them to stay
anonymous, they will. Okay?"

"Well..."

"Attaboy," he said, taking that as permission. He scrambled out of
his seat and loped up the benches to where the group sat. He sat in
front of them, facing back toward the girls, and began to talk with
them. I saw a couple of them shake their heads, but then the Goth
girl, the one with the tattoos, leaned toward them and said something
that convinced them to stay and listen.

I sat there and watched, wondering if I should just head back to the
locker room so I could change and leave. Stanton turned and waved, a
wait a minute gesture, so I stayed where I was. I took a big drink of
my Gatorade and watched the camera guys lugging their heavy equipment
around on their shoulders. There were thick cables spread everywhere,
evidence of the number of crews working Media Day. I remembered when
Coach Neville had to hold a Media Day for our high school team. It
was a small gathering compared to this, but impressive for our little
town. 'Simpler times, Porter,' I told myself.

Stanton came back and plopped down on his seat at our table.

"Interesting," he said, looking at his notes.

"What?"

He glanced up at me. "I thought you didn't want to know."

"I don't," I grumbled.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Sean. It's just overactive coed
imaginations, I'm sure. A couple of them have fixated on you,
because... how did she put it?" He glanced down at his notepad, but
it was an affectation. The knowing grin on his face told me all. "Ah,
yes, here it is. He's a great player, and he's got a cute butt." He
looked back up at me, a huge smile on his face. "You're a lucky dog."

"Shit, I don't know those girls," I said again. "And I don't think I
want to."

"Shit, Sean, you've got them standing in line, and you don't even
want to say hello to them? Give any one of them a gentle shove, she'd
probably flop right over on her back and spread 'em for you."

I stood up. "Help yourself, Arch. Any girl that easy just isn't for
me."

Stanton stood up and hurriedly came over by my side. "I didn't mean
anything by it, Sean. Shit, I'm just jealous. You've got it made. You
know how many girls chase after a Journalism major? Not very damn
many, I tell you."

"Yeah... okay," I said. "Let's just stick to soccer, all right?"

We walked off, toward the field house. "You got it," agreed Stanton.



* * * * * * * * * *



By the time Spencer and I got back to our apartment, I was dog-
tired. I wanted a beer, and I wanted a couch. Nothing else.

"Okay, maybe pizza," I muttered to myself.

"What was that? Did you say pizza?" asked Spencer. "I'll fly if
you'll buy."

"Deal," I said. He called Mario's Chicago-Style Pizza Factory - which
really wasn't a Chicago-style pizza at all, though it was decent
enough - and ordered an extra-large pie for pickup. I handed Spencer a
ten-dollar bill to cover the cost. I took two beers from the fridge
and handed him one.

Got time for one?" I asked as I held the can out to him.

"Sure," he said, taking it from me.

I turned on the television and flopped down onto our couch. Spencer
took the ratty overstuffed chair in the corner. We stared at the
screen for about fifteen minutes before Spencer got up.

"Time to get the food." He walked toward the door, and then came back.

"Here's the mail for today," he said quietly. He handed me a FedEx
envelope. From Nashville.

I heard the door close softly as he left without saying another
word. 'Leaving me to my own disappointment.' I couldn't blame him. I
ripped open the envelope.

Again, the message was in cutout letters from newspapers and
magazines, but this message was different from the rest.



"What's outside your window?"



I scrambled up and strode over to the window looking out to the
street and pushed the curtain to the side. The group of girls from
the grandstands was standing on the sidewalk, looking up. Puzzled, I
walked to the door and opened it.

"What do you want? Who are you?" 

Instead of answering, the girls all looked at each other. Then, two
of them broke off from the rest and came up toward the door. I was
tempted to just shut it and lock it, but I was intensely curious what
all this had to do with the messages I had been getting from Kayla. A
heavy girl with bright yellow hair was smiling shyly as she came up
the driveway, along with the Goth girl.

'Great. Just great. I'm praying for Luscious, and I'm sent deranged
groupies instead.'

"Who are you?" I repeated.

Without a word, the Goth girl pushed me out of the way and walked
boldly into my apartment, followed by the blonde. I glanced back at
the others, but they just stood there. I had no choice but to follow
the two who had come in.

The Goth girl had pointy breasts that stuck straight out of her
Metallica t-shirt. 'Probably got a bra made of iron,' I thought to
myself. She was wearing black jeans and black sneakers that had built-
up soles to make her taller. She had on thick makeup with white
eyeliner. Her eyebrows were painted on with heavy black strokes. Her
black hair, in a sort of pageboy cut, looked coarse from over-
coloring.

"Look, I don't know what you think you're doing..."

The blonde girl held up her hand to stop me. She smiled at me. "My
roommate thinks you're a hunk," she said. "I think I agree with her."

"This is your roommate?" I asked, indicating the girl with the
tattoos.

The blonde nodded. "My name's Heather," she said. "I'm a sophomore,
but my roommate's a freshman..."

"Well, Heather, that's real nice," I said roughly. I'm..."

"Wait," said Heather. She held up her hand again to forestall me. In
the meantime, her roommate had begun to remove things from the
voluminous bag she carried over her shoulder. Tissues, lotion, and
jars of stuff I could only guess at began to appear on the coffee
table.

The girl in black sat down on the couch and began to apply some
cream to her face. It took me a moment to realize she was removing
her makeup.

"Hey!" I said. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

She didn't even look up at me, but continued with her task. Heather
had her hand resting on my arm. There was no way she would be able to
hold me back, but the pressure was enough to keep me from charging
over and bodily removing the girl from my apartment. 'What the hell is
going on here?'

The girl kept on scrubbing at her face. Still facing away from me,
she stood up and began rubbing more tissues on her arms. She turned
her back on Heather and me, and walked toward the rear hall.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

Still silent, she waved at us behind her. I saw her reach underneath
her shirt. She casually dropped two big wads of toilet paper on the
floor, and then she walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I
heard the sound of water in the sink. I looked over at Heather.

"What the hell is she doing?" I asked. I expected no answer, and
that's what I received.

Instead, Heather gently steered me toward the couch. "Maybe you
should sit," she said.

Just then, Spencer walked in with two pizzas. He was whistling
jauntily. He looked over and saw us on the couch. 'Why does he have
two pizzas?' I thought disjointedly. 'Has everybody except me gone 
mad?'

"Hiya, Heather," he said.

"Hi, Spencer. That for us?" I could only goggle at Heather and
Spencer. 'They knew each other?'

"Yup," he said. He raised his eyebrow at us, and Heather gestured
toward the bathroom.

"Ah," he said, as if he understood this entire episode.

He brought four beers with him from the kitchen. He set the pizzas
on the coffee table, opened a beer for Heather and one for me, and
then he settled into the chair.

"What the hell's going on, Goldman?" I asked angrily.

"Have some pizza," he replied. "You paid for it."

"I seem to have lost my appetite," I growled.

"Well, I'm famished," said a voice from behind me. I stood up and
whirled around. There, coming out from the hallway, was a vision I
had begun to believe was a figment of my imagination. Casually
glancing at me, she walked nonchalantly up to Spencer, bent down, and
gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Did you bring a beer for me, too?" asked Kayla Lehigh, as casually
as if she suddenly appeared before my eyes on a daily basis.

"Sure did," said Spencer, a big, shit-eating grin on his face. He
handed her an opened can. 

She took a small sip, looking at me over the edge of the can with
dancing eyes. "What's the matter, Porter? Cat got your tongue?"

My mouth worked silently, opening and closing like a fish caught in
a net, as I stared at my Luscious. Kayla glanced at Heather. "He's
the strong, silent type," she said gaily.

"So it seems," said Heather, smiling at my confusion.

"How did you... where... how..." I turned to Spencer. "And you," I
said accusingly. "You've been in on this the whole time?"

"Yup," he replied casually. "Your deserved it, too, Boss."

"Hey," said Kayla. "Don't I at least get a hug?"

I dropped my can to the floor and leapt over the arm of the couch
and picked her up in my arms. I swung her around. I heard her yelp in
surprise, but I cut it off with a kiss.

Breathless, I set her down again.

"Now that's sweeping a girl off her feet," said Kayla, still holding
on to me.

"You're here?" I asked. She nodded. "You're here," I said with a
sigh. I took her up in my arms again.

"Do you know the hell I've been in?" I said in her ear. I was
unwilling to let her go, now that she was here. "That was you in
disguise all along?" 

She nodded against me. "Heather helped me. She drew the tattoos on
me." She held out her arm for me to see. There was still a faint
tracing of the black marker on her arms, evidence of her disguise.

I glanced over at Heather. She was standing, clutching her hands
beneath her chin, watching us with a huge smile and brightly shining
eyes. "I've seen you around a lot. All part of the plan, I assume?"

Heather nodded, and then looked softly over at Spencer. "We had
help," she said.

I glanced over at my roommate. "I owe you big time for this," I said.

"Probably," he said. "But it was worth it."

I pulled Kayla over to the couch and sat down with her. Heather
perched on the arm and took a sip of her beer.

"Tell me about it," I said. "All of it."

"Consider it a little payback for your Prom trick," said Kayla
happily. "Do you remember me telling you I had taken a costuming
class my junior year? I just applied a little of that to a new
venture."

"The Goth look," I said. Kayla nodded and smiled. "And the letters
every day?" I asked.

"My idea," said Kayla. "Though Spencer suggested letting a friend of
his mail them, one at a time, from Tennessee."

I tried to look fierce at my roommate, but he didn't seem frightened
at all. He just grinned at me like a damned fool.

"And you've been torturing me all week by harassing me with your
group of newfound friends," I said.

Kayla nodded. "It worked, too, didn't it."

"Nearly too well," I said.

"I wasn't too worried. I had a mole here, checking the mood for me."

"Okay, so who else was in on this charade?" I asked.

"Oh, just a few close friends," said Kayla nonchalantly. "My
brother, Keisha, Tracy, my parents, your parents..."

"My parents?" I felt like I had been hit between the eyes with a two-
by-four.

"Here, Boss," said Spencer, picking up one of the boxes of pizza.
"This will help."

I numbly reached in for a slice. I had a lot to learn about the girl
I thought I knew so well. I was looking forward to learning all I
could.



* * * * * * * * * *



As the afternoon began to fade toward evening, a bunch of our
friends stopped by. Apparently, the word had gotten out that
something big was happening at my apartment that afternoon.
Teammates, friends, a couple of guys from the football team, and even
Eddie Whitehead stopped by. Everybody brought something, either
enough food to cure hunger in northern Florida, or beer and sodas in
such quantities there was no room left in the kitchen. They came,
stayed awhile, and left, welcoming Kayla and treating Heather like an
old friend. It was touching, and it was maddening. I wanted to be
alone with my Luscious, but so much went into the logistics of her
plan, I could not deny her this triumph. I smiled like an idiot the
entire time, and welcomed them all.

Finally, the place began to empty out. Spencer was wandering around
with a garbage bag, picking up the detritus of the impromptu party.
Heather came up to Kayla and me, sitting together on the couch. She
sat down next to me.

"The bonfire is going to start pretty soon," she said. "It's down by
Lake Alice, a welcoming party for the freshmen. Are you going to go?"

I glanced at Kayla. "It's part of the freshman experience. We should
go."

She smiled at me, and then turned to her roommate. "You go," she
said. "We still have some catching up to do."

Heather smiled and winked at Kayla. "Okay. You guys... catch up.
I'll see you later?"

Kayla nodded. Heather stood up. "Spencer? Want to go to the bonfire?"

I heard his voice floating from the kitchen. "Sure," he said. "Be
right there."

The door wasn't even closed behind them when Kayla stood up and
began to drag me back to my bedroom.



* * * * * * * * * *



Much later, we were lying together on our backs. I had my arm around
her shoulder as the sweat dried on our naked bodies. The sheets had
been kicked to the floor long ago, joining our tangled clothes in a
pile. Kayla reached across my body and took my wrist. She guided my
hand to her breast and pressed it against her flesh.

"Mmmmm," she hummed.

"You went to a lot of work to pull this off," I said quietly.

"Mmmm... hmmm," she agreed.

"You planned this for a long time."

"Mmmm... hmmm."

"And elicited a lot of promises of secrecy."

"Mmmm... hmmm."

I sat up and looked down at her. Once again I was struck by her
amazing beauty. It nearly matched the strength of her will.

"Is that all you're going to say?" I asked.

She smiled up at me, perfectly comfortable in her nudity with me,
and shrugged.

"Okay, tell me this. How long have you known you would be coming to
Florida to school?" I asked.

She favored me again with another smile, a happy and open
expression. "Oh, since I was about fourteen," she said.

I sat up straighter. "What? You've known for that long? How come I
didn't know? And what would have happened if I had gone somewhere
else?"

She patted the bed beside her. I lay back down, propping my head on
my hand, my elbow braced against the pillow, and stared at her lovely
face.

"It's not Florida, love. It's Sean."

"I don't understand."

She turned on her side and propped herself up like me. We looked
into each other's eyes.

"I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember," said
Kayla quietly. "When I got to high school, and we started going
together, I knew two years together wouldn't be enough. I want it
all, Sean. You, me, what we can build together, and if that meant
following you to whatever college you went to, that's what I would
do."

"I love you, too, my luscious Kayla Lehigh," I said, leaning over
and giving her a kiss on the tip of her nose. "But why couldn't you
just tell me this in the first place?"

She smiled, and then it was her turn to lean to me and kiss me
gently on my lips. She settled back, still smiling, but didn't answer
me.

"You are a very daring young lady," I said as I put my arms around
her once again.

She moved over to nestle in my arms. She tilted her head up and
looked at me seriously. "I'm just like you," she said to me. "We both
play to win. It's what we do, Sean. We can't help ourselves. And now
we've won, haven't we? Both of us."

I looked at her carefully. She still had a little of the pancake
makeup she had used on her skin behind her ear, and her pale hair was
sweated and matted down by the wig she had worn for so long, as well
as by our recent exertions. And she looked more beautiful to me than
she ever had.

"Yes, we have," I said. I kissed her again, and felt the heat
reinvigorate us.






(Continued in Chapter 48)


  
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