So Different by Ruthie Robinson

unless boo was a nickname for derby, which, come to think of it, was a distinct possibility. It was also a distinct possibility that he’d been royally played by one Mariah Sullivan.
    He recalled the times he’d spoken to her, her expression when he’d given her the initial pamphlet. Her smile had fallen away, along with the sparkle in her eye; her flirty manner had all but disappeared when he’d mentioned the Center for Domestic Violence.
    His only motivation had been to help her, but now he felt like an idiot at his assumption she was a victim of abuse. He’d thought he knew her, assumed her looks, her bruises, conveyed who and what she accepted in her life. Not a good move, Adam , he thought. In light of this developing attraction, he hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him.
    He tuned back to the match. Mariah was still seated on the bench, cheering and shouting something to her teammates, the picture of heated energy and sweaty sex. She’d played along with him, had just let him assume whatever. He laughed out loud, catching Tiff’s odd look.
    “You okay?” she asked.
    “I am,” he said, turning back to the track. Mariah was preparing to enter the fray again. The star was back on her helmet. He replayed what he now suspected had been one incredible acting job on her part, and laughed again at the full extent of her chicanery. She’d been faking it with the story she’d told him; her hands on his ass made sense now, too. She was basically just fucking with him, pretending like she was hurt, but mostly just playing him. How easy that had been, he thought, reviewing the scene again and shaking his head at his gullibility. He realized now that he’d never actually seen any tears, just assumed they were present given the volume of her wails.
    He chuckled again, wondering if his dad was somehow involved. Of course he was. That was the reason he was here tonight and the reason behind his pops riding his ass to make sure he wouldn’t back out. Of course he was in on it.
    He was easily fooled, it seemed, and his thoughts drifted back to his ex and how he hadn’t seen her clearly, either. He’d seen only what he’d wanted to see.
    Mariah’s team lost by fifty points, he overheard Tiff say. They had rolled around the floor once and had skated off, while Team Thunderstorm, the winners, continued the parade, accepting the cheers and accolades from the crowd as they circled the rink. He followed Mariah’s body as she skated off the track, her short skirt lifting in the breeze, his gaze on her ass and at those nice round globes of cheeks.
    “They are good,” he heard Tiff say. She was redirecting his attention to the winning team skating around the track now, pointing to Team Thunderstorm.
    “They are,” he said, returning his attention to the track.
    He glanced over again a few minutes later and found Mariah standing near the back now, hands on her hips, talking and laughing with what he figured were fans. He wanted to talk to her, to apologize for his misjudgment of her.
    “I know one of them,” he heard himself say to Tiff, puzzled by her odd expression. “Hey, Michael, I know one of the women on the Brass Knuckles team. She’s one of my dad’s patients. Didn’t know she was a member. I’m going over to say hello.”
    “We’ll come with you,” Michael said, clasping Allison’s hand while looking over at Tiff. “Then we can all leave when you’re done. We’re ready to go anyway. Want to grab a bite to eat or something after this?”
    “Sure,” he said, although his preference had been to go over alone, wishing he had come alone.
    They made their way to the side of the building where she and the other derby players stood. He walked up to her. Her back was to him, allowing him to examine her once more. She was now moist from exertion. He tapped her on the shoulder and watched her face as she turned to him. He made note of her reactions—satisfaction and desire; a nice combination. She didn’t