by Katy Evans
“Good work, Coach?” a player yells after him. “We fucking destroyed the other team! Fucking smothered them.” He laughs and comes to slap Tahoe on the back, already dressed and ready to go. “Plus no one got injured.”
He walks away, and once again, I notice the burn mark streaking across the back of Tahoe’s hand.
“No injuries? What’s that?”
“Nothing. That comes with the turf.” He grins and turns around, whips off his towel, bare-ass naked, and eases into his jeans.
I turn away, my cheeks heating to a thousand and one degrees from the sight of the most perfect freaking male butt I’ve ever seen. It’s as tanned as the rest of him, which only confirms this guy sunbathes in the buff.
While I do anything but look at Tahoe, another player walks up to him.
“Twenty to one—that’s demoralizing. Just what my ego needed after our losing streak.” His eyes fall to me in appreciation. “Is this the lady I need to thank for your excellent performance, Roth?” the guy asks.
Tahoe smirks but slams the door of his locker. “Yeah, but you can thank her another day,” he says. His gaze falls on the sweaty jersey I’m holding against my chest. “You caught my jersey.”
It’s just him and me now in the aisle.
“I kind of had no other choice, it was either catch it or let it fall on my lovely face.”
“Ahh, we can’t have that, can we?” He laughs and pokes the tip of my nose with his fingertip.
I scrunch my nose up and pretend I’ll bite his finger if he touches me again. “I’m not putting it on. But it’ll be great to dry my dishes with.”
“Hey, a wash and it’ll be good as new.” He pats me on the butt.
“A wash? This needs to be burned, T. Roth. Burned,” I say.
“So where’s the fire?” He lifts his brows in challenge. His eyes sparkle. Is it possible that up close and smiling, this man looks even more intimidating than he did out there, wearing that threateningly mysterious visor?
“I…”
The fire is inside me.
In places you will never know.
“Let’s do a crazy ceremony—we’re burning your sweaty jersey before it stains my closet,” I tell him.
It seems like a good idea not to hang on to his jersey. Soon I’ll be sleeping in his shirt like Rachel did with Saint’s—and that did nothing to help her stop thinking about him. I don’t need to think of Tahoe for another second, especially at night. I have all I need in Trent. I do. I do.
He shifts close, his thigh against mine as he toes my shoes with his bare foot. “Should I bring the matches?” He’s smirking as he sits down on the bench to slip on his loafers.
“I’ve got plenty of matches.”
As he stands, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s right, you do.” He looks briefly at my lips, then he grabs his duffel so we can leave. “Let’s get you home.”
He leads me out and drives me home.
On our way there, we talk about the game—his goals—and the fact that they won.
He tells me the history of lacrosse. It started with Native Americans. When a boy was ready to become a man, he would play a game of lacrosse. But it would be played across eight or nine miles, where, once gaining possession of the ball, the boy would have to run like hell mile after mile, never knowing when he would be attacked and fought for the ball.
“Fastest-growing sport in America,” he finishes.
“Well it was about time people caught up. I declare myself a fan. I’m a lacrosse groupie.”
He grins at that then shakes his head. “You could never be a groupie.”
“Excuse me?” I scoff. “Because I didn’t paint two zeros on my cheek? I like my makeup to make me look better, not worse.”
He shoots me a doubtful look and then parks his car in an empty spot outside my building. He turns to me. “Hey, thanks for coming today. I liked seeing you up there.”
The car feels warm all of a sudden.
I try to shrug casually. “I liked seeing you play.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” It has to be 200 degrees in here. “And you know it, Tahoe! You’re like a star for your entire team.”
“My team and I have been training for years.”
“You really love the game, don’t you?”
He nods. He uses his hands to create the long rectangle shape of the field before him. “I stand there, in the middle of the field. Behind me is my goal. Before me, my opponent’s goal and my attackers. My defense is behind me, my wings to my right, all I need is to get the ball and put it in that goal. That’s it. Simple. Nothing else in life is that fucking simple.”
The passion in his eyes makes me feel…happy. Giddy almost. And so very warm.
We’re still parked in the same spot. I wonder if we’re prolonging the moment here. In his car.
“What else are you this passionate about, besides scoring?”
“I live for scoring.” A devil’s light sparks in his eyes and suddenly I can’t take the heat anymore.
I force myself to open the door. “Don’t get out, I’m fine.”
He gets out, locks the car, and follows me inside. “So what’s in line for tonight?” he asks me in the quiet elevator as we ride up to my floor.
“Bed.”
He stares at the elevator numbers as they climb. “Alone?” His eyes slide to mine, and he quirks a brow, but his gaze is intense.
“No,” I admit with a shrug.
“Davis?” He almost sneers the word.
“Wait. How do you know his name is Trent Davis?”
“I asked.”
“Well, stop asking. And it’s not Trent, it’s Wynn. Emmett is out of town and we’re having a girls’ sleepover.”
“Ahh.” He smirks.
I point at his beard.
“You should celebrate by visiting your barber. That beard!” I cluck and shake my head.
His lips look extra pink next to the beard as he flashes his smile and follows me to my door. “Regina.” His voice stops me before I walk inside, his gaze as happy as I felt downstairs when he told me about the game. “I appreciate you coming to the game.”
He looks as if he wants to lift me in the air and throw me or something.
“I might have enjoyed it if the team I was rooting for hadn’t lost,” I bait him.
“We didn’t lose,” he says, still grinning.
He leans over and kisses my cheek, his smile brushing my skin.
“Have fun with Wynn tonight.”
Pine trees linger in my nose as he walks toward the elevator. He hops on board, gives me a peace sign and his highest-megawatt smile, and the doors close and take him away.
I clutch his jersey to my chest and step into my apartment to find a note from my landlord, reminding me that my rent was due today. I sigh and drop onto the couch.
I look at his shirt then I go dump it in the washer and go have a bite to eat.
Forty minutes later, I switch it to the drier and feel myself smile as I watch his shirt go round and round.
* * *
Wynn arrives soon and we’re watching Tequila Sunrise but I can’t really focus on the movie because my mind keeps returning to Tahoe. There is so much more to Tahoe Roth than meets the eye and I’m pretty certain not a lot of people get to know the man on a deep level. Seeing his passion for lacrosse only brought to the surface my own excitement about it, and I’m stunned that he can have such a powerful effect on me. I keep wondering what he’s doing now as I watch the movie on my bed with Wynn and pretend I’m really paying attention to Michelle Pfeiffer and Mel Gibson.
Wynn puts the movie on pause. “Gina, you’re way too quiet and I’m the only one eating popcorn. Maybe you haven’t noticed but I have.” She eyes me probingly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I look at her. I was ready for bed by the time she arrived. I’d already taken Tahoe’s shirt out of the drier and shoved it under my bed skirt because I simply didn’t want questions that I d
idn’t have the answers to.
So I give her a chiding frown, as if it’s all in her head, and say, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Isn’t there? How are you and Trent?”
“We’re good.”
“You’re lost in outer space and you’re smiling when there’s nothing funny happening in the movie. You think I don’t notice? What’s up?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re also wearing less makeup. You look so good! And so sweet! What’s up with that little change? Are you in love?”
My eyes flare wide at that. “No! Wynn…Trent and I are dating. We’re getting to know each other still.”
I start laughing out of pure nervousness because I’m not ready to fall in love. It’s too soon to fall in love. I’m too wary and distrustful of love.
“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, a sly little grin on her lips. “I’m here if you ever want to talk about it, Gina.”
“Thank you,” I say, then grab the remote and press Play.
The TV and one tiny lamp on my side of the bed are the only lights in the room as we continue watching the movie and I continue to find my mind wandering back to the jersey with the double zeroes that lies under my bed skirt.
SPRING BREAK
April arrives with the promise of spring break, and the girls begin making plans.
“Callan’s invited us all to his Miami beach house. Trent too, Gina. We have to make the effort to go, spend time together,” Rachel says over brunch.
“I’d kill for a tan right now.” Wynn looks at her white hands. “And a manicure.”
I’ve been working double shifts at the department store. I’ve also managed to land some steady clients who want their makeup done during the weekends, plus a few gigs at children’s parties where the kids want their faces painted like their favorite animals. It leaves very little time for Trent and me to see each other. Sometimes I only get to see him once or twice a week. Work has also been getting in the way of my usual Thursday date nights with the girls.
So when, this Sunday during brunch, they begin making plans for spring break and tell me we’re all invited with our partners to spend a long weekend at Callan’s Miami house, I’m too work-tired to decline and desperately looking forward to some fun times.
Trent, however, is not that excited about the expense. I convince him to use his airplane miles, but when it turns out he doesn’t have enough miles, I end up using all of my saved credit card miles and splurge on both of our tickets.
I know that his business has put a strain on his finances. I also know that I’m saving for an apartment and can’t afford frivolous spending. But I’m excited about spending time with him out of the city. Between my busy work schedule and his, we don’t spend as much time as we should together. I want to remedy that this spring break.
* * *
I end up packing last minute on the very same day we leave for Miami. Trent is already at my place, all his stuff packed in a tiny black carry-on duffel. Men. There is no way I can fit all of my things in even a bag double that size.
I rummage through my closet and I hold up a bikini that I got as a birthday present from Rachel two years ago.
“What do you think about me packing this bikini, as well as my one-piece?”
He eyes the bikini thoughtfully, scratches one of his freckles with a sheepish look, and then looks at me. “Are you going to fix your hair?”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m fixing my hair.” I tug the careless ponytail I’m wearing and roll my eyes.
“Then I like it.” He grins.
I continue packing, suddenly shooting him a sideways frown. I like that he’s honest, I prefer honesty over the pure bullshit I got from Paul. But I love wearing my ponytail when I’m relaxing or when I’m having a bad hair day. A ponytail is so much easier than spending hours with the flat iron.
“I better shower and get ready to leave,” I say when I notice the time. Our flight leaves in three hours.
Trent glances at the time too and nods at me with a wink, looking cute in a baseball cap and a blue tee as he helps me zip up my luggage.
I check my phone and see a text from my mother.
Heard your message, Gina! Glad things are going well, we miss you and hope to come home for Christmas this year and meet this boy of yours! Love from Mom and Dad
“My parents want to meet you,” I say.
“Wow. I’m so ready for that,” he says, stunned but obviously happy.
I purse my lips thoughtfully, then realize I will never be able to change my parents. I know that they love me in their own quirky way, but they never really loved spending time with me more than they enjoyed spending time with each other.
I will never come first.
They will never rush to answer my phone calls, my texts, my messages.
But they want to meet my boyfriend now, and I’m grateful that they’re even moderately interested.
“You know what?” I say thoughtfully. “Me too. I feel so good about this trip, Trent, I really want to spend time with you.”
Aiming to prove to him how much I mean it, I spend half an hour after showering to flat-iron my hair, determined for him to drool over me the entire long weekend.
BEACH HOUSE
We arrive in Florida at 3 p.m. The humidity is so high that my hair starts curling within minutes of standing out on the airport sidewalk while waiting for a taxi. I end up having to pull my hair back in a ponytail and “I really like you with your hair down best” Trent pouts sadly.
“Complain to the humidity.” I realize I sound cross and this is not how I wanted our vacation to go, so I force myself to lighten up and nudge him. “Come on, it’s still me.”
He frowns. “Why are you hitting me?”
I pause and straighten. “Hit you? I was just…nudging you…whatever.” I shake my head and laugh to myself.
My stomach sinks a little. I remember all the things about myself I had once tried to change to please Paul. Does every relationship require that to work? Do you need to change stuff you like or do simply to deserve being wanted and loved?
I push my dark thoughts aside when the cab halts at a massive wrought-iron gate with a CC emblem at its center.
Once we’re allowed to pass, the cab pulls over before an Architectural Digest-worthy Mediterranean mansion that consists of a pristine white building plus ten villas spread across the beach. Every villa is facing the waves and sand. Callan greets us when we arrive, hair mussed and sexy as only he and his gang of playboy friends can look. His date is a petite brunette—Sandy—who’s trying to prove to the elusive billionaire how good a hostess she is by offering drinks every couple of minutes to anyone who crosses her path.
She shows us to our room and I fall in love instantly with the simple, sophisticated décor. Everything is done in neutral tones with the exception of colorful pillows strewn on the bed and patterned art deco curtains on the massive glass doors that lead to the terrace. The terrace has an outdoor shower and a private pool.
Trent and I get settled in record time then meet up with everybody at the main pool. Drinks and conversation flow as Rachel, Wynn, and I lie on deep orange chaise lounges and the men sip drinks in the pool. Saint playfully leaps out of the pool to join Rachel¸ stroking his hand up and down her tiny, nearly four-month-pregnant belly. The adoration in his eyes is heartwarming and I can’t help but feel a flood of happiness for them, for my best friend.
But as the hours pass and the sky starts casting a pink-orange glow across the horizon, I realize I’m not having as much fun as I expected as I would.
Maybe because I can’t help but notice that everyone is here…
Everyone but Tahoe.
* * *
Even after a full day at the pool and a tray full of margaritas, I can’t sleep that night. I find myself wandering out onto the terrace. I’m wearing a flimsy camisole and shorts and I’m enjoying the way the warm spring Florida night feels on my skin. I take one of the terrace lounge chairs and stare o
ut at the waves. The sky is pitch black with only a sliver of moon, one of the few lights I can see.
My eyes are drawn to the only other light nearby, flooding out of the villa next door.
Its windows are open, and the gauzy drapes billow softly with the wind.
The villa was vacant, as far as I knew, because I heard it was supposed to be Tahoe’s. Did he finally arrive? I expect to hear moans and groans at any moment now.
Instead there’s movement, and as my eyes adjust to the shadows, I realize there’s a man sitting outside too. His blue eyes glimmer in the dark, and there’s a light smile curving his lips as he lifts his fingers in a peace sign.
My stomach, my heart, my whole body seems to clutch and spasm in reaction.
Tahoe is sitting alone. How long had he been watching me?
His chest is bare. But he’s wearing some sort of drawstring pajama pants that are light in color and possibly linen. He looks like a god in the moonlight. And the sudden thought of a woman being inside that villa with him causes a dull thud of jealousy right in my center.
I’m suddenly too aware of how flimsy my camisole is, and how very much my nipples are poking into the material as the wind presses it against my skin.
I know Tahoe notices.
He’s too observant a man not to notice, too perceptive.
He must be wondering why I’m not in my room, in my boyfriend’s arms.
I wonder why too.
Behind me, my boyfriend is warm, asleep in bed, but my mind is stuck on Tahoe and how he makes me feel. Why does it feel like my life is moving, but I’m stuck at a standstill, just waiting for glimpses of him?
Him and that slowly curving smile appearing now.
Soon I find myself smiling back at him.
I’m really happy to see him.
I CANNOT TAKE MY EYES OFF HIM
I wake up late and alone the next morning, a little disoriented. When the fog clears, I remember that I’m at the beach, in the loveliest villa I could imagine, with my boyfriend and friends, and a smile lights my face.