“It’s okay if you call me Kepler for this afternoon,” he told them, and he thought he saw one or two of them relax. “I moved here a few weeks ago from South Africa and play forward for Charlotte Discovery. Have any of you been to see Discovery play?”
The blank expressions he received were just reward for forgetting how the other half lived. “Does anyone know what the forward does on a soccer team?” he asked, changing tactic.
This garnered him a few shaken heads, and he gave a brief explanation of the positions in a soccer team, plus a couple of other basic rules of the game. Then, when he was sure they were as bored of standing around as he was, he asked, “Who’s ready to run?”
Ten eager hands shot into the air, and he motioned for them to help him open the mesh bag of soccer balls that had been left near the gate to the field.
For the next half hour he took them through some basic passing, dribbling and shooting drills. At first he felt awkward telling the kids what to do and was so fixated on what to do next that he wasn’t really paying attention to how they were doing with what he’d already given them. But they responded with such enthusiasm and interest that he quickly shook off his initial nerves and started to enjoy reaching back into his memory for the practice drills he’d enjoyed at their age.
“Okay, this one’s called the traffic jam,” he announced, oblivious to Laurel darting around the perimeter of the field with her camera clicking away. “The ball is your car, and you have to steer it safely around the road without losing control. When I say green, you dribble, in any direction you like. When I say red, you stop and put your foot on the ball. If anyone crashes into someone else, you have to come to me, the mechanic, and wait thirty seconds while I fix your car. Everyone ready?”
Ten heads bobbed excitedly. Kepler grinned. “Green!”
As he shouted instructions, the kids worked to control the ball. They were generally of average athletic ability or slightly below, but they put their all into it and that went a long way.
The one exception was a girl taller than the rest, whose lanky but powerful gait reminded him of his own teenage years. Her face was deeply focused as she ran, her movements were clean and efficient, and she controlled the ball with instinctive grace and agility.
Kepler wondered what he could do for her. He didn’t know anything about the women’s game, let alone the recruiting systems for someone as young as eleven. He made a mental note to ask the guy in charge of Discovery’s youth academy and to get this girl’s contact details to pass on. Hers was a raw talent too exciting to waste.
Exactly what the scout had said to his parents fifteen years ago, he realized with a smile.
All too soon Holly gestured for him to wrap up. The kids stowed the balls in the bag, and the principal suggested they sit in a circle on the grass to ask their questions. Kepler lowered himself down carefully. His hamstring would complain about him sitting cross-legged on an uneven field, but he didn’t want to be the prima donna athlete who needed a chair brought out for him while the kids sat on the dirt.
“What kinds of questions do you have for me?” Several hands shot into the air. He pointed at the scrawniest of the boys.
“How much money do you make playing soccer?”
Over the kids’ heads Kepler could see the principal cringe, but he just smiled. “That’s a fair question. Let’s just say that I earn more than I probably deserve for playing a game.”
He caught Laurel’s approving smile behind her camera as she moved behind the kids’ backs. Another hand went up.
“What’s it like living in South Africa?” asked a wide-eyed girl.
“It’s the best place in the world,” he said honestly. “It’s almost always sunny. On the coast you can go to the beach, and in the interior you can go on safari and see all sorts of animals.”
“Like lions?” a boy piped up.
“We have so many lions, we put them on the money.” Kepler grinned, pulling out his wallet. He flicked through the dollars to the wad of rands still at the back, found the fifty-rand note and passed it around to show them the lion printed on the front.
“South Africa has a lot of problems,” he said as the note circled back to him and he returned it to his wallet. “And sometimes it’s hard to be proud of your home, especially when people like to remind you of everything that’s wrong with it. But I still love it. At the end of the day, if we don’t take pride in where we’re from and try to make it better, who will?”
He studied their young faces, wondering if what he was trying to say was making an impact, or if he was being too cryptic, or if he was boring them.
But slowly their serious, attentive faces warmed into smiles of comprehension and a few knowing nods. Kepler released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe he hadn’t totally screwed this up.
“All right children, let’s all say thank you to Mr. de Klerk, and then I think we have a couple of things for you each to take home.” The principal clapped her hands briskly, and after another dutiful chorus of “thank you” the kids leaped up to collect the goody bags of Discovery merchandise Holly had brought.
Kepler’s hamstring had stiffened as he’d sat on the ground, and he carefully stretched his leg in front of him as he prepared to stand. A shadow interrupted the late afternoon sun, and he glanced up.
Holly stood over him, her hand extended.
He accepted her grip and heaved himself to his feet, trying to ignore the frisson of heady desire that the touch of her petal-soft skin on his always produced. He was brushing the grass from his cargo shorts when he noticed Holly watching him intently.
“What?” he asked. “I thought that went well.”
“Kepler, if you’re in pain you need to tell someone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, embarrassed that he must have let on how sore he was.
“I think you should sit out the game on Saturday,” she said decisively. “Discovery were able to beat St. Louis before you joined—they should have no problem now. Plus, it’s away, which means extra wear and tear in traveling and no hometown publicity. Then you’ll be fresh for the Dallas match next week.”
“I’ll make the call on when I do and don’t play, thanks,” Kepler snapped. Then he caught sight of the kids excitedly pulling hats and shirts out of their goody bags, and he sighed. “I really enjoyed this afternoon. It was a great idea on your part. You keep doing your end, and I’ll do mine. Okay?”
She nodded, and her concern-darkened face brightened. “You were amazing with those kids today. This wasn’t just a PR event. You really got through to some of them.”
“Do you think so?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and toed some dirt with his sneakered foot. “I wasn’t quite sure what to say.”
Her responding smile filled him with warm reassurance. “You were terrific.”
He grinned. “I want to speak to the principal about one of the kids, and then we can go. Is it worth asking if I can buy you a drink to celebrate my new career in inspirational speaking?”
Holly’s smile was affectionate and bemused, but she shook her head. “No, it’s not.”
“Coffee?”
“Still a no.”
He shrugged. “Worth a try. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Even though he’d been rebuffed, Kepler couldn’t stop grinning as he walked over to the school staff. He’d get a yes out of her one of these days, he was sure of it.
* * *
Holly watched as he shook hands with the teachers. The principal was gesturing to one of the kids and speaking animatedly, and Kepler crossed his arms as he listened.
He really had been amazing with the kids. Patient, engaged, enthusiastic. Without a hint of the ego he so readily showed to the Discovery staff.
Seeing him interact with the children made her wonder how much of his arrogant, demanding side was a defense mechanism. So many people in the world of professional sports were constantly trying to make decisi
ons about his career without involving him. Maybe it was his way of wresting back some control over his fate.
Maybe no one ever listened, and so he started shouting.
And that thought made Holly feel even worse about what she planned to do next. She pulled her phone from her purse, opened a new email message and typed hastily in order to send it off before Kepler returned.
To: Sharon Gibson
From: Holly Taylor
Subject: Game on Saturday
Hi Sharon,
Just wrapped the school photo shoot, couldn’t have gone better. Chronicle coverage should be major coup for national image.
K limped badly all afternoon. Insists he’s fine, but I think he should skip Saturday match. Away game, little local interest, not a big team, plus gives some distance after Barstow incident and before Chronicle article. Worst case scenario would be injury in St. Louis and then to miss next week when Chronicle goes to press.
I will tell Sven to put him on injury list for Sat. This is just FYI.
Hope all well in NYC.
Holly
Kepler was making his way back to her, wearing his trademark charming grin. As the late-afternoon sun spilled over him, bringing out all the different hues in his wheat-colored hair and illuminating normally invisible facets in his dark eyes, Holly thought he might be the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. And she was starting to believe he had the heart to match.
So she hated herself that much more when she hit Send.
Chapter Ten
It was Saturday night. Holly was at a VIP table in an exclusive club, wearing a brand new dress. She’d just washed down an expensive meal with several glasses of champagne.
And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so miserable.
No, wait—yes she could. This time last year, when her sister had thrown an enormous birthday party at her house in Ballantyne. Holly had scrambled to find a date for the party, and he only lasted about an hour before he snuck off to pursue one of Gina’s very beautiful and very married friends. Holly drank too much, made out with a member of the catering staff and spent the taxi ride home drunkenly weeping off all her mascara.
Gina had declared ladies-only festivities this year, and as much as she’d initially been grateful for the absence of tempting party waiters, as Holly glanced around the group of giggling, glamorous women, her all-too-familiar sense of inferiority reared its ugly head.
“And then I had to call the cable company again,” Gina was saying, wrapping up a long and tedious story. “They said it would be three days before they could fix it. Three days! So I said to the guy, what do you expect me to do for entertainment for three days?”
Gina’s friends all nodded their agreement, hanging on for the story’s exciting climax. Holly must have had slightly more champagne than she’d calculated, because she blurted, “Read a book?”
Gina’s heavily made-up face barely registered her younger sister’s snarky comment, and she pressed ahead with her tale. Holly rolled her eyes and refilled her glass from the bottle on the table.
When the anecdote had been relayed and Gina had her fill of basking in the attendant laughter, she zeroed in on her friend Kirsty. Holly liked Kirsty—not the sharpest tool in the shed, but sweeter and less self-obsessed than the rest of Gina’s group of friends.
“How’s the manhunt these days?” Gina asked. Unlike Kirsty, most of the women present had husbands or serious boyfriends, yet that never seemed to stop them from holding long and detailed conversations about who in the vicinity might or might not qualify as eye candy.
“Same old,” Kirsty said good naturedly. “I’ve finally given in and created an online dating profile.”
“You can’t do that.” Gina was aghast. “Only freaks and losers do online dating. Let’s find you someone tonight.” She clapped her hands together.
“This place is packed full of hotties,” another friend chimed in. “Who would be a good match for Kirsty?”
“Over there.” Gina pointed toward the bar. “Look at the body on that one. Kirsty, go talk to him.”
“I can’t.” Kirsty giggled in a way that implied she most certainly could.
“I’ll be right back.” Holly extricated herself from the velvet-roped VIP area. She tottered as she made her way through the writhing crowd to the restroom, but decided that was just the three-inch heels. She wasn’t that tipsy, not really.
The brightly lit bathroom seemed glaring and harsh after the dark lounge. She washed her hands, fluffed her hair, freshened her lip gloss and then stared at herself in the mirror.
Why couldn’t she relax and have a good time? So Gina’s approach to life was the opposite of hers—what of it? It was her sister’s birthday, and she was entitled to have a good time. The champagne was flowing, the music was pumping, and everyone else in this club was having a great night.
“It wouldn’t kill you to let go for one night,” Holly reproached her reflection. “You don’t have to be so above everything all the time. Get over yourself.”
Two girls staggered in, chatting noisily, and she squeezed past them and plunged back into the noise and press of the Saturday night revelers. The heavy beat vibrated through her body and she squared her shoulders, willing herself to have fun.
As she approached the table, Gina spotted her and gestured for her to hurry up.
“Look what we found!”
Holly rounded the velvet rope and a man half stood to slide down the faux leather-upholstered seat to give her space. She glanced up at him and her mouth dropped open.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“Holly, this is Kyle,” Kirsty explained from her place across the table as Holly sat beside him. “He’s from England. Or was it Australia?”
“Still playing the name game, I see,” she murmured irritably. Any positivity from her little bathroom pep talk was a distant memory. This night couldn’t get any worse.
“No, she’s just forgotten it already,” Kepler replied coolly.
Gina’s eyes darted between the two of them. “You know him?”
“Remember I told you I was working with a soccer player? This is him. Although I can’t be doing that great a job if none of you recognized him,” Holly concluded miserably.
“Holly is the best PR manager I’ve ever had,” he said, turning back to her. “Hello, by the way.”
“Isn’t everyone in St. Louis? Did you come here by yourself?”
“Yes, and yes. And as pissed off as I still am about being inexplicably put on the injury list, I thought it was a good win this afternoon. Good enough to merit a drink or two. Plus I need to make friends in this city somehow, don’t I?”
“I guess,” she grumbled, feeling absurdly jealous of all of these so-called friends that didn’t even exist yet.
“So, Kyle,” Gina interjected, clearly annoyed she wasn’t the center of their attention. “What’s it like being a professional athlete?”
Kepler looked up as if seeing her for the first time, and his face relaxed into a smile. “You must be Holly’s sister.”
Holly’s heart sank so heavily that she was suddenly on the verge of tears. She should’ve known Kepler would be just another one in the long line of guys who never looked at her again after they met Gina, the upgraded, more fun version of herself. They had the same dark hair, except Gina’s was thicker, shinier and cut by a more expensive stylist. Their matching blue eyes sat less strikingly in her face, which was elegantly gaunt and much less round than Holly’s. And her boobs—Holly couldn’t bear to think about them, particularly as tonight they were spilling halfway out of her dress.
“Oh, that’s so sweet that she told you about me,” Gina cooed. “We’ve always been super close.”
“So I hear.” Kepler leaned against the seat and slung his arm over the back so it extended behind Holly. The bunched cloth where he’d rolled his sleeve up on his forearm brushed against the nape of her neck.
“And how long have you been in America, Kyle?” Gina asked, taking a dainty sip of champagne. Holly leaned forward and splashed more into her own glass, then threw back half of it.
“It’s Kepler,” he corrected. Gina’s expression was puzzled, and he repeated, “My name is Kepler,” a little more loudly.
“Right, whatever.” Gina turned to Kirsty. “Well?” she whispered in a voice more than loud enough for everyone to hear. “Aren’t you going to make your move?”
Kirsty looked at Kepler like a gazelle might size up a lion. Holly drained her glass and poured another. Maybe she should call a taxi now and let the rest of this bizarre mating ritual finish without her.
When she put her glass down after another big gulp of champagne, Kepler was watching her.
“What?” she demanded.
“Do you want to have a go on the dance floor?”
Holly blinked. “What?” she repeated with less hostility and more confusion.
“You heard me.”
“I never pegged you for a dancer.”
Kepler smirked and took her elbow. “Follow me.”
As soon as she stood, Holly realized that her teetering wasn’t just from her heels. She’d drunk too much. Her head spun and her stomach lurched, but she also felt remarkably light and happy.
What was it she’d said to herself in the bathroom? It wouldn’t kill her to let go.
He guided her across the room but bypassed the dance floor and led her into a little alcove between the bar and the hallway to the restrooms.
“I thought we were dancing?”
“I only dance at weddings, and even then only after many, many drinks.” He smiled.
She frowned. “So what are we doing?”
The Striker's Chance Page 11