And then he does.
He presses his lips against mine. Softly. Delicately. Like my lips are fragile and he doesn’t want to break them. He kisses my top lip, sucking on it lightly. Then he kisses the corner of my mouth, and the side of my jaw, and my neck. His mouth opens against me and I feel his tongue on my skin. A moan escapes from deep in my chest.
Suddenly everything moves from slow and languid to full speed. He’s back at my lips, and our mouths part, our tongues seeking entrance. His hand is still behind my head, his fingers gripping my hair, his other hand at my lower back. He pulls me against him. I can feel just how much he’s enjoying this kiss, but I know there is no way he could possibly be feeling as riotous and reckless as I do.
I snake my arms around his neck, letting my fingers tangle in his hair as our kiss deepens. When I tug slightly, he moans into my mouth, and his hand at my lower back drops lower to my ass and he squeezes. He takes a step into me, and with nowhere to go, I find myself backed up against the door. He presses himself against me and my stomach muscles clench. We are nothing but a pile of moans and kisses and tongues and heavy breaths.
I feel something brewing inside. I’ve never been kissed like this, like my next breath can only come from this connection, like if we pulled apart something inside of my soul would tear in two. This one kiss puts all of my other youthful fumblings to shame.
Our hands are everywhere. On shoulders and arms, gripping skin and clothing, pulling and tugging to get our bodies closer, closer, so much closer. We are fused together, my body soft and pliant, his body hard and firm. He grips my thigh and lifts my leg just slightly, pressing into me with a roll that has the space in my lower belly tightening and shivers skittering through my body.
I can barely breathe and suck in a long breath through my nose and inhale his warmth. His scent is familiar. Comforting. I breathe him in as deep as I can, to try and imprint the essence of who he is into my veins, burrowing that comfort into the lining of my lungs.
And just as quickly as the kiss became frantic, I can feel it slowing down. He leans further into me to kiss my neck, and then my jaw, and then the corner of my mouth, before kissing me one more time on the lips. Softly. Delicately. Our foreheads are resting against each other. Our eyes our closed. Our breathing ragged.
“Wow,” I whisper, sure that there has never been a bigger understatement.
“Wow isn’t enough,” he whispers back, bringing words to my unspoken thoughts.
I smile as I try to catch my breath.
“So, what now?”
He pulls his forehead away and looks me in the eyes.
“Now, I head home and take a cold shower, and try to think of an amazing second date to knock your socks off.”
I laugh, taking his hand from where it still rests on my shoulder and interlocking my fingers with his. “Trying to get into my socks already, huh? I knew you were only after one thing.”
He tugs on my hand and wraps his free arm around me, snuggling me in for a quick hug and a kiss at the crown of my head. Then he’s releasing my hand and taking a step back. His smile is small but genuine. I can’t help but return it with my own.
“I’ll hear from you soon?” I say, as I open the door to head back into my apartment.
“Count on it. You’re not going out anymore?”
“No need,” I say, shaking my head. He looks at me in confusion, so I try the honesty route since it worked so well last time. “I was going out to distract myself from thinking about you. Now, I know any attempts at that tonight will be a complete failure.”
His face breaks out into that breathtaking smile of his, nodding his head in understanding.
“Okay then. Night, RJ.”
“Night, Indy,” I say with a wink.
I close the door to the sound of his light chuckle, walk straight up to my room and collapse on my bed. It’s the second time in just a few hours that interacting with that man has made me want to lay down and replay every word, every touch. My fingers graze over my lips, still slightly swollen from being thoroughly kissed. And then I’m laughing, and laughing, and hugging my arcade teddy bear to my chest.
* * * * *
Through most of Sunday, I ride a high only a mind-blowing kiss can give, plowing through my homework with lightning speed and getting my laundry and grocery shopping done in just a few hours. I ride it until mid-evening when I get a text from Piper.
Piper: Did you hear the news about Coach Walker?!
Me: No. What’s going on?
Piper: She got picked up by Washington. She flew up today and starts with their team tomorrow.
My heart plummets and shock rolls through my body. I love Coach Walker. Is she really leaving us to contract with another team mid-season? Is that even allowed? I thought the NCAA had rules about this or something. Don’t get me wrong, Coach Johnson is great. But he’s the Assistant Coach and this is his first college-level job. Can he really manage our team this close to playoffs?
Piper: Coach Johnson is bringing in someone else to co-coach for the rest of the season
Me: Are you serious?! Do you know who the new coach is?
Piper: Haven’t heard anything
Me: Let me know if you do
I grip my phone in my hand. How can this be happening? I mean, I know I’m not pro material like Jeremy. But there are some girls on the team who do have what it takes, and making it to playoffs is helpful for exposure to scouts. A new coach will disrupt everything we have going for us so far.
And I can’t help but feel the tiny sting of rejection. Coach Walker recruited me. I’ve been with her since I started playing at Glendale freshman year. She’s one of the only people here that knows about my home life. She really gets why playing is so important to me, apart from just the scholarship. And she always took the time to check in with me on a personal level. She wasn’t just a coach. She was a mentor. A friend.
And now… she’s just, gone? No goodbye? No explanation?
I try to distract myself by flipping through a book I told myself I would read for pleasure but never got around to opening. I settle on reading the first paragraph of each chapter and then reading the final page of the book. Much easier than wasting my time on all the drama, but surprisingly unsatisfying.
An hour passes before I hear from Piper again, and when I hear my phone beep, Charlie startles next to me with how I lunge at the table to grab it.
Piper: Okay I just heard from Ruth-Ann. We won’t know who the coach is until tomorrow. They’re still narrowing it down tonight and have to sign someone
Me: Do you think they’ll be at practice in the morning?
Piper: Maybe. If Coach J and the AD can get everything squared away by then
Me: This is ridiculous. How can she talk to us about our strategy for the season YESTERDAY and then quit today?
Piper: I know. I hope she enjoys the weather
I laugh. Coach Walker hates the rain. But just as quickly, I feel bad for feeling ill will towards her. As frustrating as this is, I guess you have to take the next step for you when it comes along. Not everything can wait for convenient timing.
I try to relax the rest of the evening, but I end up taking too long of a jog, too hot of a shower, and get very little sleep. My body is restless. My mind is restless. And when I drag myself out of bed on Monday morning to get ready for practice, I feel like I have a hangover. Or at least, what I assume a hangover would feel like.
An email sent to the team at 3:30 this morning from Coach Johnson clarified that we would be meeting together in the athletic offices to ‘discuss Coach Walker’s departure and the new direction for our team.’
The only thing that alleviates my nerves about our meeting this morning is the text that pops up on my phone as I’m heading out the door, eating my pre-practice banana:
Mack: Morning beautiful. I was thinking about our second date. I’m putting the kibosh on Chuck-E-Cheese. How do you feel about the Atwater High Sch
ool football game on Friday night?
Me: Only if you guarantee me an unlimited supply of M&Ms and popcorn
Mack: Well obviously
Me: Okay then count me in
Mack: Great. I might even try to sneak you behind the bleachers for a few minutes
Me: Oh Indy, you trying to put your sweet pre-pubescent moves on me?
Mack: Perhaps
Me: Well we have to be careful. I don’t want any rumors about us impacting my bid for Prom Queen
Mack: No worries there, sweetheart
My heart soars as I drive to practice. I’m pulling into the parking lot at the school when his last text comes through:
Mack: Heading into an important meeting so I won’t be able to chat much today. But I’ll call tonight to hash out details for Friday?
Me: Can’t wait
Mack: Me neither ;)
I smile and close out the screen, then chuck my phone into my duffle and practically float across the parking lot and into the building, allowing my excitement to wash over me for a few minutes.
When I reach the fourth floor, my excitement is replaced with trepidation. I find most of our team in the small banquet room just off the entryway. The chairs have all been lined up in rows to face the front, where I’m assuming Coach Johnson will be introducing our new coach. I drop down in a chair next to Piper and notice that everyone is whispering animatedly in little groups.
“What’s the deal?” I ask Piper, elbowing her lightly on the arm to get her attention.
“We found out who the new coach is!” she replies in a sing-song voice, and I can tell that she wants me to play the guessing game. Normally I would appease her, but my nerves are off the charts and I am definitely not in the mood.
“And?”
Before Piper can say anything, Ruth-Ann leans over her and quickly whispers, “Andy McIntosh!”
My jaw drops, my eyes going wide.
“Seriously?”
Ruth-Ann and Piper nod vigorously, huge smiles on their faces.
Andy McIntosh.
I definitely knew him. Well, knew about him. If memory serves, he was ranked the number one NCAA soccer player in the country about five years ago, got drafted his junior year to play for the Chicago Fire, and then shot his entire career to hell when he got into a car with a drunk driver and ripped apart his body. I think the rumor was that he was paralyzed in that accident, though, so I am blown away by the news.
“How is he going to be our coach? Can he even play anymore?” I look back and forth between them and lower my voice. “Can he even walk?”
“Don’t you know the story?” Ruth-Ann asks. When I shake my head she launches right in with the little snippets she remembers. He was partying with a bunch of guys from college who came to visit him. When they left the party, there was a lot of ice on the road, and the driver, who was totally plastered, lost control of the car and plowed into a freeway overpass. A handful of cars crashed in behind them, including a mother of three who was paralyzed. One of Andy’s legs was crushed into dust, and just like that his career was over.
“Do you know what happened afterwards?”
Ruth-Ann shakes her head.
“I tried googling him when I found out this morning but all I could find were the same articles about the crash and his release from Chicago, and then a bunch of recent playboy stuff.”
“And his fine ass picture,” Piper adds, fanning herself dramatically. “That man fell out of the sexy beast tree and hit every fucking branch on the way down. Sexy. Ass. Beast. I swear I’ve never seen someone so ridiculously good looking.”
I giggle and roll my eyes.
“So is he gonna be here today?”
Ruth-Ann shrugs.
“I’m assuming so. Why else would we be meeting here? We probably aren’t going to get in any real practice time this morning, which is the exact opposite of what we need.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that before I transferred from Vandy, we got a new coach and she wanted to do individual meetings with us on her first day. They were a total waste of time and were supposed to set us at ease about the team.” Ruth-Ann rolls her eyes and begins picking dirt out from under her fingernails. “You know what would set us at ease? Getting on the field and seeing that things aren’t shot to hell because Coach Walker did a runner.”
“Seriously,” I grumble, then sit back in my chair and rest an ankle on my knee.
Just then, the door opens behind us. Every voice in the room falls silent as all thirty of us turn to look at the former soccer star following Coach Johnson into the room. And when my eyes find him, I feel the air whoosh out of my lungs.
Andy McIntosh.
My eyes blink rapidly, trying to will away the face of the man in front of us. But it does no good. I’m still left looking into the face of the man who has occupied my thoughts so thoroughly over the past few days.
Mack.
“You okay?” Piper whispers. “You look super pale all of a sudden.”
I just nod and slump down lower in my chair. Maybe if he doesn’t see me…
But there isn’t anywhere that thought can go. Because I already know he’ll see me… he has to see me. And when he does, I will break apart when I see the look in his eyes that means whatever we shared over the weekend is over. How is this possible?
“Alright ladies,” I hear Coach Johnson start speaking, but my eyes are trained on Mack. “I know most of you are aware that Coach Walker got a job at Washington and left over the weekend. The Athletic Director and I have been working tirelessly over the past twenty four hours to find someone to join our humble team as an interim head coach for the remainder of the season. I am excited to introduce you all to the man who will be stepping into that role. Please welcome your interim head coach, Andrew McIntosh.”
A light applause and a smattering of giggles. I look around suddenly and notice my teammates eyeing Mack with various shades of flirtation, appreciation, and downright lust. I glance back up at the front at Mack, standing comfortably in his track pants and Glendale Soccer shirt, a thick black band around his wrist and a whistle hanging from his neck.
He’s gripping a clipboard to his chest, posing his arms in a position to show off his flexing muscles. His eyes are trained on Coach Johnson, who is continuing to talk, although what I’m hearing falls more in line with the adults in Charlie Brown. Waah, waah waaaaah, waaah waaah.
When I finally snap out of it, I realize it’s because Mack has started talking, his rich voice cutting through the room.
“… excited to be here. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to get back into the game, and think working at Glendale is going to be an excellent chance to challenge what you think you know about yourself, both on and off the field. Coach Walker and Coach Johnson have done an excellent job in moving this team in a great direction, and I am looking forward to the chance to help you all continue your playoff hopes.” His eyes are glancing around the room, and as I see them flit towards me, I bend over and grab my water bottle from my bag. I can’t let him see me.
Not yet.
I need to brace myself for the look I know I’ll get when he sees me. I just need a few more minutes to prepare. Just a few more.
When my head pops back up, he’s talking about meeting with us individually. He starts at the beginning of the alphabet and then heads out the door with midfielder Gina Brown. When she gets to the door, she turns back and looks at the other midfielders and gives them a quick up-and-down with her eyebrows and bites her fingernail before sashaying out of the room after him.
The slut.
As soon as everyone starts talking again, I’m pulling my phone out of my duffle and Googling Andrew McIntosh. I’m pretty sure my brother has talked about him before but I can’t place the memory. When I pull up his bio online and his soccer history is displayed on my phone, I see why.
Mack and Jeremy were invited to the same U-18 National
Team camp when they were in high school. I click quickly to Jeremy’s FaceBook page. He and Mack definitely know each other, and there are at least a dozen photos of them together over the past few years, looking pretty friendly, like more than just acquaintances.
How has this never been on my radar? Why did it never occur to me that Jeremy and Mack were friends? I met him at Jer’s party.
I click to Mack’s FaceBook page and begin looking through his pictures. His profile picture is a shot of him and sweet little Anna, but he has uber-intense privacy settings. The handful of visible photos are of him and his sister, a man I am assuming is Amy’s husband Kevin, and Anna.
But when I go back to the page where I searched his name, I see the link to his Facebook fan page. It’s fairly outdated, since Mack hasn’t been in the spotlight much, at least to my knowledge, in the past few years. But when I click on photos, I feel like I’m looking at a completely different Mack.
I don’t even bother studying the images as I scroll through photo after photo of Mack and a gaggle of girls. I can’t help but notice that the majority of girls look like the stripper wannabes from Jer’s party. I feel like I’m looking at a bang book, where his conquests upload photos once they’d gotten what they wanted.
The Keeper Page 6