Much to my growing disgust, my crush had intensified with each passing week. I clenched my hands into fists. I didn’t want to date, I reminded myself.
“It was,” I said. “Excuse me. I need to talk to Noah about something.”
Teo nodded. I felt his gaze on my back as I walked across the field. A small woman slipped onto the field, her long, dark hair bouncing with each step. Brenna Lansing. She reached into my hair and released the clip, fluffing my short bangs.
“You looked like you were having fun,” she said.
“I was. Have you seen Noah? I want to ask him a question.”
“He walked into the stadium earlier. Maybe he’s in his office? I’ll wait for you at the car. It’s colder than I thought. I’ve got your bag. I’m glad you’re doing this, Pres. It’s a pleasure to see you so happy this month.”
I nodded, my eyes darting back to where Teo stood, but his back was to me now as he talked with one of the assistant coaches. I tried not to let the disappointment swamp me.
The next day passed much the same. We broke this round of children into two groups to ensure they had time to work on both midfield and forward skills, which we flipped at the midway point of each session. One of the girls, Tenada, struggled with her coordination, let alone any dribbling skills. Today, tears pooled in her eyes because she couldn’t master the basic tenet of kicking the ball with the side of her foot.
Teo stood with her, patiently pointing to the part of her foot he wanted her to use. Tenada shook her head, frustration pulling at her mouth. Teo spoke to her, placing his hands on her shoulder. She lifted her leg up and pressed against the part of her cleat she wanted to kick with. Dropping her left foot, she pushed off her right foot and took a group of tiny steps, keeping the ball between her feet. When she shook her head again, I walked over.
“Do you think a hands-on demonstration might help?” I asked.
Teo, looked up, surprised by my voice, no doubt. I’d made a point of avoiding him as much as possible today.
“By all means.” He swept his hands out in front of me to the open pitch.
Anxiety and uncertainty spiked through my belly, but I cleared my throat. “You don’t want to do it?” I asked, trying to hide my concerns. I didn’t like being on display. Not anymore—I understood how much I still had to lose.
Tenada looked up at me, her large brown eyes imploring. “Please, Preslee, will you show me? I just don’t get what he’s saying.”
Like I could turn down the sweet child.
“Go stand down by the goal.” I sighed. “I’ll come in slow.”
Once Tenada got into position, I started with the small steps, the ball moving between my feet with the precision I used to take for granted. With effort, I forced my way through my clumsiness, lengthening my stride, keeping the ball at the optimal distance between my sprinting cleats.
Head up, I maneuvered around one group, then another, turning in a circle, maintaining complete control of the ball. I lifted my left leg, planted it firmly, and kicked hard with my right. The ball sailed into the back corner of the net. I put my hands on my hips with a nod. Not a bad shot. Tenada must’ve thought so, too, because she squealed and clapped, causing more heads to turn toward them.
“Do it again!” she shrieked. “I want to see you do it again.”
I shook my head as the rest of the players and coaching staff were all moving forward, descending on me. This deluge of attention caused my heart to pound as I glanced around, expecting to find Oren, my ex-boyfriend and reason I didn’t date, somewhere nearby, cracking his knuckles.
Thankfully, we were finished for the day, so I hugged all the kids, making sure each took a new water bottle with the team logo I’d asked Noah to purchase. I watched them go, a wave of longing slamming through me. Since I’d renounced dating years ago, I’d never move past my single status and create a family. Raise a child or two.
Brenna hugged a folded fleece jacket over her arm, which she extended when she saw me. “You left this at home. Thought you might want it.”
I slipped my arms into the sleeves, grateful for the warmth. “Thanks.”
Brenna tipped her head toward the net. “Can you do it again?”
“Do what?”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “You used to practice that bend-it thing for hours. You know. That movie.”
I shook my head as my lips quirked. Soccer, well sports, really, had never been Brenna’s thing. She used to go to some of my games, but she’d never bothered to learn terminology.
“Bend It Like Beckham.”
“That’s it! Can you do that still?”
I shrugged.
Brenna clapped her hands under her chin. “Try it. Please? The last kick was cool but I like it when it curves into the back of the net.”
“I don’t want the players and coaches watching me.”
Brenna waved behind me. “Most of them are gone. The kids are loaded up on the buses. Just you and me, kid. C’mon. Try it again.”
“Fine.” I waited another minute, drinking my water, as the last of the coaches cleared the field. Then, I grabbed a ball and set it up where I wanted it. After running in place for a minute to rewarm my legs, I eyed the ball, then the goal. Deep breath, focus. Line up and kick. My cleat made a satisfying thunk against the side of the ball, which sailed through the cool evening air and slammed into the back of the net.
“Sweet,” I yelled, pumping my arms.
“Still got it,” Brenna said, laughing.
“I wonder if I can do it again.” I trotted toward the goal and grabbed the ball.
My second shot was more on point than the first. Brenna clapped as we both laughed. I couldn’t believe I’d given this up, cut myself off from the joy of a good sweat and the high of a perfectly placed kick.
“Bet you can’t make it five times in a row,” Brenna said.
“Dunno. The first two felt good. I still have some technique.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “You have better skills than half the professionals.” When I scoffed, she wagged her finger. “I’m not the only one who thought so. So, prove it, Miss Soccer Star. Do that three more times.”
When I nailed that kick, too, I hooted, racing toward the goal like I’d won the World Cup.
“You’re on fire,” Brenna shrieked.
“If I do this, you’re buying me dinner at Formaggio’s.”
I lined up the ball and slammed my foot against the leather casing. Another perfect kick. Damn, this was fun.
“Fine,” Brenna called. “But if you miss, you have to go out tomorrow. To the bar.”
My feet stuttered to a halt. I shouldn’t have told her about that. Why had I told her about overhearing Teo and his teammates discussing their last night of camp—and a start-of-season happy hour yesterday? Well, I knew why. I liked him, the same soccer star most of the world lusted after. The youthful longing irritated me, but like a deep splinter, I couldn’t force it from my irritated skin.
“I should be able to tell you my secrets,” I muttered. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am. Which is why I know you haven’t dated in six years. Holy crap, Preslee, that’s most of your adult life.”
“It’s my life, and I don’t feel like dating.”
Brenna’s hands slid to her hips and she jutted out her jaw. “So you’re not willing to admit you like him? That you want him to fantasize about you as you’re fantasizing about him? Or is it that you’re too afraid to ever go out with another man?”
Frustration burbled up from my stomach. “I’m not afraid, and I’ll date when I’m ready.”
Brenna scoffed as she set the ball in front of me. “Fine. It’s not like you have anything to worry about. You’ll kick the ball into the net and go back to your boring, loveless life.”
One of the problems with knowing someone for over twenty years was the ability to press on the sore spots. I spent most of last week bemoaning my sexless life, and Brenna threw it in my face. I
gritted my teeth and sucked in a breath, focusing on the ball and where I wanted the shot to go.
Go back to your boring, loveless life. My life was neither boring nor loveless. I had a large family, one I adored and who adored me. I loved my position as viola player in the symphony and occasional singer with one of my brothers-in-law’s bands. I had a great condo near downtown. I was content. At least I thought I was.
I pulled my leg back and slammed it into the ball. I missed not just the bend but the entire net.
Not because I wanted to see Matteo Romero de Cruz again. No. That would be foolish.
“I can’t do this,” I murmured. I’d said those four words over and over since Brenna concocted this insane plan last night. I stopped walking as my eyes darted around the street. I rubbed my clammy palms on the boiled wool of my trench coat. I straightened the asymmetrical collar, fingering the ivory edge.
Not even this, my favorite article of clothing, soothed me, gave me the confidence I desperately needed. Sure, I was back to wearing clothes that fit me—the haute couture I used to take for granted—but this time the clothes didn’t bring confidence. Just a sour gurgle deep in my belly.
My shoulder and calf muscles tensed at hearing a catcall from down the street. Brenna grabbed my hand, and I turned to her, surely looking like a deer realizing the pain exploding within caused fatal damage. Imminent danger stalked me in the form of physical intimacy, thanks to Brenna’s meddling.
“He wasn’t whistling at you. You’re standing in the dark. Get a grip, Pres.”
“This is a terrible idea. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
“This is what you get for losing the bet. I’ll walk you to the door. See you in safely.”
“I should never have let you talk me into that either.”
“But you did.”
“I’m not letting you talk me into things anymore.”
Brenna smirked. “Good luck with all that.”
“You should stay and help me out.”
Brenna wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nope. I don’t think so.”
I gripped her hand hard enough for her to wince. “Finding out I can’t bend it like Beckham five times in a row means I have to go in there alone?”
She extricated herself from my grasp. “Yep. That’s what you get for overconfidence.”
“To get even, you want me to die of mortification,” I muttered.
“When did you get so dramatic? You started the bet.”
“You’re the one who bet I couldn’t five times in a row.”
“Whatever.” Brenna turned me toward her and placed her hands on my shoulders. “You look hot. No one will be able to say no to you tonight, Siren Lady.” Her light brown eyes tracked up my legs to the edge of my trench. She nodded at my waist cinched by the belt. She pulled one side of the coat to show off more thigh on the other side. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed my bangs off my forehead.
“How are you getting home?” I frowned, darting a quick glance around the pedestrian-lined street.
“I’m meeting up with some co-workers down the street.” She pointed in the direction of a pizza place and a wine bar. Knowing Brenna, she could be at either. “No more excuses from you.”
“I’m not going to a bar by myself. That’s against the buddy system.”
“I’m walking you to the door.”
“Then you’re by yourself. That’s also against the buddy system.”
“I can see my friends from here.” Brenna turned and waved. “They’re sitting by the window and will be able to see me the entire time I walk down the street. Stop making this so difficult. You don’t have to pick up a guy, Pres. But you need to get over your fear that all guys are like your ex.”
I didn’t want a guy. I wanted one man. Teo.
All because I listened to Brenna. Her eyes sparkled, her bright red lips tipping up as she straightened my coat at my neck.
I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, worrying the edges with my teeth. If I didn’t do something soon, Oren would win. I couldn’t give him the rest of my life. He didn’t deserve even a single thought.
“Shove me in before I change my mind.”
“You’ll be fine, Pres. Just do more than you’re comfortable with but less than is stupid.”
“I don’t know where that line is.”
“No one does.” Brenna hugged me, hard and long as she always did. “Love you.” She kissed my cheek then opened the door behind me and pressed against the small of my back, giving me no choice but to step forward. Otherwise, I would’ve fallen over the threshold and embarrassed myself. I turned to scowl at Brenna, but I only caught a glimpse of her retreating back.
Tonight, she wore jeans and a long red cashmere cardigan and her favorite pair of black stiletto boots. I didn’t like the idea of her walking around town alone, and not in those boots. I turned to head after her, needing to ensure her safety, when a man’s hand slid across my back, making me jump.
“You coming in, sweetheart?” His kind eyes focused on my face, not my exposed legs.
Brenna had disappeared into the growing evening crowd. With a sigh of resignation, I pulled the door shut behind me.
I glanced around, taking in the dark-wood bar top with its brass fixtures. The wood floors gleamed with the reflection of the soft pendant lights that hung over the thirty or so tables. Larger versions sat over the raised-booth tables. A mix of about twenty people, some young in ripped jeans and university shirts, interspersed the more sedate professional crowd.
My eyes focused on the only profile that gave me goose bumps and hot flashes rolled into one tidal wave of desire. Teo sat about halfway back in one of the high-backed wooden booths, his hands linked loosely around his beer glass. One of his teammates said something, and Teo tipped his head back, laughing, accentuating the clean lines of his throat and jaw.
Then, as if he felt my stare, Teo turned, and his eyes snapped to mine. My heart pattered in my chest. I couldn’t do this. I turned to go only to find my way blocked by a new group of people. The laughter and excitement in the rooms suddenly felt suffocating.
I tried to fight my way back to the entrance as another round of people tumbled through the door. Giving up, I edged with tentative steps toward the bar and sat in the first seat available. Here, at least, I managed to assert a little personal space. Most people knotted together, filling up the empty booths while others sidled toward the pool tables in the back.
“Never seen you in here,” the young bartender commented. He looked familiar.
“Do I know you?”
“Yeah, I was a year behind your brothers in high school. You’re Preslee Jennings. We all knew you,” he said with a wink. “Your voice remains legendary.”
The nasty gurgling in my stomach ratcheted up. “I don’t sing anymore.”
“You play the viola with the symphony.”
Double crap. If this guy was familiar with my career, then my hanging out in a bar would get back to my brothers. Just what I needed. Eighteen months younger than me, Nate and Noah took overprotective to the extreme. They had reason to, of course. Ever since Oren…I cut off the thought.
“Thanks. Great to see you again.” My face flamed with embarrassment. He didn’t introduce himself, and I didn’t ask.
“Well, what would you like to drink? We cater to all tastes.”
He was flirting. I patted the short hairs at the back of my head to cover up my shiver of dread, wishing I knew how to handle this. Whoever said dating was like riding a bike never rode a bike or didn’t date. Probably both.
“What do you recommend?” I asked. I slammed my lips together, hard, refusing to flirt back. My shoulders tensed. None of this interaction felt right.
“Something smooth but with a bit of a kick.” He sucked in his lip. “Vodka?” He looked at me, shaking his head a little. “No, you’re not a Moscow mule kinda gal. Less kick. You want an appletini? They’re popular with the ladies right now.”
“
I’m not much into cocktails. A shot of vodka sounds great.” God, I hope he didn’t hear the quaver in my voice. “Just give me a hard cider. Whatever’s local.”
The bartender smiled as he moved to a tap, pulling my drink.
He slid the pint glass across the bar toward me. I picked up the glass, ignoring my shaking hands, and took a huge gulp. I loved cider, the clean bite and crisp tang. But even with the anxiety-stifling effect of a good drink, I still had to will my throat to open so I could continue to breathe. Nerves blasted through my system, in part because the seat I settled on to meant no view of Teo, the only person I knew in the room—sort of knew—besides the bartender, whom I didn’t really know. Even if we attended the same high school.
I didn’t like crowds. I didn’t like loud, drunk men, specifically.
To cover my rising apprehension, I drank deeply, my eyes scanning the boisterous crowd for Teo’s shiny black hair. For whatever reason, I felt safer because he was in the room with me. That didn’t often happen anymore, and I enjoyed the feeling. Part of why I’d started looking for him—turning him into a sort of talisman.
I took another large swallow as I turned to face the crowd. The cold, fizzy drink slid from my mouth to my knotted stomach. Teo was no longer at his table. The other two men there were chatting with blondes. Sisters from the look of them. I watched as one of the men ran his thumb up the skin of the girl’s bare arm. To block my shudder, I gulped again, downing the rest of my drink. I turned back to the bar and smiled, licking my lips as I raised my gaze to the bartender, who was back in front of me.
“Another.”
“I don’t think it’s smart for you to pound back anything, even if cider has a low alcohol content,” the bartender said, his brows pulling down with worry. “Your brothers would kill me if something happened to you.”
“It’s the best idea I’ve had. The bad idea was thinking a man like Oren cared about me.”
I just mentioned my ex-boyfriend, and I wasn’t quaking in a ball of fear. Brenna’d been right; getting out forced me to face part of my fear. “My ex-boyfriend,” I said, feeling something important ooze out from my chest. Possibly pride. Yes, pride. I pushed another twenty on the bar toward him.
Striker's Waltz (Seattle Sound Series Book 6) Page 2