The image of Saint wearing Bible verses clearly directed at me flashes through my brain. Suddenly, I feel a little dizzy. I’m saved from responding to Romy by the dinging of my inbox. I whip around and check my email.
Sister Avonlea,
You’ve been selected as our new water girl. Email me when you have a chance so we can meet up and discuss the job.
-Coach Johnson
I squeal without meaning to. I clap my hands over my mouth but Romy is already rushing over to read.
“You applied for the water girl position?” she asks, looking dubious.
I look up at her. “Why is that so shocking?”
Romy shrugs. “I’m…actually impressed, Esther. You’re finally stepping out of your tightly-wound cocoon to try something different.” She squeezes my shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think aliens had taken over your body.”
An hour later, I’m in the Coach’s office for our first meeting. I stare in awe at all the trophies and awards. I can barely see the cinderblock walls behind the plaques, photos, and awards.
Coach leans back in his chair. “I’ve heard good things about you, Esther. Honor’s student. Dean’s list for four semesters running. Student president of the honor’s college.” He folds his hands, showing off his heavy, gold class ring. I see that he went to Fullerton. The thought that someone would stay here that long gives me a queasy feeling. “You’re a good girl. I can trust you to stay out of the locker rooms.”
I’m shocked that he even has to say this. “Of course, sir.”
“And you need to stay away from the players, of course. These young men, they can’t be expected to keep their hands to themselves, can they?”
I feel bile rising in my throat. But I push it down. “Yes, sir.”
He raps his ring on the desk. “Good. See you on the field in an hour for evening practice. Make sure you stay in dress code.”
It’s unseasonably burning outside these walls, at least eighty degrees. Dress code means all my skin but my neck, face, and hands will be covered. I’ll be producing so much sweat I’ll need my own water girl to keep me hydrated.
But do I say these things? No. I choke the words back like I always do. “Of course, sir.”
He holds the door open for me and I practically skip back to the dorms. The next hour is going to feel like an eternity until I can get on that field.
CHAPTER TEN
SAINT
“Isn’t it supposed to be autumn by now?” Rick says to no one in particular as we make our way to the practice field.
“Global warming,” I reply shortly.
Scott is just ahead of us. I’m holding a football and it’s all I can do to not chuck it at his head.
“I heard the new water girl starts today,” Scott says. “I hope she’s hot.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be falling all over you.”
Scott turns around and blocks my path. I push him out of the way. “Golden boy actually wants to fight? Oooh. Isn’t that something?”
I open my mouth to yell an expletive when I see Coach standing on the field within earshot. I walk around Scott instead of screaming at him.
“Hurry it up, boys, we’re burning daylight here!” Coach claps his hands together and we jog over. “I’ve got a few announcements to make.”
But I’m no longer listening.
I look behind him to see a girl in a button-up cardigan and a long, denim skirt.
It’s her. The girl from the dining hall the night of the prayer dinner.
She’s filling plastic bottles with sports drink and water. I stare at her huge tits that aren’t concealed at all by the sweater. They’re hanging down as she bends over. I wonder if I can make it over there to see what her ass looks like in that position.
“…introduce the new water girl. Esther, come over here.”
Esther. Damn. Her parents must be religious as fuck to name their daughter that. She pulls back a strand of dirty-blonde hair that’s fallen out of her plain, low ponytail. She keeps her eyes lowered, but there’s a smile playing at her lips.
“I expect you all to be on your best behavior with a lady in our presence.”
A few people chuckle. I look over at Scott, who’s actually licking his lips while he stares at her. I have a sudden urge to punch him in the face.
“Alright, let’s get to practicing.” Coach blows his whistle and soon enough we’re doing laps around the track.
I catch up to Rick. “You know the water girl?”
“I’ve seen her around once or twice. I think she’s Romy’s friend or something.”
That name sounds vaguely familiar. “I thought your girlfriend’s name was Rory.”
“No, it’s always been Romy. Why are you asking about the water girl?”
“No reason,” I reply with a grin. “Or, you know. The usual reasons.”
Rick laughs. “Yeah, I doubt she’s gonna go for a guy like you. Look at her. If she were any more uptight there’d be diamonds falling out of her ass.”
I punch him and sprint ahead of Rick. I’m yards away from the rest. I glance over and hope she’s looking at me. She is. Until our eyes meet anyway. Then she looks away.
I run over to the water station, flicking my hair back. I’m already sweating.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks like a deer in the headlights.
“Here’s your drink,” she says, not looking at me.
“I’m Saint.” I hold out my sweaty hand and then think better of it. I wipe it on my pants and offer it to her again.
She glances behind her at Coach.
“Take your drink and go.”
There’s something familiar about her voice. I’m trying to place it when Coach blows his whistle at me.
“Back on the field, Saint,” he says. “Lead the boys in tire jumps.”
I flash Esther a grin and run backwards, slamming the drink down my throat.
She’s blushing.
I like that.
I can barely pay attention during practice. Every spare second my eyes are on Esther on the sidelines. She’s the type of girl who has no idea how sexy she is. There are curves under those clothes that I could ride for days.
And when I have my sights set on something?
I always get it.
Practice ends and I let the team run ahead of me into the cool relief of the locker rooms. Coach has already been inside for ten minutes. He hates hot weather and left me in charge to wrap up practice.
I walk up behind Esther, who is sweating as much as I am. She’s let her hair out of her ponytail. It looks blonder when it’s splayed across her delicate shoulders.
“Hey,” I say, sweat dripping down my face.
She jumps a little and looks over at me. “Oh, I thought I was the only one left.” She blushes and sweeps her hair back into a ponytail. Her hazel eyes flash in the sunlight.
That’s when I realize who she is.
“You’re Delilah,” I say.
“I’m Esther,” she retorts, gathering up the water bottles and pushing past me.
I have to jog to get ahead of her. I turn around and block her path.
“No. You’re Delilah. From the party,” I say again, stopping in front of the tunnel.
“I need to get these cleaned and emptied out,” she says, walking away from me.
“So you’re just going to ignore me?” I ask. “I know you’re her. I’d remember your legs anywhere. Well. Not that I can see your legs now, but I know they’re hiding under there somewhere.”
That makes her stop. She spins around, hastily looking around us like we’re going to be caught doing something we shouldn’t be doing. “Keep your voice down,” she hisses, looking over my shoulder.
I glance back and return with a smile. “You’re afraid Coach is going to see us talking?” I push my hair out of my eyes, my helmet tucked under my arm. “He always takes his time in the office after practice. It has the best air conditioning
on campus.” I lean forward, close to her face. She freezes. “Your little secret is safe with me.”
“What little secret?”
“That you’re a dirty little party girl,” I whisper.
She flushes crimson and pushes me away from her. She’s got more muscle than meets the eye. I stumble slightly.
“Leave me alone,” she says.
I walk right next to her. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who knows how to put on face-altering makeup.”
She sighs. “That was my roommate, Romy. She’s the one who put the makeup on me.”
The gears click into place in my mind. “Rory? No way is she your roommate. How did that happen?”
“Romy. Not Rory. Are you always this bad at names?”
“Usually,” I retort. “But seriously, how did you end up rooming together? You couldn’t be more different from each other.”
Esther sighs. “We were put together randomly freshman year. We both enrolled late in the summer and we were the only two left. But I actually like living with her, despite what you might think.” She elbows her way past me.
“So Rory put makeup on you. And she’s why you were at the party.” I’m eager to keep the conversation going since she’s actually talking.
“Romy. Yes. She was the one who convinced me to have a good time. Then she left me,” she pauses to take out the key to the storage room. “And I ended up spending part of my evening with Tom and Huck.” She throws the door open, catching it on her shoulder and squeezing inside, her hands still full of water bottles. “That is, I was spending my evening with them until I was rudely interrupted.” She glares at me. I put my arm on the doorframe. She glances at my upper bicep. “Where’s your tattoo?”
I glance down. “It’s waterproof makeup. I hide I when I need to keep up appearances.”
She raises a judgmental eyebrow and sets the water bottles onto the industrial metal counter. She begins pouring out the sports-drink-and-water mixture and grabs the scrub brush.
“You should roll up your sleeves, Delilah,” I say with a grin. “Wouldn’t want your church clothes to get ruined.”
She flashes me a death glare. “I’m fine not taking wardrobe tips from you, thanks.”
I walk inside the storage room. The pneumatic door shuts behind me. “Why do you hate me so much?”
She looks at the shut door, panic crossing her face. “You really shouldn’t be in here. If Coach or someone else catches us-“
I step closer to her. The water bottle she’s holding slips out of her soaped-up hands and lands on the bottom of the metal sink with a thud. “No one’s coming in here. It’s just us. I’ll repeat the question. Why do you hate me?”
She shuts the tap off and turns around to face me. We’re only inches from one another, and her face is beet red. “I hate you because you’re a phony.”
I guffaw. “A phony? What, did we somehow teleport to a nineteen-fifties detective drama?” I cock my head to the side and affect an accent. “Now we gotta get the bad guys, see? And then we gotta sniff around to see if this guy’s a phony, see?” I laugh at my own joke.
Esther is unmoved. “I hate you because you don’t live biblically.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And how would you know that? I make it a habit to keep a tightly-wound persona when I’m in public. You don’t fucking know me behind the scenes.”
“See?” she says. “I knew you cursed when you weren’t in public. I knew it.” She throws down the soapy scrub brush and jabs her pointer finger into my chest pads. “You paint Bible verses on your face for game day. You give the glory to God when it’s time for you to celebrate a touchdown. But I see right through you. I always have. Francis.”
“Don’t call me that,” I retort.
“What? Francis? Is that why you’ve never bothered to learn anyone else’s names? Because you don’t even like yours?” She’s on a roll now. “You may think you’re some kind of idol, some kind of god – but behavior like yours always catches up to you. Always.”
She’s on her tiptoes and still jabbing my chest, punctuating every word with the tip of her finger. She’s adorable when she’s angry.
“Well then –“
A key fumbles in the lock and Esther’s face goes from anger to panic in a second. She puts both hands on my chest and shoves me behind a rack of footballs.
“Sit,” she whispers, then jogs back over to the sink and turns the taps on full blast.
The door opens, and I hear heavy footsteps. I peek through a gap in the footballs to see Coach’s pleated khakis.
“Good job today, Esther,” Coach says to her.
“Thank you, sir,” she replies.
“Hope it wasn’t too hot out on the field for you.”
“Not at all, sir,” she replies.
Bullshit. She was sweating more than we were in the middle of running laps.
“Well, good. I hope you stick it out through the rest of the season,” he says. “You just let me know if anything is bothering you, alright?”
The sound of scrubbing stops. My heart is beating in my chest. I hear Esther turn off the taps and I realize she’s going to out me. Complain about me. Turn me in. This woman is holding all the power in her tiny hands and she knows it.
“Everything is fine, sir. But I’ll be sure to let you know if any of the players give me any trouble.”
I almost breathe out a huge sigh of relief but stop myself just in time.
“Great. See you tomorrow, bright and early for morning practice, then,” Coach says, exiting the room. The door clicks shut and I stand up.
Esther turns to look at me, an even look on her face.
“I thought you were going to turn me in,” I say. “That was really great of you to not-“
“I did it for myself. If I turned you in right now? I would be the one to get into trouble. I’m the woman. You’re the man. You can’t help yourself, and I put you in the way of temptation. That’s how this would go. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.” She goes back to washing.
“I’m sorry,” I reply. She doesn’t answer me. I wait a few moments before deciding to try some humor. “You were so fast at shoving me behind the footballs I feel like you’ve had a lot of practice with hiding guys from adults.”
She doesn’t reply. “You should really go.”
I step behind her, leaning down to breathe in her ear. She almost drops the water bottle again.
“Did you get my Bible verse message the other day?”
She’s not washing the bottle anymore. Her breathing is heavy and labored. “Please. Just leave me alone.”
“Alright,” I reply, stepping away from her. “I’ve gotta shower anyway. See you tomorrow. Delilah.” I almost think she’s going to go on ignoring me when I hear her voice one more time.
“Goodbye. Francis.”
There’s even a glint in her eye as she says it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ESTHER
It takes me the better part of an hour to wash the water bottles, empty out the cooler, scrub that, sterilize the footballs and line them all up perfectly.
I’m just happy I’m not in charge of laundering uniforms. I’d be here all night.
I finish rinsing out the cooler when I realize the sound of the water is making me need to pee.
Urgently.
I flip the cooler upside down on the drying rack and rush out of the storage room, my hands dripping wet. I wipe them on my skirt and look desperately up and down the hallway. I see the doors for the coach’s office, the assistant coach’s office, and the locker room.
There’s no woman’s bathroom in here. And why would there be?
Football’s tagline might as well be “no girls allowed.” Unless they’re in skimpy uniforms on the sidelines, of course. But I’m seriously about to lose control of my bladder.
I don’t have a choice. It’s either wet myself or go in the locker room.
Coach’s words echo through my head. Don’t go in
the locker rooms.
Right. But he means while there are players in there. Practice is long over. Everyone is gone.
I can sneak in, pee, and then run back out again. No problem.
Then why is my heart racing?
Probably because I’ve never done something like this before. Go into someplace forbidden and break explicit rules. I take a deep breath and walk confidently toward the locker room entrance. I glance into Coach’s office and see that it’s dark. He’s obviously gone home for the day.
I pause with my hand on the metal handle. My heart is in my throat. I pull open the door and step inside. I realize that I’m squinting my eyes half-shut as if I’m about to walk into a room filled with entirely naked men.
But the place is empty. I breathe a sigh of relief and step around the low, wooden benches. It smells horrible in here: like sweat and - well. It smells like guy. That’s the only way I can describe it. The air is slightly humid from the showers, and I wonder if anyone’s ever thought to open the windows in here. I step onto a bench near the wall and reach up to push open the clerestory panes near the ceiling.
Fresh autumn air pours into the room.
That is so much better. I hop from bench to bench opening all of the windows, enjoying the breeze on my face.
Satisfied, I wander over to a stall. It’s clean, thankfully. I lock the door and take care of business.
Just as I’m cleaning myself up, I hear the door to the locker room open.
My stomach plummets through my feet. My hand is frozen on the flush handle. I have no idea what to do now.
I hear footsteps; someone is wearing flip flops. They make a shuffling sound on the shiny concrete floors. I hear the swoosh of a shower curtain and the squeaky handle of the tap being turned. The steamy rush of water from the showerhead tells me I can get out of here without being seen.
I flush the toilet and open the stall door. I really, really want to wash my hands. I pause, listening. I hear splashing water sounds that indicate whoever’s in here is safely ensconced behind a shower curtain.
I pump soap into my palms and rinse them hurriedly, drying my hands on my skirt and quietly inching my way to the door.
Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 4