“Whatever you say, Carm,” He says to my back as I make my way over to the very thirsty bachelor party.
Chapter 11
Shane and I see each other almost every day over the next week. I don’t know how we manage it between my two jobs and his practice schedule but he’s relentless like that. He takes me to a movie and lets me pick a romantic comedy; we shoot pool and go for a bike ride around Lady Bird Lake. I try to cook him dinner at my place one of the days but it quickly devolves into a heavy make out session and he still seems hell bent on getting to know each other before we sleep together again. For a self-professed non-dater he sure seems to love going on dates. The following Sunday he takes me to brunch and the farmer’s market and I learn more about his family. He tells me that he has two nineteen year old twin brothers and his face completely lights up when he talks about him. He has a stay-at-home mother and his father is a pediatric heart surgeon specializing in pre-term births. When he describes to me how his dad performs surgeries with tiny cameras on hearts no bigger than the tip of his pinkie I think I melt just a little more inside. It’s clear from the way he talks about them how much he loves his family and it makes me wish I had happier stories to tell about mine. I still see my mother, though as little as I can possibly manage, and she only calls me late at night when she’s drunk and feeling mean.
Exactly two Fridays after the night at the club he picks me up from work and tells me that he’s going to teach me to play soccer. I think he’s kidding until he pulls his big truck up to an elementary school and climbs out. I know I’m in trouble with he grabs a ball from the back seat and makes me put on the runners he forced me to bring before leading me out to the field.
“I don’t even know what the rules are,” I huff and he squints at me.
“I am the goalie so I can pick it up in the penalty box. Once I have possession I have six seconds to get it back into play.” He rolls the ball out to me and tells me to kick it.
“Kick it? At you?”
“Yes, babe, kick it at me,” he chuckles and crouches down low. Even though he’s wearing dark jeans I can see the lines of his muscled thighs straining through the material. I give the ball a feeble kick that barely moves and he jogs forward to pick it up then rolls it back out to me.
“Come on, you can do better than that. Try imagining the ball as my face the first time you met me,” he instructs and I grin at him and this time kick it as hard as I can. It lifts up in the air and flies right into his hands.
“Much better but next time don’t kick it right at me. Try for one of the corners,” he explains as he sends the ball out to me one more time.
“I thought it was pretty good,” I mutter, proud that I at least got it off the ground. When I can at work I’ve been going online to try and learn a bit about soccer so I have some idea what he’s talking about all the time. One article I read said that goalkeepers are known to be fearless athletes who are not afraid to take the hard hits when diving for balls. Another article said that one of their greatest strengths of a good goalkeeper is having the confidence not to give up which sounds just like Shane. The article also said the best goalies have command, focus and good judgment and on that note I figure two out of three isn’t bad. He jogs out and shows me how to kick it with the inside of my foot and I ask him if he knows how to play other positions.
“Of course, but goalkeeper is the best by far.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the last man standing and the only one who can bail out the defense and make that perfect save. My three rules are: don’t get caught in a bad position, know how to handle the ball and have quick reflexes…the rest is all heart.”
He speaks so passionately about the game it makes me feel a little bad for my lack of enthusiasm so I focus all my attention on the ball. I’m concentrating hard and I’m about to kick it when he steps in front of me. He steals the ball from me and rests his foot on top of it.
“It’s always important to read the other player; is she left footed or right footed?” he says kneeling down and running his hands up my bare legs until they hit the hem of my skirt. “It’s also important to figure out which way she shoots; which way is her waist pointing?” His hands continue their slow climb and wrap around my waist to squeeze my ass. He stands and his hands come up even further to cup my face. “But mostly importantly it’s her eyes; where are they looking? The eyes tell you everything.” I open my mouth to speak but he silences me with a slow, sexy kiss. When he pulls away he keeps my face cradled in his hands and tilts my head up.
“I’m leaving early tomorrow for Salt Lake.”
“I know.”
“Are you?” he says in a quiet voice and the look on his face is so hopeful that I already know what my answer is. If I’m honest with myself I’ve known the answer for the past week and a half which is why I took the night off from Fantasy Show Lounge just in case.
“Yes,” I say and his lips crash down on mine once again.
“Thank you, babe. It means a lot to me that you’ll be there.”
“So am I still getting my own room?” I ask with feigned innocence and he grins.
“Not a chance in hell of that.”
***
I agree to meet Shane at the airport early the next morning since he has to travel with the team from the clubhouse. Apparently they have some away game rah-rah ritual that I can’t be a part of but it suits me fine since I got an extra two hours of sleep. As I enter the departures terminal I immediately spot the group of them standing over to the side in their red and blue jerseys. I catch Shane’s eye give him a quick wave before heading over to the self-serve kiosk. I don’t have any bags to check since I’m only taking my overnighter so I pass right through security to find the gate. I don’t want to seem like a tag along so I find a spot in the lounge to sit down but he finds me a few minutes later.
“Why didn’t you wait?” he asks, sounding a little wounded.
“You were with your team,” I explain.
“And so are you.” He sits down beside me and pulls my hand into his lap. He’s so tactile and it’s like he has an unconscious need to always be touching me which makes me thinks he was hugged a lot as a child. Wish I could say the same.
He stays with me until they announce our departure and we board the plane. I’m surprised to see that we are sitting in first class - from what Shane has told me Major League Soccer is gaining ground in North America but still has nowhere near the fan base or budget of football or baseball. As he explains it MLS teams aren’t owned independently but instead operate as a single entity with each team controlled by the league, which makes big egos and even bigger salaries more of an exception than a rule. Shane’s team has thirty players on the roster but only eighteen are traveling today. The more than twenty teams are divided into the Eastern and Western conference and they play thirty-four regular season games. The season runs March to October and they are more than half-way through so as Shane tells me today’s game is extremely important in building points for the playoffs.
We take our seats and Shane gives me the window and within minutes we are in the air. The flight attendant brings him a bottle of water at the same time he digs out a banana and a bagel from his bag. I’m assuming that he already ate breakfast so when I eye his bagel questioningly he tells me he needs to maximize his glycogen levels before the game, whatever that means. From what I’ve seen Shane eats a lot but he eats really clean with meals like boiled fish, pasta, vegetables and good carbs. And he usually eats a ton of smaller meals throughout the day unless he has a few days off and I’m feeding him.
The flight attendant walks by again and I ask her for a tea before switching on my tablet and opening my work email. Shane peers over my shoulder but I cover my tablet with my arm and angle my body away.
“What are you reading?” he asks undeterred so I decide to let him look.
“It’s an article about a Texas Oil refinery that I’m trying to get Donovan to look at. It basically
involved state senators being paid off to push through paperwork that approved the funding of a foreign-owned oil refinery expansion on Texas soil that came at a cost of billions to the tax payers. The political scandal centered on the CEO of a Venezuelan company and involved lots of bribes. We are talking money laundering, collusion and questionable offshore investment…”
“If it happened in the past then why are you looking at it now?” he asks and I click on the article to minimize it before turning to him.
“Because I think it’s about to happen again. I tried to sell Donovan on the idea of investigating it but he’s certain that I’m overreacting.”
“Who cares what that douche thinks - you should pursue it.”
I ignore the douche comment and give him a wide smile. “Really?”
“Really, babe. Tear the lid off it,” he says, leaning back against his seat and taking a bite of his banana. “But can I ask one more thing?” he adds and I nod. “Why the sudden interest in dirty politicians and crooked businessmen?”
“It’s not sudden. I minored in Political Science at the U of A and it just makes me mad that to see that this kind of corruption is still so rampant in the corporate world. I’ve experienced first-hand what poverty looks like and meanwhile these entitled politicians think they can make decisions that put our very system in jeopardy. We are still climbing out of this recession and it’s a veritable house of cards. What we don’t need is opportunistic policymakers ruining what we’ve rebuilt,” I say and I can hear myself getting fired up.
“You’re sexy when you’re angry,” he teases as I slide my tablet back into my bag.
“You’re aware that a sexist comment like that is not going to help me calm down, right?” I huff out.
He chuckles and turns his attention back to his food while I glance around the first class cabin at the rest of the team. Most of them are dozing while a few of them are staring at their seat back TVs. What immediately becomes apparent is that there are no other women on board with us.
“Where are all the wives and girlfriends?” I ask Shane and he follows my gaze.
“Sometimes they travel with us but most of them stay home. With almost half of our games on the road following us around can be pretty time consuming. Besides, we are usually there in back in a day or two tops.”
“Is it weird that I’m here?” I frown.
“It’s perfect that you’re here so get out of your damn head. Go back to reading about your movie-worthy scandals and wake me up when we land in Salt Lake,” he says and his eyes close before I can argue.
***
We check into a hotel in an industrial-looking area because the field is located outside of downtown Salt Lake. Our room is pretty standard and I notice with some amusement that it only has one bed. Shane had to head straight to the field for practice and warm up but the game doesn’t start until the evening so I still have hours to kill. I get in a good workout at the hotel gym followed by a swim in the pool. After the swim I take a scalding hot shower, then order a chicken salad from room service before continuing with my research on the Petroleo Energy Corporation. The salad comes and I scarf it down before plopping down on the bed with my tablet. I get a bit lost in my reading and when I glance back up at the clock I see that there’s only an hour until game time so I have to rush to get ready.
I slip on white short shorts and a fitted red V-neck t-shirt with Property of Austin United scrawled across the front. I had it specially made for today’s game and I brought along my white converse shoes with the red and blue piping to match. I weave my long hair into two French-maid style braids and quickly grab my purse. The weather’s nice enough that I don’t think I’ll need a jacket so I just double check that I have my ticket before heading out on foot.
The hotel is right next to the open-air stadium and it takes me less than five minutes to walk there. When I get to the field I see that the place is already packed. I buy a foamy beer in a plastic cup before making my way to my seat which I’m surprised to find is in the first row. With my free hand I wave at a cluster of fans wearing Austin United jerseys and they wave back at me. The sky is fading from light to dark blue and the stadium flood lights illuminate the sky and the beautiful mountains surrounding it.
The stadium seats start filling up and the cheering gets louder and louder as the excitement builds. The crowd roars as the opposing team runs out and they are followed shortly after by Austin United. I notice the crowd still explodes when Shane’s name is announced and I wonder if it’s because he’s that good or if they haven’t yet processed that he no longer belongs to them.
The whistle blows and I find myself on the edge of my seat for the first half of the game. We are dominating the play for the most part but when the opposing striker sets off running past the defenders and boots the ball at Shane I flinch and partially cover my eyes. But he easily makes the save and sends the ball back up the pitch. Salt Lake gets possession once again the ball goes out on Austin, giving them a corner kick. As I closely follow the play I’m finding that it makes a hell of a lot more sense since Shane explained the rules. Explained is probably the wrong word - he actually made me watch a ‘Basics of Soccer’ instructional video from start to finish. I only agreed because he promised to make it worth my while with his tongue afterward and he most certainly kept his promise.
One of the forwards from the other team kicks the ball in and Shane jumps up to catch it but he is elbowed in the side of the head as he’s coming down. He lands hard on the ground and I leap out of my seat and scream his name. The crowd goes quiet as they wait for him to move but he’s not moving. A trainer runs out on to the field and the referee holds up a yellow card for the other player. I hold my breath as I watch the trainers as they hover over him. I know how much this game means to him and he can’t be hurt. I close my eyes and repeat that mantra over and over in my head and when the crowd starts clapping I have to force myself to look. He’s getting to his feet and both teams clap as he shakes it off and bounces from foot to foot. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding and when he looks over at me I swear I see him wink from across the field. With that drama over I decide to get another beer to calm my nerves but it turns out to be unnecessary since Austin kills the opposition in the second half. We are three goals up by minute sixty and when they score the fourth at minute seventy five the home crowd visibly deflates.
The remainder of the game passes without incident and I watch with fascination as Shane makes a few more pretty incredible saves. When he plays like this he makes it easy to see what the appeal of the game is. When the final whistle blows and the teams herd back into the locker room I go down and flash my pass to gain entry. Shane’s team is riding a high from the win and the group decides to meet at a sports bar called The Score right in the heart of downtown Salt Lake.
We take a bunch of cabs and the drinks start flowing freely as soon as we arrive at the bar. The place is only about half-full so the guys push together a bunch of high-top tables while the rest of us pull up stools. Coach O’Brien speaks first in his thick Irish accent.
“Well-earned shut-out today boys and bottoms up because the first round is on me,” he salutes and the team cheers. “But remember to keep it to only a few since our season is still far from over,” he finishes his speech and takes a big gulp of beer before slapping Shane on the back. “Damn good job, boy. Player of the game tonight.” He gives me a quick nod and pats Shane on the back again before moving off to sit with the Assistant Coaches and Trainers.
Marco slides on to the stool that Coach O’Brien has vacated and braces his arms on the table top. He’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted green shirt that matches the unique color of his eyes. He smells strongly of cologne and his inky black hair seems even spikier than I remember from the last time I saw him. When he blinks at me I notice how long his lashes are - almost like a girls - and truth be told if he was a girl I’d be jealous.
“Did you enjoy the game?” he says smoothly and I shift my eyes down to
my beer bottle.
I start picking at the label. “I did. Congratulations on your goals. You got three of them, right?”
He gives me an amused smile and reaches his hand over to steady my beer bottle. “Do I make you nervous?” he asks.
“What? No,” I say quickly as I subtly try to inch my stool away.
“I do make you nervous,” he gives me a throaty laugh before he continues. “The question you need to ask yourself is why.”
Shane appears in the nick of time and I breathe out a sigh of relief. The truth is that Marco does make me nervous but not for the reason he’s insinuating. He just seems a little too slick for his own good. I mean, I get that these guys have women throwing themselves at them on a regular basis but that doesn’t mean that everything and everyone is fair game. Add to that the unspoken tension I feel rolling off Shane whenever Marco is nearby and hell yeah I’m nervous.
“Harassing my girl are you, Hurtado?”
“So she’s your girl now?” Marco raises an eyebrow at him.
“Never said she wasn’t,” he says gruffly.
“You never said she was either and it sure didn’t look that way when those co-eds came to practice last week,” Marco counters.
I close my eyes as I try to steel my reaction to his words. I’ve never been one to believe in rumors but the thought of Shane with someone else stings all the same.
“Making things up seems to be a common theme with you, Hurtado,” Shane responds flatly and I’m secretly relieved. We haven’t promised each other anything or talked about being exclusive but I can’t deny that it would hurt me if he was seeing other women. Marco looks between us and something flashes in his eyes before he turns his attention to me.
“I like your shirt, Carmelina,” he purrs my name as his eyes travel across the white lettering that reads Property of Austin United. “It gives me all kinds of ideas,” he adds, throwing a smug look in Shane’s direction before disappearing into the crowd.
On His Turf Page 11