by Lilah Grey
“What?” she asked, touching her hair and face. “Is there grass in my hair or something?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, shaking myself out of it. “I just zoned out. I was thinking about the meeting with my agent I have later today,” I lied. I glanced at my watch. “In fact, I think I better get going.”
“Yeah, me too,” Corinne said. “I’m meeting someone for coffee in a bit.”
“Who?” I blurted without thinking.
Nice one, James.
“Okay, nosy,” Corinne said with a laugh. “Violet. My roommate. ”
I nodded. “Cool… cool. Tell her hi for me.”
Smooth. Or not…
“Okay…” Corinne said.
I stood and then offered my hand to Corinne. She grabbed it, and I pulled her to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said.
We walked along the sideline toward the trails that led to campus. I could sense Rylee’s eyes on us as we walked together. I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, she was still watching us.
“Sorry,” Corinne said.
“What?”
Corinne withdrew her hand from mine, blushing. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Oh.
I hadn’t even noticed we were still holding hands. Her hand left a tingling sensation in my palm. I rubbed my finger tips along it and kept walking. I looked one last time at Rylee as we made our way to the edge of the field.
She was on her phone, but she hadn’t stopped staring at us. What was her deal?
I’d noticed that she and Corinne weren’t exactly on the best of terms. They hardly interacted, even though they shared the same positions. But when they did, it was cold and terse.
My phone rang; I fished it out of my pocket and looked at the name: Dad.
“Hey, I actually have to take this. It’s Ian,” I said, still looking at the name.
“Tell him hi for me,” Corinne said, ribbing me for my earlier statement.
I snorted. “Will do.”
Corinne left, and I answered the call.
“James my boy!” My dad’s familiar voice echoed in my ear. “Do you have a chance to meet today? There’s something we need to talk about.”
The elevator dinged as I reached the forty-second floor. The doors opened, and I stepped out. Open, airy, and outfitted with glass and steel and stained wood, the reception area felt uncomfortably modern. Suits and pantsuits scurried by, balancing papers and briefcases and folders in one hand, coffees in the other. I felt anxious watching them.
The receptionist, seated behind a long, sleek desk that hid everything but her head, chatted into black headset as I approached. Above the desk, steel lettering spelled out Calder, Stone & Crosley on a dark slab of reclaimed wood.
She held up a single finger to me—just a moment—still focusing her attention on her computer screen. Her movements, much like her speech were methodical and precise. She wore a tight, white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her dark, thick-rimmed glasses complemented her attractive features.
I leaned back against the desk, resting my elbows on the glossy surface, and looked out across the room. A glass wall separated the reception area from a large board room where two rows of men and women were seated along a large wooden table.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.
I turned and she offered a terse smile before fingering a stray tendril of blonde hair, tucking it behind her ear; the only blemish in an otherwise flawless exterior.
“I’m here to see Ian Calder.”
A short burst of laughter escaped her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m sure you have an appointment.” She let the statement dangle, waiting for me to fill in the gap.
Appointment? I hardly needed an appointment, and I wasn’t going to wait for her to tap away at her keyboard or phone my dad.
“Tell him I’m on my way. Same office?”
I pushed off from the desk and walked toward the hallway that led to my father’s office.
“You can’t—” Her voice trailed off as I disappeared behind the wall and made my way toward the corner of the building.
The offices grew larger the longer I walked down the hall. The interns looked more frantic and crazed, too. I passed by a break room and one girl was sobbing unconsolably as another rubbed her back.
I finally reached my dad’s office, a corner office that could fit a couple New York City sized apartments in it. The door was ajar, and I stepped inside.
My father sat in a tall black leather chair. His phone was ringing, but he hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t noticed me, either. His eyes were focused on the youthful blonde sitting on the desk in front of him, leaning into him.
Chrissakes.
My father had a habit for infidelity. Flings with random interns. Corinne’s mother happened to be one of those flings. He met her at work-related event, some party she attended with her then-husband, Corinne’s father and partner at the firm. A few months later and their fling was in full-force, even before Corinne’s father died.
I learned this years after the fact from my mother. I used to think it was all her fault for abandoning my dad and me. It wasn’t until I reached out to her a few years after I left for Europe that I learned the truth about my dad. I’d had one image of my dad for my entire life, but it was stripped away over the span of an hour. It was a sobering experience.
I cleared my throat, startling the girl.
“James!” Ian said, standing up. He grabbed the slim-figured girl by the elbow and led her around the table. “I was just about to walk Nadia out,” he said.
She paused in front of me, said, “Wow, you two look so similar.” She had high cheek bones and a thick accent.
We were nothing alike.
My dad chuckled and guided her out the door behind me, shutting it after she left. He clapped his hands together as he turned to me.
“Whisky?” he asked, turning to the cart filled with glass containers of amber liquid.
“No, thanks,” I said, sitting down on a black leather couch.
“Yamazaki,” he said, holding up a bottle. “A gift from a client.” He poured a couple fingers worth into a glass, swirling it around, breathing it in before taking a sip. “Expensive, but to be completely honest, I can’t taste the difference between this stuff and Jim Beam.”
I rested my arm along the back of the couch.
“So what did you need to talk to me about?”
“Right to business.” He took another sip as he sat down on the couch in front of me. “I like that.”
He set the glass down and then leaned back, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. His blue eyes looked more like a cloudy gray as a solemn look crossed his face.
“We need to talk about Corinne.”
18
Corinne
It had rained overnight, hard enough that most of the field had large pockets of mud; sections of the sidelines had been washed away. We’d reached the final minutes of the game, and everyone’s cleats were caked in thick, wet mud, making it difficult to run and easy to slip; fortunately, that hadn’t happened.
We were up 3-0. I’d scored twice, Lillian once. Rylee looked sluggish.
Even though it was the first game of the season, I expected more from her. She made errors you’d expect from a rookie trying to prove themselves and not from a senior, especially not from a co-captain. She gave up possessions prematurely, refused to chase down balls, and lacked basic situational awareness. There were plenty of opportunities for her to dish the ball off to someone else, but instead, she chose to force herself through multiple defenders who then stripped the ball from her with relative ease.
Even with her mistakes, Coach Kay hadn’t subbed her out or made her switch positions. No one questioned Coach Kay’s judgment, but I could sense others shared my same reservations.
I glanced to the sideline, eyeing James as he barked orders to the mi
dfielders. A rush of adrenaline spiked in my chest and my cheeks flushed. Even though I saw James everyday now, my body couldn’t help but react at the sight of him. It’s even worse when I’m near him. I thought that I would’ve adapted by now, but with us spending more time training together those feelings have become even more uncontrollable.
And intense.
I wasn’t going to stop our training sessions, though; they helped me, and I looked forward to them each week. My knee had never felt better, and I’d noticed that my speed and stamina were improving. I knew it was only the beginning of the season, but I felt confident that with James’s help, I had a real shot at getting drafted.
The other team had control of the ball deep in our side of the field. They crossed it too forcefully, sending it soaring well above the heads of everyone and would’ve bounced out of bounds if it weren’t for a small mud pit in the corner of the field. Chloe darted for the ball and gained control.
“Clear it!” James’s gruff voice drew my attention away from the ball and back to him.
My pulse quickened—again—as I stared at him. The wide plane of his back stretched the thin fabric of his windbreaker taut. On anyone else, it would’ve been billowy and tent-like, their features undefined. I could see the thickness of his muscles, the sheer mass of them, even at this distance.
James liked to pretend that he was clueless when it came to coaching, but it was clear to me that he had a natural talent for it. His pregame speech fired us all up; we started strong, pulling out to an early 2-0 lead within the first twenty minutes, maintaining it for the rest of the game. Whether he believed it or not, he was in his element.
I forced my attention away from James and back to game. Not an easy task, but I had no choice in the matter because the possession flipped, and we were back on the offensive. Lillian and Audrey passed the ball between them with finesse, splitting defenders and progressing upfield with little resistance. They made the other team look like they had cement in their shoes.
It wasn’t until Lillian dribbled into a pocket of mud, stopping both her and the ball’s momentum, that the other team finally converged on her, forcing her to drop the ball back to Kylie.
Kylie gained possession, paused with her foot on the ball, and scanned the field. She had a few moments before the other team contested her possession. She knocked it a few feet in front of her and then connected with a stronger kick.
The ball sailed over Lillian’s head and up to Abby, my counterpart on the opposite side of the field. I followed, anticipating a cross. Abby weaved around a defender but was quickly pinned in by another, forcing her to dump the ball. It flew through the air, back to the middle of the field.
Rylee leapt to meet it in the air. It connected with her chest and dropped to her feet. One defender was already on her and another quickly closed the gap.
The defender watching me crept toward the center of the field, leaving me enough open space to work with if Rylee were to send a through ball for me to chase down.
But she wasn’t looking in my direction; she wasn’t even looking around to see what options she had. Instead, she focused on her feet and the ball—on herself. Two defenders contested the ball as she tried to maneuver in the tight space.
“What are you doing?” I muttered.
She was throwing away another possession. I knew what she was thinking; it was clear from her every move. She wanted to score, but with every second she wasted trying to take on the defense alone, she moved further away from her goal.
James and Coach Kay yelled orders in unison, an edge of frustration lining both of their voices. It didn’t help; Rylee had lost the possession, and the other team cleared the ball.
The game ended a few minutes later. We won, but Rylee’s selfishness left a sour taste in my mouth. It didn’t feel like a win. We weren’t working as a cohesive unit. Well, the rest of the team was, but Rylee wasn’t. All it took was one rusty link to break a chain. Teamwork always trumped individual talent, especially during the post-season.
“What’s with Rylee?” Abby asked as she jogged next to me before slowing down to a walk.
I looked over my shoulder at Rylee. She had barely moved from the spot where she lost the possession. A part of me felt bad for her, but only for a moment as I reminded myself that this wasn’t the first time she put herself before other people on the team.
I shrugged. “No clue.”
“Fantastic game, guys!” James’s husky voice shook me. I hadn’t noticed him approaching us. Abby blushed as she thanked James.
“And you!” James turned to me, his eyes wide, his toothy smile even wider. My stomach fluttered as I felt his energy surround me, magnetic as it pulled me closer to him. It had a dizzying effect, and for a moment, I felt disoriented. He grabbed me, pulled me into a bear hug, and lifted me off the ground as he spun me around.
“Two goals,” he said. “Two amazing, beautiful, goals.”
I pretended that he called me amazing and beautiful—not the goals.
James set me back down on the ground, but my mind continued spinning. He was so strong, lifting me off the ground with ease as though I were a small child.
My mind raced with thoughts of him. I wanted him to keep his arms around me, take control of me and do with me whatever he pleased. My heart thumped as I tried to catch my breath. Only seconds had passed since he set me down but it felt so much longer.
“Eww, now I have Cori sweat all over me.” He laughed as he inspected himself, contorting his face in faux disgust.
“Serves you right,” I said. “You’re never going to get it out, either.”
He stepped into me, looking into my eyes. “I don’t mind.”
I blushed, looking away as nerves swelled in my stomach, spreading throughout my body. When I met his gaze again, there was a subtle shift in his eyes. There was an intensity to them, a sort of animalistic fierceness no longer restrained. It was dizzying and invigorating at the same time. I felt as though he could see right through me and into my deepest thoughts.
Go on. Look inside. I don’t mind.
He pushed closer to me, invading my space and stealing my breath. The back of his hand grazed my jaw and neck as he brushed back a strand of hair. “We’re going to celebrate. Tonight,” he whispered.
His words invaded my mind as I tried to deconstruct them. His breath was warm and humid on my neck and my skin tingled as the fine hairs on my neck stood on end. His heady, masculine scent overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t speak no matter how much I urged myself to do so. His presence was all-consuming, a black hole that pulled me in with no chance of escape. But I didn’t want to escape, and I think he knew it.
“How are we going to celebrate?” I murmured. My voice sounded unfamiliar, something separate from me. It was low and sensuous and vibrated with every emotion I felt coursing through me.
“It’s a surprise.” James pulled away from me, and I wanted to reach out and pull him back in. I didn’t care if anyone saw us. I felt alive and happy as every nerve and cell in my body fired on all cylinders. Not even the high of scoring the first goal of the season compared to how I felt with James.
“Meet me in my office in half an hour.”
“Okay.” My calm response revealed nothing of the storm raging inside my head, thoughts thundering and crashing as I tried to think about what James had planned for me.
You’re making more of this than it is, a voice spoke up inside of me.
Maybe I was building this into something it wasn’t, but I couldn’t easily explain away the way James looked at me or how he made me feel. His presence was addictive, intoxicating, and all-consuming. I couldn’t get him out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.
I watched James walk back toward the sideline where the rest of the team was celebrating our first victory of the season. I wanted to join them, but at the same time I wanted to enjoy this moment.
“What was that about?” Rylee’s voice startled me.
“What do you mean?
”
“You and James,” she said flatly, casting a discerning gaze at me.
“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “He was just congratulating me.”
She raised her eyebrows but remained silent.
“Good game, Rylee,” I lied.
She snorted. “Yeah, whatever.” She pushed past me, bumping her shoulder into mine. What a child.
I turned around just in time to see James dodge a cooler filled with ice water that a few girls tried to dump on him. Laughter erupted, and I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. Nothing could dampen how James made me feel, not even Rylee.
I wasn’t about to let her ruin another good thing in my life.
19
James
The office Coach Kay assigned to me was less an office than it was a closet. Metal shelves lined two walls, bare except for a thick layer of dust. There was a desk, a chair, office supplies, and a square, metal filing cabinet that I used as a footrest; you could just barely get away with calling it an office. Just barely.
Tap, tap, tap—the sound of my fingers rapping against the desk one after the other as I waited for Cori to walk through the door. I hadn’t been waiting long, thirteen minutes to be exact, but with each passing minute, the tighter the knotted, ropy muscles of my stomach grew.
Tap, tap, tap. Fourteen minutes. Tighter and tighter.
The pine chair creaked and moaned as I shifted my weight, trying to find a comfortable position, but it was no use. There was nothing in this world that could make this chair more comfortable. I sighed, conceding defeat.
I checked my phone, fourteen minutes. Time was at a standstill. The longer I sat here, the more I began to have second thoughts.
On the surface, it was nothing more than dinner. A harmless, well-deserved celebration. But underneath it all was something else entirely. I couldn’t help but feel as though I were opening a door that I may not be able to close again. At least, not without lasting consequences.
I don’t know; maybe Jack’s right. Maybe I am selfish.
Corinne had enough on her plate—soccer, school, the draft. And after the meeting with my father, I could add her mother to that list, too. I shouldn’t be adding myself to that list, just so I could explore an inkling of a feeling.