Chapter 7
Mireya
“Oh man, what the hell are you doing up at this hour? You know it's six forty, right?” I hear suddenly.
“Hades wants to talk to me before we leave for the airport. I guess for her this is completely normal,” I say, shrugging. “What about you? Are you just getting back from going out?”
“Hey, hey, it's the last night in Florida. I haven't done anything wrong, I just got off the phone with my girlfriend,” she says in her defense, still holding a beer can as she drops down next to me on the hotel entrance steps.
Without meaning to, my eyes drift toward the pool, and I feel that same low flutter in my stomach from last night when I was running my hand across Diana's back.
Last night, while she admitted how much she missed her daughters, I saw an entirely different Diana.
Exposed. Human. A version I like a whole lot more than the one I see every day on the training field.
“I always wanted a cat, but my girlfriend's allergic,” Iris says suddenly, out of nowhere.
“Why are you telling me that?”
“I don't know, but I know that look. Right now you want to pull your own hair out or scream into a pillow, right? I went through the exact same thing last year with my bodyguard. And then, look, turns out she was the love of my life,” she admits, taking a long pull of her beer.
“But that's another story. Oh, and a very long one, by the way. You want me to tell it to you?”
“Another time, Iris,” I sigh.
“Good call, because I need to shower before Hades sees me like this. Though it's a really good story, I'm telling you. It's got everything. Stalkers, bodyguards pretending to be girlfriends, Wesley making drawings. Someone should make a movie.”
I watch her. She talks and talks, and she knows something's going on with me. She doesn't ask for an explanation. She just makes sure I know she's here, next to me, and that if I need something, I can count on her. It's her way of doing it, but it works.
“Iris, how did you know?” I ask after a moment.
“Know what?”
“That Paula was… you know. That it was something more.”
Iris takes another drink and goes quiet, thinking. It's strange to watch her think before she speaks. Almost unsettling.
“There was one night,” she says, lowering her voice.
“The Boss had a fever. Zoe and Tessa were thirty miles away, and they called me to stay with him.
At that point, Paula and I were in this really weird situation.
Seriously, so weird, I'm not giving you the details, or we'd miss the plane, but she drove me everywhere and we barely talked.
She dropped me off at Zoe's place, and I told her to go home.”
“And?”
“And she stayed there.”
“There?”
“In the damn parking lot. All night. Watching the front door. That made me think. Well, that and the fact that taking care of Wes cracked my heart wide open. That's when I really knew. It wasn't what she said. It was what she did.”
“And now?”
“Now we live together, and we're thinking about having kids. She still keeps her poker face, checking access points, scaring off anyone who gets too close. Okay, I'm out now. See you on the bus in a couple of hours.”
“Hey, Iris. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For noticing something's going on and still not pushing.”
She shrugs and finishes her beer in one go. She crushes the can with one hand and sets it on the step beside me without throwing it away.
“The things that matter don't always need to be asked about, Guerrero.
You just see them. And I've got great eyes, even if I tell Hades I need glasses to read the board.
That's a lie; I just do it to mess with her.
You know you can count on me for whatever you need.
Whatever happens, remember that on this team we look out for each other.
That's the only thing that matters. Everything else can be fixed,” she adds, giving my shoulder one hard slap before heading back inside.
**
Meeting time with Hades. The hotel café is still closed, chairs stacked upside down on the tables, but the glass doors to the garden are open.
At the far end, half hidden between the hedges, she sits at a wooden table with a cup between her hands.
Dark jeans, a plain gray t-shirt, and flip-flops she's left lying beside her bare feet.
No tablet, no laptop, no official team gear.
It's the first time I've ever seen her in regular clothes, like anyone else.
“I brought you coffee,” she says by way of greeting, sliding a cup across the table. Black, no sugar.
“You know how I take it?”
“I watch you order one every morning,” she answers, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
We drink a couple of sips without talking.
The sky isn't black anymore. It's turned a purplish gray on the side with the palm trees, and pale pink on the other. A bird calls from somewhere in a tree I can't identify.
“You're probably wondering why I asked you to come out at this hour, but I had to clear something up with you before we leave. It's important. Last night… maybe you didn't even notice, but it wasn't right on my part, and I'd rather be honest with you from the start,” she says, and my chest seizes.
“Diana, I—”
“Wait. In a few hours we'll get on that plane.
I'll sit six rows back. I'll greet you the same way I greet every other player on the roster.
In training I'll correct you the same way I correct everyone else.
When the reporters ask me at Tuesday's press conference, I'll say you're a very important addition to the system.
And for the entire season I'm going to pretend I didn't feel anything last night when you touched my back, because I shouldn't have felt anything.”
“Diana.”
“Let me finish. I'm going to do that because I have two daughters in Seattle, an ex-wife I still talk to several times a week, and a club that pays me well to make professional decisions.
And you are the player I personally signed three weeks ago to win the title.
I don't know if you felt anything or not, but I'd rather be completely honest with you from the beginning.
I did feel something, and it's wrong. I'm not crossing that line. No way in hell am I crossing that line,” she says.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
She nods. Looks at her coffee.
“I just wanted you to know that before we boarded.”
“I wanted you to know something too.”
“What?”
“That last night wasn't only you. Actually, if you hadn't gotten up when you did, I don't know what would have happened because I was shaking.
And I know this is a terrible situation because you're my coach and some things shouldn't be mixed, but I don't know, I'm a complete mess, I didn't sleep at all last night,” I admit.
“I'm almost grateful you made me get up early.”
“Mireya. Don't look at my mouth.”
The words leave her lips equal parts warning and plea, and my pulse kicks hard.
Diana is less than two feet away, the first time I've ever seen her nervous, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
Her gaze shifts between my eyes and my lower lip, and I know she feels it too.
And at this rate I'm going to need to change clothes before I even get on the bus.
“You're still looking at my mouth,” she breathes.
“I know,” I admit, my breath catching.
I want to add something, an apology, an explanation, but I've lost all control.
Right now I don't care about club protocols or league rules.
I don't even know if there are any. I never thought about feeling something for a coach.
And yet here I am, undone by a woman who's telling me not to look at her mouth while her own eyes keep dropping to my chest.
“Screw it,” I murmur, shaking my head as I lean in.
I keep my eyes open. I see the freckles across the bridge of her nose that I'd never noticed before. I catch the barely-there tremor of her lower eyelid and watch her lips part just enough to let out a breath that grazes my chin a second before her eyes close and our mouths meet.
They're nothing like I imagined.
Last night, unable to sleep, I touched myself thinking about her.
I couldn't help it. I'd imagined firm, certain lips.
The lips of a woman who runs an elite team with a steady hand.
But they're soft and warm. They taste like coffee.
The tip of her tongue finds mine slowly, like she wants to hold onto every sensation.
Without thinking, I set my hand on her waist and push her shirt up slightly to feel her skin. She lets out a long, low breath against my mouth, and my heart beats so hard I'm sure the whole team can hear it from their rooms.
We deepen the kiss, and for a moment neither of us remembers we need air. There's nothing around us, only the small sounds she makes when I catch her lower lip between mine.
When we pull apart, it's not all at once. It's slow, each inch of distance hurting on its own. We look at each other, eyes wide, breathing fast.
“Damn,” she whispers.
“Yeah. Damn,” I confirm, pressing my fingers to my own mouth.
No apologies. That would be a lie. The kiss is still on our lips, and I doubt either of us will shake it from our minds anytime soon.
“The bus leaves in two hours. Don't forget anything in your room,” she says, pushing up from the table and stepping away from me.
She walks off barefoot, flip-flops in hand, without looking back once. The last image I have of her as she slips inside the hotel is her shirt riding up slightly, showing a strip of skin right where I'd slipped my hand when we kissed.
**
An hour and a half later I join the rest of the team in the hotel lobby. Iris looks at me like she suspects something, or maybe she's just hungover. Hard to tell with her.
Diana greets me with a quick nod, the same as every other player on her roster. I greet her the same way, like nothing happened an hour ago. We both lie perfectly, even though it feels like something sharp pressing into my ribs.
Bus. Airport. Check-in. Boarding.
I get on the plane with my carry-on and my sunglasses in case a tear slips out. The knot in my stomach isn't like anything I've felt before. I settle into row 14, trade seats with Tina because I need a window to press my head against and pretend I'm asleep. Six rows between us.
I put my headphones on and close my eyes. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I try to listen to music, and it doesn't help, I switch to a podcast, and I can't take in a single word. It's like someone pressed a weight down onto my chest and left it there.
Seattle greets us with light rain, 59 degrees, and an entire season ahead.
And between her and me, six rows of distance and a kiss at a wooden table half-hidden in the hedges by the pool at dawn.
A kiss that never should have happened. A kiss that is eating me from the inside out and that I won't be able to forget no matter how hard I try.
Because pretending we never crossed that line hurts more than I have words for.