Chapter 5 #2
I should probably acknowledge that. Especially after what he said the other night about being punctual.
But I don’t.
Instead, I raise my chin. “Well, we’re here now. All of us.”
He runs his eyes – I swear, they’ve become dark, darker than they were a second ago – down my body once again and I have to fist my fingers.
“So I can see,” he says finally after he’s done studying me for a second time.
And for some reason I feel like…
I feel as if he was doing all this flirting on purpose. To provoke me and make me march up to him like I did in the bar the other night.
But that’s stupid, right?
Why would he provoke me of all people?
So I try to be sensible, sort of, and ask, “Can we play now?” But for some reason, I can’t stop myself from adding, “I thought punctuality was one of the cardinal rules around here.”
And then, he does something that I swear I’ve never seen him do in the past eight years that I’ve known him. Not to the cameras, not to Sarah, not to that girl even.
He licks his lips.
It’s not even a full lick or an obvious lick or anything. It’s simply a slight peek of his tongue followed by a little swipe of his lower lip.
It makes him look so… wicked, so provocative.
So opposite of how I’ve known him that I have to actually do what he did. I have to actually lick my own lips like a moron to believe that it happened.
“Yeah, it is,” he says, nodding slowly, his arms still folded across his chest. “Although I had no idea you cared about them. The rules.”
I shift on my feet, trying not to think about his lip-licking. “I do.”
“You do, huh?”
“Very much.”
“Well then, this place is having a tremendous effect on you. Because I can’t seem to remember a time when you were so enamored by them.” He pauses and adds, somehow saying the words in italics, “The rules.”
Something about that makes me narrow my eyes at him. “That’s because you never paid me any attention before. Since you’ve always been so busy with soccer and other things.”
I don’t know why I said that. There’s no possible explanation for it, for why I’d goad him further like this.
But now I have and he takes the bait.
He takes it with his whole body in fact. He cocks his head to the side and widens his stance as the corners of his lips twitch. For some reason I think it’s from both surprise and amusement.
“I didn’t, did I?” he murmurs, shaking his head as if at himself.
“No, you didn’t.”
He hums, his eyes all sparkly and intense. “I am now though, and correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t I see you at a bar recently? As recently as last week, around midnight. Blatantly ignoring all the rules you claim to care so much about.”
Holy… What?
My eyes go so wide, so fucking wide at this, that I’m surprised they haven’t popped out of my head.
Did he really, actually say that? Loudly, no less.
Yeah, he did because there’s a sudden outbreak of gasps and murmurs around me.
That… that jerk.
I can’t believe I’m using that word in context to him, to Arrow.
But God. God.
Does he have any idea how much trouble this can get me in? This is not a joke.
It looks like he does. He does know this isn’t a joke and he has every idea about how much trouble this could get me in because the jerk is smiling.
Well, more like a lopsided, amused sort of smile that he’s kind of trying to hide by scratching the side of his mouth with his thumb. And by ducking his head in a way that his stupid, sexy jaw catches the afternoon sun.
And his slight stubble glints.
Glints.
The jerk is glinting and I’m watching him like an idiot.
Say something.
I fist my hands at my sides and clear my throat. The whole crowd quiets down to listen to what I have to say and I swear to God, if I get out of this alive, I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to kill the guy I love.
But I let out a laugh first – nervous and completely fake, glancing at Coach TJ from the corners of my eyes; she’s glaring at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I laugh again and his lopsided stretch of lips turns into a full one as he watches me grapple with the situation he created.
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are,” I continue. “But I’m afraid there’s a problem in your stupid joke.”
“Oh, is there?”
“Yes. Because I can’t go anywhere off campus, let alone to a bar. I don’t have the privilege yet. Besides…” I narrow my eyes at him and repeat his words from that night. “Lights out at nine-thirty, remember? That’s the rule and even I wouldn’t dare to break it my very first week at St. Mary’s.”
Something crackling passes through his eyes. “Is that what the rule is?”
“Yes. Maybe you should read the rule book.”
“Maybe,” he replies lazily. “Or maybe I should just ask you. Since you’ve become such a model student.”
I purse my lips at his sarcastic comment. “So I was here. In bed. Where I belong.”
I think I spoke too many words and gave too much of an explanation, and now they’re going to catch me.
They’re going to take away all my privileges – however basic they might be – and probably even shut me in a room so I never ever sneak out again.
All because this jerk is having his fun with me.
But then I hear him drawl, “Well, now that you mention it. It wasn’t you.” My body unclenches and he looks me up and down again. “The girl I saw had messier hair, I think. Poutier lips too. You’re right.”
It’s a wonder I can talk after that ‘poutier lips’ comment but I do. “Apology accepted. Now you know.”
“I didn’t apologize.” Then, “I would’ve loved to see that though.”
“See what?”
“You.” He dips his face and lowers his voice. “In bed.”
I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what he’s doing or trying to do. I don’t know why he’s saying these things.
The most bizarre, breath-stealing things ever since he came back from LA.
“You want to see me in b-bed?” I ask with dried throat and swollen tongue.
He nods slowly, the strands of his hair falling over his smooth, unbothered forehead. “Very much. I would’ve loved to see you following the rules, being a good girl. Staying where you belong.”
I swat my own hair off my forehead because my fingers are being impatient and unruly, whining to push aside his hair. My heart is being unruly too, whining to get close to him, whining to be laid at his feet.
“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Somehow. “You’ll get to see that. Me, following all the rules.”
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it,” he says, boring his eyes into mine, imparting a meaning, a secret meaning, that I don’t understand and yet strangely, I understand in every way.
“Now, can we stop the soccer superstar ass-kissing and play?”
“Sure,” he agrees magnanimously before tipping up his chin at me. “Just as soon as you stop acting like an overeager groupie who cuts the line and fall back into it. Like everyone else.”
I open my mouth to retort because how dare he call me a groupie, even though whatever I’ve learned about soccer, I’ve learned from him.
But his words jar me. They remind me that we’re not alone.
I mean, I knew that but now it really hits me that there’s a group of girls standing behind me, glaring at me, including a teacher, Coach TJ. And I’m doing exactly what they thought I’d do.
I’m taking advantage of the fact that I lived with him and talking to him – who’s also a teacher now – in such a brazen, familiar manner.
Under his challenging gaze, I duck my head and move back.
Once I’m standing in the line, I look up to catch Arrow – Coach Carlisle, sorry – still staring at me with an inscrutable look before he unfolds his arms and looks away.
“One by one, I’d like you to come forward, introduce yourself and tell us what position you play.
And then, we’ll start with a thirty-minute warm-up game. ”
So that’s what we do. We introduce ourselves. When my turn arrives, I try to look as demure as possible.
“Salem Salinger. I’m the wide midfielder.”
My eyes are on my cleats so I don’t know if I’m right or not. But I feel like he pauses on me. I feel like his eyes darken and his jaw tightens at my answer.
Mostly because I just named the position that he plays.
He’s played that position majorly through high school and college, with a few exceptions here and there. But he shines the best as the wide midfielder. His free kicks and bends are legendary, or at least, on the way to becoming so. Like Beckham’s were.
And that’s why I’m a wide midfielder as well, because that’s how I taught myself.
By watching his and Beckham’s game tapes.
All in secret, all stolen by me, from him, from his room.
Aside from writing him secret letters, this was the only way I had to feel connected to him, by playing the game that he loved so much.
I’ve always been kind of athletic and interested in sports. I played soccer here and there. But when we moved to Leah’s house, I really picked it up. I’d watch Arrow play in the backyard and when he’d be at school, I’d retrace his steps and play all by myself.
So yeah, I play soccer.
But I’m really nervous to play in front of him, in front of my soccer idol.
The Blond Arrow.
Once we’re done with the introductions, Arrow divides us into two teams while Coach TJ takes notes of all players on the clipboard. He tells us to take positions and start. Coach TJ blows the whistle and there we go.
As one of the wide midfielders, I dominate the field at the center. I run and cover the most ground, tailing the opposing team’s players in possession of the ball, and stealing it.
Which is my area of expertise, if I might add.
The stealing.
I always have trouble though, keeping the ball in possession. But today, I do everything that I can not to lose the ball.
I dribble it like I’ve never dribbled before, my feet flying across the field until the opportunity opens and I can shoot and score.
When I make the first goal within the first five minutes of the game, I feel like I’m on top of the world. But that’s nothing compared to what I feel when I make a goal again ten minutes later from the center of the field and hit the net dead center.