Chapter 15
I speed off the court and into the attached hallway.
I can hear my teammates getting ready in the women’s locker room, so I know he’s not in there.
The men’s locker room would be a great guess, but some of the coaches and practice players are in there.
Daniel was probably looking for a place to be alone.
Either he left the facility, or he went into one of our two laundry rooms. I look in the first one, but it’s empty.
I’m surprised at what I see when I open the second. Daniel is leaning against one of the washing machines, taking deep, measured breaths. He looks upset, hands pressed over his eyes. I hurry inside, closing the door behind me.
“Daniel.” I cross the room to be at his side.
My body feels like it's vibrating, trying to say what I really mean. “I’m so sorry about that. I shouldn’t have talked about the Olympics.
Your track career.” I reach a hand to comfort him but drop it when he abruptly lowers his hands and looks at me fully.
He hasn’t been crying, but his eyes look a little glassy.
His face is pale in the fluorescent light.
His curls are in disarray from running his hands through them.
“How can you say those things?” His voice is a little hoarse, his expression intense.
I stutter again, apologetic and rushed. “I know. I know it probably hurts—”
He laughs in disbelief. I freeze, watching him.
“No.” He looks at me with affection. “It doesn’t hurt when you believe in me, Annie.
It doesn’t hurt when you still remember all my dreams and say that I can achieve them.
It doesn’t hurt when you smile, and it’s not on some screen.
You’re right next to me.” His smile fades a little.
“But it should hurt you. That’s all I’ve ever done.
Hurt you, abandoned you, hid the truth from you.
” Shame bleeds into the words, mingled with his disbelief.
“Why should you care whether I ever go to the Olympics? Why should you care whether I’m lying somewhere in a ditch?
” He looks at me beseechingly, as though he really needs an answer.
My mouth trembles a little, but I try to smile kindly.
“Daniel, if I’ve learned anything during our little scheme, it’s that you’ve changed.
That man who left me, who hurt me, who blew up my life,” he winces at the assessment, “isn’t the man you are now.
You may have been broken by the accident, but you still have a real chance to achieve your dreams.” The words spill out of me, bold and unyielding.
“I know you’ll go to the Olympics one day.
I know you’ll keep fighting your PTSD and win most of the time.
Maybe you’ll even share your story with the world.
I hope you will. I hope you’ll keep dreaming and not regret what could have been. ”
The fluorescent light flickers above us, as if sensing the tension. Daniel steps a half step closer to me. We’re only a breath apart. The laundry room, which is normally warm, suddenly feels hot. “Annie,” he whispers. I tilt my chin up defiantly, looking into those starry eyes.
“Yes?” I whisper back, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
His words are a tender murmur. “I do have some regrets.”
And then we’re crashing into each other.
His lips are on mine, hard and soft at the same time.
My hands crush into his shoulders, reaching up his neck and sighing when I find his decadent curls.
His hands roam up and down my sides, and I find I don’t even care that I’m still wearing my sweaty practice clothes.
Daniel is backing me up, both of us trying to find some solace as we press closer and closer.
The back of my legs hit the dryer behind me, and in one quick, exhilarating movement, Daniel hoists me so I’m sitting on top of it. I hum a sound of pleasure as I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to me, lifting his chin. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.
“Annie,” Daniel says again, but this time it almost sounds like a groan.
My skin feels like it’s on fire with him, and I break off our frantic kiss to rip off my practice jersey.
I’m wearing an entirely too no-nonsense sports bra underneath, but it’s heaven to feel my skin against him.
He begins kissing down my neck, tickling a sensitive spot below my ear, and I can feel his smile against my likely splotchy and flushed skin.
His hands, which have been firmly on my hips, begin to inch up my body.
They feel wonderful, scalding to the touch and almost electric on my skin, but then his thumb just grazes my breast. The pleasure that shoots through me is more than I’m prepared for. Everything is tingling, from between my legs to the ends of my eyelashes.
“Daniel,” I gasp out, pulling back to look at him.
“Wait—we need to—” He looks at me for a moment, eyes huge and lips swollen.
It’s almost enough to stall my racing brain and instead go back to our frenetic kissing.
But I know we really need to talk. We’ve danced around it.
We’ve alluded to it. But if we’re going to be together, really together, I have to trust him.
That mental block won’t go away with just hormones, at least for me.
I take too long gathering my thoughts. Daniel’s face falls a fraction, and he takes a few steps away from me and the dryer. The air between us feels suddenly cold. “Annie,” he’s stumbling over his words, avoiding my gaze altogether, “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Daniel, no—” But my words betray me again. They always do. I can’t make myself ask him to stay and talk about why he left and how it made me feel, and yet I also can’t stop remembering his scalding hands on my hips, his tongue in my mouth.
He backs out of the room. “I’m happy with your friendship, Annie. Your belief in me.” He smiles, even as he’s looking past me, not at me. “I won’t ask for more.”
And then he practically runs out of the room.
Somehow, I’m the one being left again.
*
The next day’s away game is a disaster. Despite our miraculous comeback in the last game, we’re still working through some kinks.
Teams have been reading our plays more and more.
Jadea is being double-teamed any time she has the ball, which leads to her racking up unnecessary fouls trying to get free.
Lynn makes a run towards the basket but is slammed by a Dallas Wings’ defender.
She practically topples into the base of the basket, leaving her with an aching head and a probable concussion.
I can see her wife and new baby in the crowd, watching nervously as she’s led off the court.
I play okay, with nine points and six assists.
Not an atrocious game, but a quiet one. We ended up losing by eleven points.
It felt like sand running through our fingers.
We almost had it but couldn’t grasp the elusive victory.
Daniel and his crew were absent as well.
They’re pretty much finished with any game or practice footage.
Besides their interviews, Daniel is just working on his own narration.
I find myself imagining him on the sideline, wearing the Larger Than Life t-shirt.
I fantasize about his hands raking down my sides, his body between my legs.
In general, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about a man so much.
And despite the obsessive nature of my thoughts, I don’t hear from Daniel until we’re on the plane ride home later that night.
Daniel: Sorry about the loss, Annie.
I look at it, strangely disappointed that’s all it says.
Then, another ding.
Daniel: And sorry again about the laundry room.
Daniel: Friends?
Jadea leans to look at my phone from her seat next to me, but I quickly tuck it back into my sweatshirt pocket without responding. “Is that Daniel?” she asks, once again suspicious.
I fidget a little. “Yes.”
It’s dark in the plane, the lights dimmed for sleep-mode. We speak in hushed whispers. I try to read Jadea’s expression in the shadows. Her brow is furrowed. “You really like him, don’t you?” I don’t answer, and she pushes. “Like in real life? Outside of our little PR stunt?”
I lean back in my airplane seat, closing my eyes briefly. I can feel a headache forming. “I guess I got over my Stanford grudge a little quicker than I expected.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
To my surprise, deviating from her usual strong opinions, Jadea reaches out and gently holds my hand. I turn to look at her. “What do you want to do?” she asks softly.
There are a lot of unspoken words between Jadea and me.
She understands my frequently lukewarm feelings about romance and sex.
When I imagine my future, I imagine a partner, a best friend, someone I cuddle up with as we watch Netflix.
I imagine lots of Twizzlers, maybe a couple kids, a cozy apartment or house.
But I don’t get excited about some guy on the street.
A man who’s only on my screen, with five pictures and three funny quips about his personality, all wrapped in a swipe-right formula.
I really can only imagine that life, that future, with somebody once I get to know them.
That applies to sex, too. I’ve never had a one-night stand; it’s just not in me.
I almost never self-pleasure or use sex toys.
I had sex with my last boyfriend, Evan, because I trusted him and liked him, and I knew him a few weeks before we even started dating.
The slow approach worked best for me. When I was with Daniel at Stanford, I began to feel attracted to him in that way.
I would have slept with him if given the chance.
Some people think I’m afraid, and I probably am, to some degree.
Sex is a scary, intimate thing. But it’s more because I want people to understand me and not think I’m something unusual or unnatural just because I’m not very sexually motivated.
Jadea has never treated me that way. She never told me to just “get it out of my system” or “jump into bed” with some guy, which some of my high school and college friends tried out when I complained about the lack of physical sparks.
But… Daniel.
I trust him. I loved him. Now, I care about him again. And…I can’t stop thinking about how sex with him would probably be wonderful. Mind-blowing. Romantic and hot and fun.
And for someone like me, those thoughts alone are shocking.
I don’t have the guts to tell Jadea about our past, but I do find my voice to speak about the present. “I want to be with him,” I tell her quietly. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Jadea’s eyes definitely widen this time. “You want to sleep with him?”
I smile a little at her expression. “Before we left, we made out in the team laundry room.” Jadea lets out a low whistle that has Olabisi glaring at us from two seats ahead.
I shush Jadea, but for her this is quiet.
“And now I can’t stop thinking about it.
I was the one who pulled away because I wanted to clear the air, but nothing came out.
He thought I stopped him because I didn’t want it.
Him. Now he says we can just be friends. ”
Jadea manages to whisper, but every word is fierce.
“Annie, this is your chance to have everything you want. You shouldn’t ignore these feelings, especially when they don’t always happen for you.
” It’s a pep talk at first, but then she softens a bit.
“You deserve it, Annie. Daniel is special. I know it.”
Weirdly, I’m tearing up. Or not weirdly, considering my propensity for crying during life’s pivotal moments. “My chance,” I echo. “Maybe I should talk to him?”
It’s a weak response, but the best I can muster. I just need to explain to Daniel what I want. Possibly with my tongue.
No, no, focus. Words first.
Jadea cheers me on, silently raising a fist. “Text him now!”
Trying not to hyperventilate, I pull out my phone. I immediately notice another message from Daniel. I must have missed the buzz.
Daniel: I’m working on the narration for your piece…do you want to read it?
The offer seems to be two things: a peace offering, in case I was truly upset about our laundry room tryst, and a genuine offer for collaboration.
Back when we were at Stanford, we’d read each other’s papers and mark the parts we liked with pink hearts (me) or red stars (him).
It was a wonderful routine that he probably thinks we can recreate platonically.
This seems as good an opportunity as any.
Annie: I’d love to! We don’t have practice until noon tomorrow. Want to come to my apartment tonight to go over it? I should be home by 11 PM?
I think to anyone else it would sound like a booty call hiding within very professional words, but Daniel knows me and is probably taking me at my word. He agrees, and I tell him where the spare key is in case I’m running late, and he needs to let himself in.
Once our exchange is over, I put my phone away with a relieved sigh.
“Nervous?” Jadea asks, voice low and excited.
I press my heels to my eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Jadea cannot contain her giggles now. “My girl is going to get laid tonight!”
Her announcement is met with many shushes and serious side eye from Allyson in the row over.
“Like it will be so easy,” I mutter. I slump in my seat and wait anxiously for the last hour of our flight to pass by.