Chapter One Rowan #2
She snaps to attention, reminding me a little of Vaughn. She’s not as die-hard as him in her routine, but she takes her position as captain and leading the team just as seriously. “Actually, pretty well. I think we have a chance at districts. Maybe regionals.”
The girls’ team hasn’t been that successful in the three previous years I’ve been in high school. I always feel a little bad with us winning so much and getting attention from the school and community and them…not.
“Really?” Try as I might, I fail to conceal my surprise.
“Yeah. One of the freshmen is showing real promise in the net and Sophie grew two inches over the summer, and somehow it’s really balanced out all her clumsy tendencies. Watch out for her on defense today. She’s quick.”
“Nice.” I find her friend Sophie on the field doing high knees and note she does look taller and somehow more graceful.
“What about you guys? Any notable additions?”
Before I can answer, I’m distracted by a flash of red hair.
One of the other girls is dribbling a ball down the field at a speed that seems more suited for a game than a warm-up.
Her curly red hair is pulled up in a ponytail that blows wildly down her back and behind her as she goes.
She kicks the ball and then stops. When she lifts her head, I get a better look at her.
Fair skin, big eyes, round face. She has on a thin black headband, a lot like the one I wear, to keep her hair out of her face.
It’s then I remember Amanda is waiting for my answer.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say, distracted as I watch the redhead retrieve the ball from the back of the net. “Who’s that?”
She turns, following my line of sight. I pull my gaze away from her teammate in time to see Amanda frown. “Ugh. No one.”
Someone blows a whistle, and both teams glance up while moving to their respective sides.
“I better go,” Amanda says as she steps backward. The first real smile I’ve seen out of her dances across her lips. A mixture of playful and determined. “Good luck. Try not to sulk when we beat you.”
A small huff of surprise leaves my lips, and that earlier ease I’d been hoping for returns. “You wish, Jones.”
* * *
It turns out we didn’t need to worry about taking it easy on the girls. With a minute to go in the first half, we’re tied. And it is not because we aren’t trying.
I lift the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. It might not be the scorching Arizona heat, but for Michigan, it’s pretty damn hot out here. The redhead I was watching during warm-ups is next to me. The girls are in a zone defense and she’s playing midfield in the number ten spot.
She’s continued to play with that edge and intensity, almost like she has something to prove. If she’s a freshman, then I get that. A lot of the new guys come in looking to make an impact right away. The rest of us have played together, some of us as far back as elementary school.
There’s something else about her play style though. It’s scrappy and all out, nearly to her detriment. It’s borderline sloppy, but somehow she continues to control it.
Hunter passes me the ball and the girl shifts, putting herself between me and the goal.
My legs are tired and the months of not playing have me sucking in air through tight lungs, but something about her determination has me pushing everything else away and focusing.
I want to help my team, but I also want to see what she’s capable of.
I dribble, taking my time, focusing on my footwork, scanning the field to see where my teammates are, and moving us closer to the goal.
She’s right there with me, every step. Her gaze is laser-focused on the ball. She’s handsy, too, tracking me with a forearm almost like she’s attempting to push me backward.
If this were a real game, I’d be pissed and probably push back. Instead, I do a Cruyff turn and get a half step around her. She latches on to my arm, surprising me and even pulling a laugh.
“Not giving up that easy, huh?” I ask, slowing down again to let her catch up. I’m purposely baiting her, but also giving the guys a little breather.
Austin’s found a nice position on the right wing and calls for the ball.
He and Vaughn are the only ones who are going at full speed.
Well, them, and whoever the hell this chick is.
Actually, the entire girls’ team seems much more conditioned than we do.
Something Coach C has no doubt noted as well. I see a lot of running in our future.
“You’re not bad for a freshie,” I say because, well, I guess I really just want to see how angry I can make her. If I’m right and she has a short fuse, then I know exactly how to push her buttons.
She says nothing but releases her hold on me as she places herself in front of me again.
If she is a freshman, that means when I was in sixth grade she would have been a…
third grader. I’ve always made it a point to know people.
I never had that stick-to-your-own-grade mentality when it came to making friends, but three years is a big enough difference that I guess our paths never crossed.
Pity. I think I might like her…or at least I like trying to rile her up.
I get the feeling when she does blow a fuse, there’ll be fireworks.
While I’m trying to summon enough energy to get past her, she lunges forward and tries to swipe the ball. She misses, but in the process lands an elbow in my gut. Intentional? Probably, but her eyes still widen with surprise as I let out an “ooof.”
“All right,” I say, strained. “Stop fucking around. Got it.”
With everything I have, I dribble, step over, and then hit the gas. I blow by her and send a hard pass to Austin, who finds the back of the net before the defense has time to shift.
I glance to my side in time to see the redhead’s mouth pull into a tight line of disappointment.
Huh. I think I expected her reaction to be…
angrier. Instead, she looks like she might cry.
Well, damn. The victory I was feeling seconds ago trickles off to something more like guilt. I really hope she doesn’t cry.
The buzzer sounds and there’s a collective sigh of relief from both teams for the break.
I jog off toward our bench with the rest of the guys.
“I think I ruptured my spleen,” Blake mutters, holding onto his right side and gasping for air as he takes a seat.
“Wrong spot, genius.” Hunter opts to sit on the ground, falling onto his back in the grass and flinging one arm over his eyes.
Eli is panting and squirting water from a plastic bottle over his head. He’s peeled off the practice jersey and his T-shirt to cool down or, more likely, to show off the abs Eddie taunted him about.
I’m gassed too but also thoroughly impressed. “To be fair, Cap, I don’t think we’re any worse than usual.”
We always show up rusty at the beginning of the season.
Well, everyone but Vaughn and now Austin.
It’s a week or two of long practices and Coach Collins breathing down our necks before we pull it together and start playing like a championship team.
The only difference between this year and the previous three is that the girls showed up ready to play.
One girl in particular. I find the redhead easily.
She’s off on her own again. I have no idea who she is, but she’s responsible for one of their goals.
There probably would have been more, but it’s like she’s playing a game separate from the rest of the team.
They’re barely acknowledging her, let alone passing to her, but she’s so scrappy out there she hasn’t needed it.
She’s quick and smart.
“Who the hell is that chick? Freshman all-star?” Parker, one of our new freshmen asks with a glint of hope in his dark-brown eyes.
“Nah, she doesn’t look timid enough,” Eli says. “Also, when did Sophie get so good? And did she get hotter too?”
“Maybe if you stopped checking out Sophie, you could manage to hold onto the ball,” Eddie quips at his twin.
Hunter’s laugh carries up from where he lies. “Maybe you should go show her your six-pack.”
“Can we all focus here?” Vaughn asks. I can tell he’s trying to walk a careful line between friend and captain. He knows today is supposed to be fun and casual, but he also wants to strangle the lot of us for sucking so badly.
We fall silent, appropriately chastised and tired as fuck. After a few beats of panting and heavy sighs, Vaughn waves a hand toward the field. “They aren’t the problem. We are.”
There are some grumbles of disagreement before Hunter’s question centers back in my thoughts. “Seriously, though. Who is that chick?”
I’m glad he asked the question again because I can’t stop thinking it.
She’s already back on the field by herself, practicing shots.
The rest of the girls are still taking a break.
Her cheeks are stained red from heat and exertion, nearly matching her hair.
She has on the same white practice jersey as the rest of the girls, but instead of the blue shorts the others wear, hers are purple.
Just one more way she seems to stand out.
“You don’t recognize her?” Vaughn asks, a hint of a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth.
I look back at her, narrowing my gaze and searching my brain for any recognition. The hairs on my arm lift. Actually, now that he mentioned it, she does look familiar. But I’m certain if I’d met her, I’d remember. The hair, for one, makes her stand out. Not just the color but the curls. I dig it.
But looks aside, there’s something in the way she holds herself. From the tilt of her chin to the way she moves down the field.
Before I’m able to piece it together—though to be honest, it’s unlikely I would have on my own—Vaughn says, “That’s Summer Lindsey.”
“Who?” Eli and Eddie ask at the same time. They do that often, but it never ceases to make me grin. Twins are cool.
I run her name over and over again in my head. Summer Lindsey. Summer. Lindsey. Holy shit. Summer Lindsey.