7. Cecelia
SEVEN
CECELIA
“I think I’m dying.”
I toss a towel at Helen, who is currently lying flat on the grass, arm thrown over her face as she tries to catch her breath.
“I feel great,” I say cheerily, earning me a middle finger.
I’m only exaggerating a little bit. Yes, I’m sweating my tits off, my thighs are burning, and I’m so out of breath it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. But what does that matter? I’m on a soccer field.
“Do you think we’re done?” Kia asks, collapsing next to Helen. “Because I really need us to be done.”
“Don’t think I can stand at this point,” Helen agrees
The practice has been pretty brutal. It’s a freaking scorcher today and we’ve been running drills outside for the past two hours, shuttle runs and suicides and seemingly endless tuck jumps.
And that’s on top of the mini scrimmage we played this morning and an optional hour in the weight room—which everyone took advantage of because, hello, roster cuts are coming up.
But the grueling training schedule can’t get me down. Not when I was watching the second half of the season from the bench last year, still deep in recovery from my surgery. Every opportunity I have to step on this field feels like a gift, and I sure as hell am going to treat it that way.
“All right ladies, bring it in,” Coach Carla calls from across the field, and there’s a subdued murmur of relief. It would probably be a lot louder, if everyone wasn’t too wiped out to talk.
We all manage to drag ourself over to the side of the field where Coach is standing with four people I can’t quite make out with the bright sun in my eyes. I’m pretty sure one of them is Devon, the head athletic trainer, but the other three, two guys and a girl, aren’t familiar.
“Oh my God,” Helen says suddenly, grabbing my arm. She sounds a lot less tired. “It’s that gorgeous guy from The Daily Grind the other night.”
“Who?” I ask, squinting at the guys. One of them is much taller than the others, tall enough that he has to practically bend down to talk to Coach. But then he lifts his head and I realize exactly who it is.
The guy from the Kappa Sig party. Solomon something or other. The one who acted like such a dick when Vega spilled the punch.
This is the second time I’ve seen him since then—in line at the cafe being the other—and it hit me like a gut punch both times.
He really is unfairly attractive standing there in grey track pants and a black athletic department polo shirt.
And I hate that I know how much more attractive he is without the shirt on.
“He’s so tall,” Helen continues, and she’s definitely not being quiet enough to ensure he can’t hear her. “I love tall men.”
“Tall is overrated,” I mutter, but she’s too deep in obsessionville to respond.
“Seriously, how tall do you think he is?” she goes on. “Six-four? Jesus, I would climb that man like a tree.”
“He can probably hear you,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “Good. A guy that hot should know that he’s hot and that we appreciate all the hotness.”
I shake my head as we near the sideline. “Get a hold of yourself. He’s just a boy.” And I have yet to meet a boy who’s worthy of this kind of fawning.
“A hot boy,” she mutters, finally lowering her voice now that we’re within feet of the guy.
I’m relieved when Coach starts talking so I don’t have to listen to Helen’s histrionics any more. But that relief goes right out the window when I realize what’s happening here.
“As you veteran players will remember from previous seasons, the athletic department helps to facilitate student trainer clinicals with all the varsity level teams participating,” she says, and my gaze jumps straight over to Solomon. He’s looking right at me.
“These graduate level student interns will be working with the coaching and training staff to design and implement training programs for each of you, as well as helping us to address injury rehabilitation. You’ll each be assigned one of the three student trainers to work with for the semester.”
“Oh my God,” Helen hisses at my side. “Please, baby Jesus, let me get Mr. Tall and Gorgeous.”
“Tomorrow you’ll meet with your trainer for a physical evaluation. I want you to be transparent about any injuries or discomfort that you’re dealing with, no matter how minor.”
“He can give me a physical evaluation,” our defender Sarah says, and the girls around us snicker. Jesus, is everyone obsessed with this guy?
My eyes return to Solomon without my permission. Our gazes lock before he quickly looks away. Is he blushing?
I don’t know why the idea of working with Solomon has my stomach bottoming out. Yes, he was rude to my cousin. Yes, he’s far more attractive than any man has a right to be. But those shouldn’t be big enough issues for me to feel such a sharp stab of panic.
An entire semester of one-on-one training. With him.
There are three trainers, I remind myself. Chances are I’ll be with one of them. Please, please let me be with one of them.
Coach gives us a whole spiel about acceptable conduct when working with the student trainers and reminds us not to behave inappropriately.
She seems to be directing the majority of her comments to Helen and Sarah.
Then she hands things over to the head trainer, Devon, who starts reading out names and assigning us to different interns.
Helen ends up with the female trainer, and I’m pretty sure I hear her whimper in dismay.
I want to whimper myself when Devon gets to the end of the first group and my name still hasn’t been called.
The second male student trainer is assigned next and I keep my fingers crossed behind my back.
He’s my last shot at avoiding a semester with Solomon and his ridiculous abdominal muscles.
My name doesn’t get called.
“Lucky bitch,” Helen mutters, pinching my side. “Do you think they’ll let us trade?”
“I wish.”
The last group is called and yup, there’s my name. So much for my hopes that I’d just been accidentally overlooked in the first two groups. I glance at Solomon and get the feeling he’s very intentionally not looking at me.
Or he doesn’t even remember you and you’re making way too much out of everything.
Coach Carla takes over again. “Feel free to say hi to your trainers before leaving today. And if you have any questions or any issues you want them to know about, go ahead and discuss them now. Otherwise, you’ll see them tomorrow for your evaluations.”
I very badly want to get to the locker room and not think about being alone with Solomon in one day’s time. But the universe really doesn’t have my back today because Coach calls my name.
“Hang back a minute, Ransome.”
Fantastic.
I watch as my teammates leave the field. Most of them stop to say hello to their student trainers. The crowd around Solomon is ridiculous, and I’m pretty sure a good number of them aren’t even assigned to his group.
Once things have cleared out a little, Coach gestures for me to join her and the lead trainer. To my dismay, she also pulls Solomon from the masses of tittering girls and brings him over.
I force my feet forward, trying not to think about the way his muscles had flexed when he took his shirt off. Or about the fact that I’m literally dripping sweat and flushed bright red. I probably look disgusting.
Which definitely doesn’t matter. Who cares what some rude asshole thinks about my looks?
I force a neutral expression on my face as I close the remaining distance, trying not to notice that the guy is staring at me intently.
“What’s up, Coach?” If my voice sounds breathless it’s only because I’m still recovering from the drills we finished earlier. Nothing to do with the guy. Definitely not.
“Devon wants a word,” she says. She fixes her sharp gaze on me. “Listen to what he has to say. Be good.”
“I’m always good, Coach.”
She just scowls at me, never one to accept my bullshit, before walking over to the rest of the coaching staff.
“CeCe,” the athletic trainer, Devon, says, giving me a big smile. “I wanted to introduce you to Solomon Barnes. He’s going to be your student trainer this semester.”
I pointedly keep my eyes averted. “Sounds good.” I manage a bright, unaffected voice.
What I want to say is absolutely not, but then I’d probably have to explain about the party and kneeing that asshole’s junk, and then Coach would know that our many, many talks about controlling my temper have yet to sink in.
“Because you’re still recovering from your injury, we wanted to make sure you have all the support you need,” Devon goes on, and my stomach somehow finds a new depth to sink to.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much for the trainer to mention my injury around Solomon.
This is literally what he’s going to school for.
I chalk it up to not liking to talk about the injury in general.
I hate that it always feels like it’s hanging over my head.
I wish everyone could just forget about it and let me move on.
Devon is still talking so I force myself to stop the mental whining and focus. “Mr. Barnes is one of the top students in our program,” he’s saying. “We specifically chose him to work with you because we think he can really help you to feel your best on the field.”
I’ve managed to keep my eyes off him for the duration of this painful conversation, but I can’t help looking up now. He’s definitely blushing at Devon’s praise, and something about that has a warm feeling spreading through my chest.
Don’t get all sappy about this guy, CeCe Ransome, I tell myself. Him being adorable and blushing over compliments doesn’t change the fact that he was a dick.
“We’ve assigned him a smaller group,” Devon continues. “So that he’ll have plenty of time to devote to your rehabilitation.”
“I’ve already completed my rehab,” I can’t help but snap as the warmth is replaced by annoyance. I’ve healed. I’m fine.
He smiles in understanding. “Your recovery has been remarkable, CeCe. We just want to make sure you have the support you need to keep that knee strong.”
Again, my eyes are drawn to Solomon. He’s not trying to avoid looking at me anymore.
He isn’t wearing his glasses today, and it’s easier to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
I’m so distracted by it that it takes me a moment to realize there’s a searching quality to his gaze that has me feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
I need to wrap this up. Now.
“I appreciate that,” I say to the trainer, lying through my teeth. “Whatever we need to do to have a great season.”
Devon smiles, happy that we’re all on the same page. “Great. Then I’ll leave the two of you to get to know each other.”
I think I manage to hide my wince. The very last thing I want to do is get to know him. But I plaster a fake-as-hell smile on my face until Devon walks over to Coach—who gives me one last warning glare for good measure.
Jesus, does she think I’m going to lose my shit on the guy or something? I can be professional when I want to be.
“Cecelia,” Solomon says, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve really heard him speak. At the party he’d been silent, except for that sharp No he’d directed at Vega. But that had been more bark than speaking. And the memory of his rudeness has me putting my guard firmly in place.
“My knee is fine,” I tell him in a flat voice. “I appreciate that you’re here to help, but I honestly don’t need any extra assistance. I do my rehab exercises every day and ice when I need to. I practice and train with the rest of the team. I don’t need anything else.”
He blinks a few times, clearly taken aback.
“I’m glad to hear you’ve been feeling well,” he says, his voice even, and lower than I was expecting. A little shiver runs down my back but I manage to keep my expression flat. There’s no way I’m letting him know how much he affects me.
“Yup,” I say. “All good here. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to hit the showers.” I move to do exactly that but stop short when he steps into my path, blocking me.
His eyes widen a bit, like he surprised himself.
But he pulls it together pretty quickly.
“I know we didn’t get off on the right foot the other night,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck.
He’s not meeting my eye and his expression bleeds discomfort.
“I was hoping we could chat for a few minutes, get to know each other a little bit.”
I choose to ignore his mention of the party. I merely give him my best I don’t give a fuck face and ask, “why?”
He looks startled. “Excuse me?”
“Why?” I press. “Why would we need to get to know each other?”
He shifts, looking even more uncomfortable now. “Well, we’re going to be working pretty closely together.”
I grit my teeth at the reminder. “Like I said, my knee is fine. I doubt you’ll have much to do for me, honestly."
He frowns. “Cecelia, you suffered a torn ACL less than a year ago.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I snap, temper rising.
His jaw clenches. “I’m just saying—”
“Look,” I interrupt. “I get that you have a job to do. I’m not going to try to make it difficult on you, okay? You can draw up your training plans and I’ll do the exercises. But I’m not going to need any extra one-on-one work, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“But—”
I press on. “And I really don’t see why any of that means we need to get to know each other better.”
“Cecelia.”
He’s not looking away anymore, and the discomfort has left his face. Instead, his eyes are searching mine, intent and serious, like he’s trying to figure me out. Like there’s something he finds fascinating in my expression and he can’t look away. I don’t like it at all.
“I have class,” I say, taking a step back. “Unless there’s anything pressing, I’m taking off.”
His gaze is sharp now and, if anything, he’s starting to look distinctly pissed off. Is he gonna snap at me, like he did to Vega? Instead, he blows out a breath. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I shoot back. Then I give him my most agreeable smile—the one that usually means I’m getting ready to make your life miserable—and turn to go.
“Don’t forget your evaluation,” he calls back, a clear challenge in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I grimace to myself as I stomp to the locker room. This semester just got majorly annoying.