11. Cecelia
ELEVEN
CECELIA
“It’s so obvious she’s pregnant, but she refuses to say anything,” Vega says. “It’s driving me crazy.”
I nudge her shoulder as we make our way across the campus green. “Your sister will tell you when she’s ready. If she’s pregnant. You might be reading the signs wrong.” When she doesn’t say anything, I look over, trying to decipher her expression. “Vega, you cannot ask Everly if she’s pregnant.”
She actually gives a little stomp of her foot. “Why not? She’s my sister! We talk about everything. If she’s having a baby, shouldn’t I be the first to know?”
I laugh, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “First of all, Everly has three sisters, so no, I don’t think you necessarily should be the first to know. Secondly, asking a woman if she’s pregnant—even if that woman is your sister—is a sucky thing to do.”
“Easy for you to say,” Vega grumbles. “You have three nieces and nephews. And Violet is going to have four soon! It’s not fair.”
Violet and Ash are going to have four nieces and nephews soon because their brother, River, and his wife seem determined to breed like rabbits, but I don’t point that out.
I also don’t point out that Vega’s brother-in-law, Bodhi, is physically incapable of keeping a secret.
If he and Everly are having a baby any time soon, the family is going to know about it.
I’m about to change the subject to our dinner plans when a shadow falls over us and Vega abruptly stops walking. “Oh,” she squeaks, looking up, and I tear my gaze away from her face to see who’s interrupting us.
“Of course,” I mutter when my eyes land on Solomon’s face. He’s been popping up at random times, trying to rope me into more training sessions. But this is the first time he’s approached me outside of the athletic complex.
“Good afternoon, Cecelia,” he says in that low, steady voice. The one that always makes me want to lean in a little closer. I nod once, knowing I’m being rude but finding it hard to care. Why can’t he get the hint that I don’t need extra help?
He adjusts the duffle bag on his shoulder then turns to Vega, his face shifting to a smile.
Something twists in my stomach that I don’t quite understand.
If I didn’t know any better, I might think it was jealousy.
But there’s no way I feel jealous just because my cousin got a smile while I only got a decidedly wary look.
“Hey,” he says pleasantly, and there’s that twisting feeling again. “It’s Vega, right?”
“Right,” she says, voice a little high-pitched.
I wonder if she’s nervous after what happened last time—or if she’s merely reacting to the absurd level of hotness this guy displays without even trying.
He’s wearing his glasses again today, and that somehow ups the attractive factor even over what it was on the field the day we got paired together.
I scowl, annoyed.
“I’m the punch spiller,” she goes on, her cheeks reddening. “And I’m so sorry. I’m pretty sure I said it that night, but I was way drunk so I wanted to be sure you know that I’m so, so sorry—”
“Hey.” He cuts off her nervous rambling. “Don’t worry about it. I actually wanted to apologize to you.”
My eyes snap up to his face, but his attention is fixed on Vega. I somehow get the feeling it’s a struggle for him, making eye contact. There’s a tick in his jaw and his hands are fisted at his sides.
“Why would you apologize to me?” she asks, surprised.
He shrugs, allowing his gaze to slip a few inches to the side. He immediately seems to relax a bit. “I was pretty rude that night.”
She laughs. “Oh my God, please don’t worry about that. You just had punch thrown all over you! Anyone would be pissed about that.”
“I wasn’t angry,” he says, voice a little lower, a little strained, like he really doesn’t want to be explaining this. I have the strangest urge to stop him, to step in between the two of them and do something to wipe that nervous, tense look off his face.
What the hell, brain? This guy doesn’t need me to protect him.
Solomon takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself.
“I sometimes have a hard time with crowds. And loud noises,” he says.
“Parties aren’t always the easiest for me.
The punch just kinda…put me over the edge.
” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can see the effort this is taking him and it hurts my stomach.
Again, the urge to soothe him in some way rises up in me.
“I tend to shut down when I feel overwhelmed like that.” He meets her eye. “But I’m sorry I was rude to you.”
Vega grins up at him, and I wonder if she’s noticed at all how difficult this was for him. It seems so clear to me.
“Seriously, no worries. If you were rude, I was probably too drunk to notice, honestly. And we all really appreciate you standing up for Violet.”
He shrugs. “No big deal.”
“Great,” Vega continues happily. “Now we can all be friends!”
I swear I catch a glimpse of panic on his face at the idea of befriending our admittedly crazy group, and I can’t quite bite back my laugh. They both look at me, and something shifts in Vega’s face, something I don’t like the look of at all.
“You know,” she says, voice a shade too casual. “I actually have somewhere I need to be, so why don’t I leave the two of you to talk?”
I glare at my cousin, trying to wordlessly express my strong desire to strangle her. She just smiles sweetly back at me and I know, I just know, she’s remembering all that bullshit Vi was spouting about me being into this guy.
“I thought we were having dinner,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Sorry! Totally slipped my mind. But I’ll see you later tonight?” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Or tomorrow.”
“Very funny,” I mutter under my breath, but she’s already turning back to Solomon. “It was good to see you again!” And then she’s flouncing off on her ridiculous four-inch wedge heeled sandals.
I take a deep breath before turning back to Solomon. He doesn’t seem to be having any trouble meeting my gaze, and there’s an annoying hint of a smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what Vega was up to taking off so quickly.
I take a step back. “Well, since my dinner plans just ditched me, I guess I should—”
“I actually have dinner for us,” he cuts in, and I’m so surprised I freeze. He holds up a brown paper bag I hadn’t noticed before. “Noodles from Miso House.”
I fight to hide my reaction. I freaking love Miso House. But that’s beside the point.
“I don’t understand. You brought dinner? For me?”
He nods, expression earnest. “I figured we could take it over to the intramural fields. Maybe kick the ball around a little before we eat?” He shrugs. “I always thought these noodles were better cold.”
Well, that goes without saying. Cold noodles from Miso House are the best. But it still doesn’t answer the question of what the hell he’s up to.
“Look.” He takes a step closer and I have to swallow hard as I look up at his face. I feel flushed all of a sudden and I don’t like it at all.
“I get that rehab exercises aren’t your favorite thing. But I thought maybe if I could see you play up close, I could come up with some things that you can do as part of your regular training. Then it won’t feel so much like rehab.”
I have no idea what to say about that. Agreeing with him feels like admitting that I’m the giant baby who doesn’t want to do her treatment.
Sensing my hesitation, he dips his head a little closer, meeting my gaze. For a second, I feel trapped in the deep chocolate of his eyes. “Come on, what have you got to lose? At worst you get to play a little extra soccer today.”
“I generally never turn down the chance for more soccer,” I grumble, and he grins wide, like he just won some kind of prize. It makes me stand up straighter, eyes narrowing.
“You think you’re good enough to keep up with me?”
He lets out a surprisingly carefree laugh. It makes my chest feel all weird and tight. “Hell no,” he says. “But I can certainly try.”
The intramural fields are empty save for a group of guys throwing a football around on the opposite end.
Solomon pulls a soccer ball from his duffle and places it in the grass between us.
“Wanna show me your normal stretching routine?” he asks.
I fight down the knee-jerk urge to give a snarky negative.
The guy bought my favorite noodles for dinner—the least I can do is behave.
“I keep it pretty simple,” I tell him. “I try to focus on my hips, tightness there seems to affect my mobility the most during practice or games.”
I half expect him to pull out a clipboard and start taking notes the way he had during the evaluation, and I’m surprised when he plops down on the grass instead, mirroring my movements as I begin my first stretch.
He lets me lead him through a series of basic stretches without comment. At first, I find it awkward, sitting in close proximity to someone and neither of us saying a word. Eventually it starts to feel okay, though. Comfortable. Kind of relaxing, actually.
It’s also pretty damn distracting, having him so close.
Stretching his big, tall body right next to me.
The longer we’re there, the more aware of him I feel.
He’s dressed in loose soccer shorts and a white compression shirt that clings to his skin, hinting at the body I’d seen up close and personal at that party.
But I can’t be sitting here thinking about how good he looks with his shirt off, so I drag my eyes away from his chest, only to have them land on his bare legs.
Damn it, he has nice legs, too. Soccer player legs.
His golden skin makes me wonder how much time he spends outside, and what he does when—
A soft throat clear forces my attention away from his body, and my cheeks immediately feel hot. I sneak a peek at his face and see he’s grinning broadly, looking pretty damn smug. Damn it, he totally caught me checking him out.