17. Solomon
SEVENTEEN
SOLOMON
The next week is…confusing.
Cecelia is mostly normal. I had expected one or both of us to be uncomfortable after what happened at her party. Instead, we’ve been professional—but still friendly—on the field and in the training room. I would almost think I’d imagined the whole patio scene.
Except every once in a while, our gazes will catch, and I’ll get that rollercoaster swooping feeling in my belly and I know, I just know, that she’s thinking about the kiss.
It makes me feel both relieved and frustrated. Relieved that our kiss seemed to have affected her as much as me and frustrated that she does such a good job hiding it most of the time. Or am I frustrated because I know I can’t do anything about these feelings?
Like I said, it’s been confusing.
And things are about to get even more complicated, because I’m scheduled to join the women’s soccer team for their away match in San Jose at the end of the week.
Which means at least eleven hours roundtrip on a bus, two nights in a hotel, and endless opportunities to be alone with Cecelia off campus.
Everyone in our program is supposed to do at least one away match with their respective team.
The logistics of training on the road can be complicated, so it’s something they want us to get experience with.
I had been looking forward to it, but now there’s a certain amount of panic beneath the surface.
It’s hard enough to stay away from her when I’m in my apartment across town. How the hell am I going to do it when we’re staying in the same hotel?
I get to the athletic complex parking lot on Thursday afternoon before the players.
The training staff has a lot to get done before the bus can leave, mainly packing and inventorying all our equipment and med kit supplies and making sure it all gets on the bus.
I’m glad to be busy. Keeping my mind occupied always helps when I’m feeling anxious.
Maybe the bus ride will help me build up some tolerance to her presence, I think to myself as I count hydration packs.
Yes, we’re going to be stuck in the same small, enclosed space for five hours, but I’ve been on enough trips during my own athlete days to know that the staff will sit up front while the players stick to the back.
So at least there will be a little distance.
That idea goes out the window as soon as she shows up to board the bus. Of course, Cecelia Ransome just has to be one of the first girls here—and I can’t freaking keep my eyes off of her. I have to recount my ice packs three times because I keep seeking her out.
The whole team is dressed the same for the trip, in black athletic pants or leggings and a white team t-shirt. It’s a simple outfit, typical for athletes traveling to a match. So why the hell does it look so good on her?
And how am I supposed to pretend I’m not aware of her every move when she’s walking around in those skin-tight leggings?
Her looks are only part of the reason my stomach clenches every time I look at her.
She’s just so…lit up. Talking with her teammates, helping cart luggage and equipment to the bus, always laughing or smiling that smile that makes it hard to breathe.
I don’t understand why every eye in the parking lot isn’t locked on her.
Eventually she notices me watching. Or maybe our eyes just happen to lock at the same time. Either way, she directs that radiant smile to me and I quickly duck my head back to the clipboard so she can’t see how fucking gone I am for her.
It doesn’t keep her from approaching me, though. “You’re looking very serious, Mr. Trainer Guy.” She stands in front of me, one hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes against the sun as she stares up at me.
I hold up one of the electrolyte packs I’m supposed to be counting.
“I take our athlete’s hydration very seriously.
” She laughs and my stomach does that swooping thing again.
I know I should get back to my work, but I can’t seem to stop myself from prolonging the conversation. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Duh.” She holds her arms out. “I love this.”
“You love blazing hot parking lots with no shade?”
She looks exasperated. “No. I love soccer.”
That makes me laugh. “You do? I had no idea. It’s not like you’ve made it your entire personality.”
“Not my entire personality.”
“You’re right. You’re also a mediocre poker player.”
She gasps in outrage and I realize I’m probably grinning like a fool—and I definitely am one because I’m openly flirting with one of the players while surrounded by the entire team, as well as the coaching and training staff.
“So, you’re ready for the game tomorrow?” I ask, trying to bolster my faltering professionalism. “Everything feeling good?”
I don’t specifically mention her knee, because that would piss her off, but she knows what I mean.
“I feel great. I’ve been—”
Before she can finish her sentence, there’s a burst of laughter and some good-natured groaning from a group of girls standing at the other end of the bus. “Ransome!”’ one of them shouts. “Kia has never played poker. You totally have to teach her on the bus so we can play.”
Cecelia gives them a thumbs up before turning back to me. “See? They know I’m not mediocre at cards.”
“They want you to teach someone. Haven’t you heard that expression about those who can’t do…”
She scowls, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.
“Seriously,” she says. “Why do you not look more excited about this trip?”
I hold up my long-neglected clipboard. “Some of us are working on this trip.”
“And you think what I’m going to be doing on the field tomorrow isn’t work?”
“I think what you’re going to be doing on the field is your idea of Christmas morning and a birthday all rolled into one.”
Her grin turns goofy. “I do fucking love soccer.” Then she spreads her arms. “But I’m talking about all of this. The whole vibe!”
“The vibe?”
“Yes.” She scrunches her nose like she’s frustrated that I’m not getting it, but all I can think is how much I want to kiss her again, right there, in that scrunched up spot between her eyes. “The vibe. It’s a road trip! Road trips are fun so everyone is excited. There’s like, a buzz in the air.”
This time my stomach clenches for an entirely different reason, and I feel my shoulders tensing. “I’m not really good at that,” I mumble.
“Good at what.”
I shrug. “I’m just not…intuitive. I’ve never really been able to pick up on what other people are feeling.”
She’s quiet for a moment and when I finally force myself to look up from my clipboard she’s studying me, her head cocked. “I don’t think that’s true,” she says, her voice softer, no longer teasing. “You seem very intuitive when we work together. You knew exactly how I was feeling about my injury.”
That pulls me up short. She has a point, I realize.
While I’ve never been good at reading people, I have no problem reading her.
It took me less than an hour of playing soccer with her that night to figure out that it was fear of her injury that was keeping her from properly rehabbing her knee.
I can always tell when she’s happy, or in a pissy mood, or when she’s teasing me.
It took me years to be able to do that with Jay and Emery.
Before I can wrap my mind around that, Devon, the head trainer, calls out to ask me to help him load our equipment crates onto the bus.
“Guess it’s back to work for me,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone light even though I’m still reeling a little over that revelation. “You go have fun playing poker.”
She gives me her biggest grin, the one that always has my lips curling up in return. “I’m preparing for our rematch. Just you wait, Barnes.”
It takes a lot of effort, but I manage not to watch her ass as she walks away from me. See? Totally professional.
The bus ride is uneventful. A lot of the girls have coursework to do—we’re missing class this afternoon and tomorrow—so things don’t get too rowdy.
I try to focus on my own textbook, but it’s hard when I can hear her voice behind me the whole time.
Cecelia doesn’t seem capable of sitting still for long.
She bounces from seat to seat, chatting with teammates, going over game strategy with others.
I even hear her helping a freshman, who seems kind of panicked about missing a lab tomorrow, with her Bio homework.
I almost have to laugh. It figures that I of all people would develop a ridiculously massive crush on the most extroverted person I’ve ever met.
We stop three times for bathroom breaks and a late lunch at Panera. I make sure to stay with the other trainers so I don’t do something stupid, like kiss the team captain in front of everyone.
We get busy again once we finally get to the hotel shortly after six.
The players have some down time to get settled before their mobility session and team dinner, but the training staff has to get a conference room set up for stretching and treatments.
So I follow my colleagues and start unloading everything we just loaded up this morning, and try hard not to think about Cecelia somewhere in this hotel, possibly lounging around on her bed.
The coaches run the mobility session in the hotel’s main ballroom while the training staff starts treatment on players who are rehabbing injuries or feel like they need some extra help. It doesn’t escape my attention that Cecelia never shows up.
I sit with the training staff during the catered team dinner, but I once again find my eyes following her whenever she gets up.
This time, it has nothing to do with my ceaseless inappropriate thoughts.
I continue to watch her during the team meeting, while the coaches show the girls game tape of their opponent and drone on and on about strategy.