21. Solomon
TWENTY-ONE
SOLOMON
The bus ride is torture. Cecelia is sitting closer to the training staff this time so that Devon can check on her.
Knowing she’s so close but being unable to talk to her is making me feel crazy.
I think about texting her, but I’m sitting right next to one of the assistant coaches, and the last thing I need is for him to see her name on the screen.
So instead, I just sit there for the duration of the trip without much to do except relive the night over and over in my head.
I can’t believe I actually slept with Cecelia Ransome last night.
Jay has been teasing me for years, calling her my dream girl.
Pedestals are a dangerous place to put people.
Most of them will end up disappointing you when they fall from their imaginary height.
But somehow, I’ve found that I like Cecelia even more now that I actually know her.
Now that she’s a real person to me, not just the gorgeous girl on the other side of the room at the party who I can’t stop thinking about.
The real Cecelia is all the things I noticed about her over the years.
Beautiful. Warm. Loyal. Funny. The life of every party.
But now I know that she’s also stubborn as hell.
More than a little scary when you get on her bad side.
Capable of cutting a person to the bone if they dare to hurt someone she cares about.
She’s also vulnerable. She hides it well under her laughter, under her attitude, and I feel a ridiculous sense of pride that she’s let me get close enough to see it.
God, I like her so much.
I’m surprised to realize that I’m not feeling anxious about this. Which is crazy—I feel anxious about everything. And something this big, something that has the potential to affect both my academic career and my personal life, you’d think I’d be freaking out.
Instead, I just feel…peace. The same way I felt when I held Cecelia as she fell asleep last night.
I should be brainstorming ways to limit our contact, to keep things casual, but all I can think is that I want to get her into my apartment and convince her not to leave.
I want to take care of her the way she took care of me the other night.
I want to ice her knee and massage her sore muscles and feed her and make sure she’s happy and warm and—
I’m so fucked.
When we finally get off the bus, I go to join the other trainers in off-loading our equipment. Cecelia catches my eye as she gathers her duffle bag and gives me a small, soft smile that has me wishing I could say fuck it to my job and go take her home instead.
But I manage to not absolutely lose my mind and get to work, already thinking of when I can text her later.
I’m just finishing up when Devon approaches me, the team’s head coach at his side. I immediately feel a swoop of fear in my stomach—did someone see us? Shit, am I about to lose my spot in the program?
Worth it, a voice in my head says, and I push it away before I can start thinking about last night in front of the freaking head of the training team.
“Solomon, Coach Carla and I were just discussing Ransome’s injury,” Devon says. I fight back a grimace. Cecelia would hate hearing that they’d been talking about her knee. “We wanted to thank you for bringing it to our attention.”
The coach is looking pretty grim. “I know CeCe isn’t always the most open about discussing injuries.”
I nod. “She’s very dedicated to the team. She doesn’t want anyone to think she’s not up for hard work.”
Coach smiles a little. “And she’s stubborn as hell.”
“That too,” I agree, because it’s impossible to be around Cecelia for five minutes and not see that about her.
“Well, the two of you have clearly developed a rapport,” Coach continues, and I fight to keep my face blank as my stomach clenches again. Is rapport code for keep your hands off my star athlete?
“She never would have told me her knee was giving her trouble on her own,” Coach continues. “I think it’s clear we made the right choice assigning you to her care.”
Oh. Maybe I’m not about to be kicked out.
“Solomon is the top student in the program,” Devon says.
“Thank you,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets because I’m feeling more and more awkward as this conversation progresses.
“I’d like the three of us to meet once a week and see where she’s at,” Coach Carla continues. “You think she needs to see a doctor?”
I’m startled to realize she’s asking me, not Devon.
“I don’t think it would hurt. It’s likely the incident this weekend was just a matter of sitting on the bus for so many hours, which we can address with additional treatment before and during the next road trip.
But it would be good to make sure that there isn’t something more serious going on. ”
Devon nods. “I’ll arrange it. You think you can talk her into it?”
I can’t help but grimace and they both laugh. “Not the easiest task with that girl,” Coach says, slapping my shoulder. “But we have faith in you.”
Then her expression grows more serious. “I’ve been getting some calls from the national team. They’ve been keeping track of her progress this year. There will be scouts at our next game. I know they’re looking at inviting her to some camps this summer.”
My heart skips. Getting back to that level is everything she’s wanted. “We’ll keep working hard with her,” I vow, and Coach nods.
After they leave, I finish storing the last of the equipment and head to my car. Normally, after several days surrounded by people, I’d be desperate to get home to my quiet apartment. But right now, it’s taking everything in me to not drive straight to Cecelia’s house.
I know I’m being reckless. That conversation with Devon and Coach Carla should have set off all my warning bells.
They sat there praising me for developing such a strong trainer-athlete relationship with one of the players having no idea what’s really going on.
And the revelation about the national team’s interest just reiterates the stakes for her season.
But even so, that doesn’t stop me from texting her the second I get into my car. I tell myself I’m just checking in on her knee, but that’s obviously bullshit. Checking on her knee doesn’t require flirting, and asking her if she needs me to come over to ice it is definitely flirting.
I drag myself away from our text conversation long enough to drive home, with every intention of calling her when I get there. Instead, I find two people already waiting in my apartment.
“Buddy!” Jay calls when he sees me. He’s sprawled on my couch with a bag of chips on his chest. Chips I’m positive came from my cupboard. His sister is sitting on the recliner, scrolling on her phone with a mug of tea in her other hand. They’ve clearly been here a while.
“Do you make a habit of this?” I ask. “Just hanging out here when I’m not home?”
“We knew you were on your way,” Em says.
“And you thought I’d want the two of you in my face the second I walked through the door?
” I take my duffle bag to my bedroom before going to the kitchen for a glass of water.
When I go back to the living room, I find them in exactly the same place, except Jay has now finished my chips and thrown the empty bag on the floor.
“We wanted to talk to you,” Em says. “We’ve been worried.”
I push Jay’s legs off the sofa so he’ll sit up and take a seat on the other end. “And I told you on the phone last night that I was fine.”
“You told me on the phone that you were hanging out with CeCe Ransome,” she shoots back.
I glare at her. “Why the hell is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem,” Jay cuts in, sending an annoyed glare at his sister before he turns back to me. “I think it’s fucking awesome.” Then his face grows uncharacteristically serious. “But CeCe did mention you saw your mom and you weren’t doing so hot…”
She told me that she had called him. That’s how she knew what to bring over. But after everything that happened last night, the thought of them conferring about my craziness doesn’t feel so great.
“I wasn’t doing well,” I say through gritted teeth. “I was a total asshole for twenty-four hours and I barely did my job.” And I could have gotten her seriously hurt. Fuck. “But Cecelia came over and we talked and I felt better.”
I felt better than better, but there’s no fucking way I’m telling Jay about that.
Instead, I turn to Em. “So you really don’t need to worry, okay?”
She must sense the frustration in my voice, because her expression softens. “I’m not trying to baby you, Sol.”
I snort. Sure she isn’t.
“I’m not! I just wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to if you needed.” She makes a face. “I’m sure she didn’t offer a sympathetic ear.”
“What the fuck is your problem with Cecelia Ransome?” I don’t bother to keep the anger out of my voice and I see Jay freeze out of the corner of my eye.
Em and I usually get along great. I don’t think I’ve ever really raised my voice at her before.
But I’ve also never been this annoyed by her before.
Her eyes are wide. “I don’t have a problem with CeCe.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously you do.”
“I just don’t think she’s the right person for you to be spending time with!” she shoots back, defensive. “I mean, come on, Sol. She’s a total party girl.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this argument, but I’m finding it even more annoying now after our night on the road. “You don’t even know her,” I grit out.
Apparently, she’s not picking up on how close I am to losing my temper—that or she doesn’t care. “She’s always with a different guy—”
“Shit, Em,” Jay mutters. “Are you seriously slut shaming someone?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care how many guys she sleeps with! I’m just saying, she’s a one-night stand kind of girl.” She glares at her brother. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. I just think that makes her wrong for Sol.”
“Why?” Jay asks. “Sol only does the one-night thing, too. Sounds like they’re perfect together.”