Chapter 14
Hunter
There is no secret passageway, but there is a warren of connecting hallways that avoids at least some of the outdoor passage to the parking lot.
Once we’ve made it from the main headquarters building to the training facility via a basement hallway, we pass the mailroom and the kitchen, where the staff prepares meals for us after training. “I can’t believe I didn’t know this was here,” Gracie says, looking around like she’s in Wonderland.
“Not much reason you’d know, unless you’re picking up fan mail or looking to grub with the team.”
I swipe a mini bag of chocolate chip cookies from a snack bin and open it for Gracie. “To tide you over.”
If I’m being honest, I may not take her straight to dinner, and I don’t want her to be hungry. She practically inhales them, smiling with each bite. “Not a lot of grubbing with the team since I started here.”
“I noticed.”
She casts a sidelong glance. “I’m sure you did.” Her deadpan skepticism belies the reality that I look for her whenever I’m in the main building, but she doesn’t need to know that. I like seeing her, and she seems to go out of her way to avoid me at Kyler’s house.
“I’m very observant, Tink. I notice everything.”
Right now, I’m noticing how she’s biting down on that plush pink bottom lip, and it’s making me want to reach my thumb out and pop it from between her teeth so I can run a finger over it.
But that would get me thrown out on my ass for harassment and get me pummeled by my best friend, not to mention losing a place to live that’s started to feel like home.
So I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and quicken my pace down the hallway.
When we reach the elevators, I take Gracie up to the roof, where we have a futsal facility. I should be escorting her to the parking garage, but I can’t resist the opportunity to let her into my world. And to see her in my jersey.
“What’s this?” she asks, taking in the series of smaller soccer pitches with their rubber floors and tiny goals.
“Futsal. It’s a six v six game, faster, more technical. It’s a good training supplement to what we do out there.” I gesture over my shoulder with a thumb even though we can’t see the practice field from here.
“That’s kind of cool. I’d kind of like to see it in action sometime.”
“I can do you one better.” I walk over to where we keep the equipment. In a bin at one end, we have soccer balls and pinnies. In a big cardboard box behind the check-in desk sits another big cardboard box filled with shoes and shin guards.
“What size are you?” I ask.
“What size of what?”
“Shoe size. Seven?”
“Yes, but I’m already wearing shoes.” She points at her two-inch kitten heels, which look great with the long skirt she's wearing, but I shake my head and hold up a pair of indoor soccer shoes from the box. “Youth teams sometimes use the facility, and you know kids, they’re always leaving shit behind, so we’ve got pretty much every size. ”
“Is it like bowling? Am I not allowed to walk on the floor without those?”
I chuckle at the sweet innocence of her question.
“No, sweetheart, you’re not allowed to play futsal without them.”
Her eyes get round, and she looks from me to the empty court, shaking her head. “I’m not a soccer player.”
“Good. Because this is futsal. Totally different game.” I hadn’t planned on bringing her up here to play, but now that we’re here, it seems the best idea in the world.
I’m already wearing indoor soccer shoes, but I’m not accustomed to playing in jeans.
Maybe it’ll give her an advantage as I run stiffly in denim.
Meanwhile, Gracie stands there with her arms crossed, still shaking her head. “I’m wearing a skirt.”
Unwilling to indulge her excuses, I move to a glass display case near the check-in desk and slide it open.
Inside, there are logo jerseys, sweats, and socks.
In under ten seconds, I assemble an outfit for her of black track pants, a Devils tee under one of my jerseys, and a pair of socks that will fit the shin guards I pull from the box.
“For when you defend a pass. I don’t want you getting a shiner on your shin,” I explain, handing her the gear.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You taught me about analytics. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine. And I promise to feed you when we’re done.”
She crosses her arms and side-eyes me like she doesn’t understand. “You want me to play soccer? With you?”
“It’s futsal. And yes.”
Ten minutes later, Gracie emerges from the women’s locker room.
She looks fucking adorable in full Devils regalia, even as she looks down at her clothes and grimaces.
“Not sure about this, soccer star. Something tells me you’re looking to get some kind of roommate upper hand by slide tackling me.
I can still recommend you for transfer.”
I make the gesture of crossing my heart. “I would never. No slide tackling. I’ll even play in socks if that makes you feel better.”
She perks up at that suggestion. “Actually, now you’re talking. Let’s play in socks.”
“Both of us?”
She shrugs. “I’ve never played before, so I won’t know the difference, and it’ll keep us both off the injured list.”
I spin a ball on my index finger and drop it to my foot, where I start juggling it from knee to foot to knee. “It might be slippery,” I warn.
She takes an exaggerated step onto the court and slides a few feet in her socks like a kid trying to skate across the kitchen floor. “Works for me. It’ll give me some speed.”
So I set us up on opposite sides of the court and put the ball into play, fully expecting to go easy while she gets her soccer legs under her.
There’s no need. Gracie charges at me and goes straight for the ball, kicking it away from me and windmilling past me like a tumbleweed in her slippery socks.
I turn and chase her, so within seconds I’m back in front, defending my goal as she tries to advance. I keep some distance between us and shift from side to side, making it hard for her to choose a direction and charge forward.
She goes left, but I’m there faster, blocking her again. Frustration builds in her eyes, and she squints at me like a truck about to hit the gas. Before she can move, I dive in and sweep the ball away from her feet, dribbling it easily in the other direction while she gives chase.
I want it to be a fair fight, so I don’t go full speed toward the goal.
She catches me in seconds. She runs alongside me and suddenly disappears outside my peripheral vision, so I turn to find her, right as she leaps up and clings to my back like a koala.
“Hey! Ref! Player interference,” I yell, and she giggles.
The soft sound of her laughter right next to my ear is a kind of music I’ve never heard before.
Light and carefree like tiny windchimes.
It makes me lose sight of what game we’re playing when all I want is to elicit more of that sound.
I spin around, but Gracie hangs on tight.
I lose track of the ball for enough time that it rolls a few feet away.
Never letting the ball out of her sight, she’s off my back in an instant and running to retrieve it.
“Didn’t hear the ref blow a whistle, so game on!
” she shrieks, taking the ball and all the speed she can muster straight to the goal.
Pausing to look over her shoulder, she smiles. I’m not even trying to catch her at this point. Watching her in action is too good.
She brings her foot back, boots the ball into the net, and raises both fists in victory. When she trots back to me, taking tiny steps to keep from sliding in her socks, she holds a hand up. “One-nil, and I think you let me have that one, but I’m a foot shorter than you, so I’ll take it.”
I give her a high five even though we’re on opposing teams. “No, that was a legitimate goal. Of course, jumping on my back goes against just about every rule in soccer.”
“Yeah?” She feigns innocence, batting her eyes. I like this lighter side of her and wonder why she hides it most of the time.
“Yeah.” I jog to the goal and retrieve the ball. “Okay, loser buys dinner, so you better believe I’m gonna bring my A game now.”
“Dinner? Who said anything about dinner?” she teases. “Though if my winning streak continues, I could go for a steak, I suppose…”
I drop the ball between us at midcourt and let her dribble it for a few seconds before I swoop in on defense.
The court isn’t very big, and I’m tall, so it only takes me a few long strides to get from the midline to the goal.
I need to rein in my tendency to go hard, especially since the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt her.
Gracie slips in her socks and whiffs the ball as she attempts to keep it away from me, but I cut to the side and intercept it before it can go out of bounds.
Now I’m in control, and I take the opportunity to mess with her a little bit.
I pass the ball from foot to foot, staying in one place and daring her to try to take it away from me.
Her brows drop in concentration, and she watches the ball with a determination that explains why she’s so good at her job.
I cut to the side, and she follows, but her socks make her slide.
I start to laugh as her legs do the splits, but she quickly recovers and comes charging at me.
I go the other way with her hot on my heels.
That’s the great thing about the futsal court—it’s small, so the game becomes much more technical and doesn’t require much running. She’s small but quick, and that gives her an advantage.
I take the ball toward the goal, and Gracie runs with me.
As I’m about to take my shot, she comes in with a last-ditch attempt to stop me, her foot shooting out to meet the ball.
It meets my foot instead, right after the ball has left it.
I lose my balance and fall on my ass, and the ball sails into the net.