Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
CHLOE
Rhoads passes me the ball. “Again.”
I trap it with my left foot and wipe sweat off my forehead with the bottom of my T-shirt. We’ve been out here for nearly an hour running drills, so even though a chill lingers in the air, I’m hot. “I thought that one was good.”
“Good won’t get you to the semi-finals, Baker.
” He sinks into his ready position. For the fiftieth time during our free period training session, I look at his lips.
Think about what might have happened if my mom hadn’t turned on the porch light at that exact moment.
If Charlotte had arrived two minutes later.
And then I mentally slap myself back into reality. You’ve got to have short-term memory, Baker. On and off the field.
Whatever almost happened, didn’t. And I need to believe what I keep telling my friends—that this time we’re spending together is just for soccer reasons.
Luckily for me, my mom’s rules don’t apply to time during school. She can’t exactly ban me from using my free period to practice.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.” I shoot him a smirk that matches his. I pass the ball back to him and start the drill.
We’re working on winning the ball from the defensive side and staging a counterattack.
Douglas Heights, the team we’re playing next, is notorious for playing a flat back four, which can leave them vulnerable to the counter.
Especially for teams like Cardinal Ridge, with super-fast forwards who can get on the end of a well-placed through ball.
Rhoads comes at me, and I analyze his positioning. I get side-by-side with him and see my chance when he takes too large of a touch. Instead of poking the ball away, I lean my shoulder against his and step in front of him.
I’m about to pull the ball back and head in the other direction when his chest presses against my back. I have control of the ball, but he’s crowding me, trying to force a mistake.
“Whatcha gonna do now?” he breathes low next to my ear.
I ignore the thumping in my heart, hoping he can’t feel it through my back. Just like I told him before, I’m not going to let him charm me out of this win.
Not today, Simpson.
“What’s the best fall spice?” I ask, dropping my own voice into the lower register. I do a scissor move, heel the ball backward between Rhoads’s legs, and sprint around him, laughing. “Nutmeg!”
“Oh, come on!” He groans as he chases me, but I’m too far ahead now. I dribble to the far end of our mini field and pass the ball between the orange cones marking my goal.
“And, I believe, that is how it’s done.”
Rhoads jogs to retrieve the ball. “Alright, alright. You got me on that one. Water break?”
I nod. “Last one there has to pick up all the equipment!” I sprint to where we left our stuff. It’s not really a fair competition since I’m already closer, but I just laugh the whole way.
“Point proven. You are superior.” Rhoads sprays water on his face, then wipes it off with his shirt, flashing just a peek of his abs, before squirting some in his mouth.
“This was a good session.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few seconds before Rhoads breaks it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ah, the cleat is on the other foot now, hmm? Shoot.”
“So, the other night at Dionne’s…what happened with you and Graham?”
Not where I thought this was going, but okay. I didn’t expect my and Graham’s confrontation to stay private. Not with how the gossip mill churns at our school. And how loudly I was shouting.
I shrug. “We had some loose ends to tie up. And they are now tied.” I mime tying a bow. “What about you? Got any relationship dirty laundry you wanna air?”
He smiles but shakes his head. “Nah. My last girlfriend was summer before freshman year. Lucky for me she moved away after she broke up with me, so I don’t have to worry about running into her.”
I take another drink of water, relishing how it cools me from the inside out. “Right. I forgot. No attachments for No Strings Simpson.”
He raises his brows. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. I shouldn’t have said that.
“No, seriously.” He touches my wrist, and I look up at him.
“Oh, come on. You can’t possibly expect me to believe you don’t notice the swooning girls.”
“Swooning girls? Where?” He pretends to shade his eyes and scopes the field.
“Don’t pretend you don’t see them. The only thing more annoying than watching them trip over themselves is you feigning ignorance.”
“Whoa, cool down, Baker. No need to be jealous.”
I snort. “Flirty hotshot is so not my type.” Anymore. Except, actually, it totally is.
Stupid mouth. Stupid stupid. Stop talking, Chloe.
“Is that really how people see me? Someone who strings girls along but isn’t willing to commit?”
I become very interested in the patch of clover next to my hip. “You ever find a four-leaf clover?”
“Chloe. Tell me the truth.”
It’s his use of my first name that makes me decide he’s serious. I blow a breath out. “You want me to be completely honest?”
“Always.”
The concern in his eyes makes the first few words stick in my throat like cleats in fresh mud.
“Okay. Well. Here it is. Yeah. People just know you’re not the type to have a serious girlfriend.
Our school is kind of like its own small town, right?
These things have a way of becoming common knowledge.
So, everyone assumes you just like to flirt and have fun but you’re not looking for anything more.
” I rush to say the rest. “I mean, not that that’s a bad thing.
We’re in high school, right? How many of these couples are going to last to the next dance, let alone though graduation and longer?
Really, what’s the point of even trying to have a relationship?
Look at Graham and me. I wasted a year and a half on someone who broke my heart. ”
Rhoads’s brows draw closer together. Thoughts swirl behind his eyes, but I can’t tell what they’re made of. Confusion? Regret? The clouds have rolled back in.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” I start.
“We should get back inside. Bell’s going to ring soon, and I’ve got to put away all this stuff before my next class.”
“I can help.” I hop up and collect the stack of cones nearest to me and shove them in the equipment bag.
Rhoads eases the bag from my hand. “It’s fine.”
“But I—”
“I said I’ve got it. You won. Go ahead. I’ll see you later.” He heads to the opposite end of the field to get the cones and doesn’t turn around.
He clearly doesn’t want me to follow, and what I said definitely upset him.
I snatch my bag and water bottle off the ground. Why did I have to say all that stuff? It’s not like telling him did any good. All it did was hurt him.
But, come on. There’s no way this is news. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s flirting, and he’d have to be dumber than that bag of soccer balls to miss the way girls react to him.
If I’m honest with myself, I think I said it more for my own benefit.
So I’d remember why I have to push him away when all I want to do is pull him close.