CHAPTER 3 MEETING THE PROS #2
“Is that how you answer phones now?” My mom’s voice cut through my concentration. “That’s not professional Aife Marie.”
I sighed. My jaw clenched again, tongue poking into my cheek as my anger flared. “Sorry, Mama, I’m working on my dissertation.”
“Mmm… that’s not a very good justification.” She tutted at me. “Well, I hate to interrupt your groove, but I got a phone call from Dr. Su’s office today. We really should update the number to yours.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. There was so much fear I had around the medical world despite working in it. Dr. Su’s name was a weird combination of anxiety and admiration. The man had saved my life, but it had taken far too many mishaps to get to him.
“Why?” I gulped down the lump in my throat. “Oh, your annual MRI. His office said you can do it locally and mail the CD to his office.”
“Okay, thanks Mom. Anything else?”
She rambled about her day for a while, but I tuned her out.
MRIs certainly weren’t the worst procedure I’d been through but being in a small tube for at least an hour was still unpleasant.
It was just an unfortunate reality of my life and always would be.
Mom finished her updates, and we said our goodbyes.
My fists were tight, my back teeth touching aggressively.
I looked down at my outline and lost all my motivation.
Nothing more was going to get done tonight, and it was futile to try.
Instead, I wound up cleaning my apartment and getting ready for bed.
Before putting my phone away for the night, I set a reminder to arrange an MRI.
Fear would hold me until I heard back from Dr. Su. It always would; it always had.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I lowered in a side lunge to stretch my hamstring.
Several others around me had also started to stretch, and I found my eyes wandering to the bench.
Dre’s signature puffballs stood out in contrast to Nat’s short, black pixie cut.
What caught my attention though were the two men further down the bench, the ones from last week.
One was ginger, like Jefferson. The other captivated my attention though.
He had dark hair like Nat’s 42 but his was so curly.
A part of me wanted to run my fingers through it.
He had a straight nose with a slight bump in it and a beautifully strong jaw.
A dark dusting of stubble lined his cheeks and chin.
I knew he was tall from last week and covered in tattoos as well.
The most incredible thing about him were his eyes: blue-green like the ocean but one was broken up with a touch of coffee brown.
He was stunning to look at but only that—something to look at.
My eyes finally left his face and tracked down his body.
Even from here, I could see how thick his chest and thighs were.
They were clad in jeans, but those jeans clung to his legs as if they were painted on, as if they had been made specifically for him.
I didn’t know men could have thighs like that, and I couldn’t stop staring.
“Aife, you gotta switch legs for stretching to be effective.” Davis bumped my hip, pulling me out of my trance. “You’ve been out of it since Friday. You okay to play?” Concern knit his eyebrows together.
“Honestly, D, this is exactly what I need. Get me on that pitch, and I’ll be right as rain.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never understood that expression.”
“Rain is a good thing. Didn’t Luke Bryan teach you that?”
“You better not listen to that drivel.” His nose scrunched up in disgust. “The only country I’ll listen to is Willie or George.”
I snickered. “You sure you ain’t from Texas?” My accent dripped out a little thicker.
“Ha. Fuck no.” He ran backwards as I glanced after him. “Texans are stupid.”
I made a quick mental note to hit him with the ball today; nobody insulted my state.
Before I knew it, the game had started. I took up my usual sweeper position, preparing for any strikers trying to get past our defense.
Most people thought I should be a forward because of my speed, but that’s why I loved defense.
I could stop plays and use my speed to initiate a drive on goal.
Back in my undergrad days, I was a defender with the most goals in our region.
It was one statistic I had I was actually proud of.
“Man!” I yelled as Peter nearly got tackled by another player, causing my heart to race.
Peter quickly dropped the ball to me. In a few seconds, I had analyzed the field, my eyes quickly surveying each player in a few seconds and then crossed the ball to Davis on the left side.
He dribbled toward the goal before lobbing to center.
Eric was there to finish the shot, but the goalie saved it and tossed it to a player on his team.
My chest deflated at the lack of a goal.
The opposing team made a drive down the right line.
One player managed to make it to me before I barreled into his chest and stole the ball with some fancy footwork.
My breathing picked up as I sprinted forward.
I took the ball straight up the middle, passing to Eric on my right.
He dragged the ball back and flicked it with the side of his foot back to me.
I crisscrossed my feet over the ball, confusing the defender then used my laces to strike the ball into the upper right corner, chest heaving at my run.
Fuck… I wasn’t supposed to play this hard, but we were winning. One, nothing to the grad students.
The rest of the game continued in a similar fashion,
but we won four to one. A smile crept onto my face as I chugged some Gatorade.
Soccer really did make everything better, even though I wasn’t meant to be playing.
Eric and Peter fist bumped me before leaving, and I turned to the bench.
Dre, Nat, and Davis were all chatting. Dre looked like she was ready to explode as she frantically waved me over.
“Aife.” She was trying to whisper but was not succeeding. “Do you know who those guys are?”
“Um…” I tried to remember what Davis had said last week. “Zeke and TJ?”
Dre looked at me incredulously. “Babe.” She sounded disappointed in me. “Clearly, I need to bring you to more hockey games. The red head is Zeke Carter—all-star fucking goalie for the Warhammers. Tall, dark, and brooding is the one and only TJ Walker.”
The names vaguely rang bells for me. “Okay.
Should I be falling all over myself for an autograph or something? They’re just people who are talented with sticks and ice, Dre.”
Dre and Nat looked at me in horror. My sentiments on celebrities aligned with my sentiments on everyone else: people were people.
And all people deserved love, compassion, respect, and dignity regardless of gender, race, sexuality, ethnicity, or profession.
Big deal if these two were famous; they were still people first.
Davis looked at me and then immediately burst into laughter.
He looked 45 like he was fighting to breathe. His face reddened as he fought for air.
“Well ouch,” the red head said, “I do expect a little adoration, to be honest.”
I turned to him. “You won’t get it from me.”
“Well, what if I was Tom Brady?”
“Fuck Tom Brady,” I said with a snarl. “Talented guy but fuck him.”
“Okay, what if I was Russell Wilson?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“He’s still just a guy who happens to be talented at throwing an oddly shaped ball. If you’re looking for adoration and devotion, it won’t be from me.” I matched him by crossing my arms over my chest.
The dark-haired man slightly smirked while taking in our conversation. He was clearly amused by his friend’s antics. “Not everyone bows down to celebrities, Zeke. Let it go.”
Zeke turned to his friend, eyes blazing. “I’m the next fucking Gretzsky! This is unusual for me.”
“Gretzsky wasn’t a goalie.” Dre pointed out,
popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Maybe you’re like the next Sawchuk or Husak. Although, you are the first goalie/pest I’ve ever seen. A class of your own for sure, Carter.”
“Ugh, no more sports, please.” Nat placed her hands over her ears. “Just food.”
“I second the food aspect,” Davis said and rubbed his stomach. “You guys want to join?”
Zeke and TJ shared a brief looking before nodding.
“I’m never one to turn down food,” Zeke said, “Can little Carter come?”
TJ snorted. Normally, I would have found the noise jarring, but it was strangely attractive coming from him. “Don’t let him hear that.”
“He’s a complete pussy, TJ. He knows I’d easily kick his ass. Where are we going?”
Jefferson ambled over to our group, defeat clear in his eyes. “What are we doing? You offering invites and not handing one out to me?”
“We plan to go eat,” Dre and Nat said at the same time.
“Let’s go to Shelby Diner. They have the best waffles.” Jefferson grabbed his bag and motioned for us to follow.