Page 22 of Play For Me

I shake my head as we near the sideline. “Get a hold of yourself. He’s just aboy.” And I have yet to meet a boy who’s worthy of this kind of fawning.

“A hot boy,” she mutters, finally lowering her voice now that we’re within feet of the guy.

I’m relieved when Coach starts talking so I don’t have to listen to Helen’s histrionics any more. But that relief goes right out the window when I realize what’s happening here.

“As you veteran players will remember from previous seasons, the athletic department helps to facilitate student trainer clinicals with all the varsity level teams participating,” she says, and my gaze jumps straight over to Solomon. He’s looking right at me.

“These graduate level student interns will be working with the coaching and training staff to design and implement training programs for each of you, as well as helping us to address injury rehabilitation. You’ll each be assigned one of the three student trainers to work with for the semester.”

“Oh my God,” Helen hisses at my side. “Please, baby Jesus, let me get Mr. Tall and Gorgeous.”

“Tomorrow you’ll meet with your trainer for a physical evaluation. I want you to be transparent about any injuries or discomfort that you’re dealing with, no matter how minor.”

“He can give me a physical evaluation,” our defender Sarah says, and the girls around us snicker. Jesus, is everyone obsessed with this guy?

My eyes return to Solomon without my permission. Our gazes lock before he quickly looks away. Is he blushing?

I don’t know why the idea of working with Solomon has my stomach bottoming out. Yes, he was rude to my cousin. Yes, he’s far more attractive than any man has a right to be. But thoseshouldn’t be big enough issues for me to feel such a sharp stab of panic.

An entire semester of one-on-one training. With him.

There are three trainers,I remind myself. Chances are I’ll be with one of them.Please, please let me be with one of them.

Coach gives us a whole spiel about acceptable conduct when working with the student trainers and reminds us not to behave inappropriately. She seems to be directing the majority of her comments to Helen and Sarah. Then she hands things over to the head trainer, Devon, who starts reading out names and assigning us to different interns.

Helen ends up with the female trainer, and I’m pretty sure I hear her whimper in dismay. I want to whimper myself when Devon gets to the end of the first group and my name still hasn’t been called. The second male student trainer is assigned next and I keep my fingers crossed behind my back. He’s my last shot at avoiding a semester with Solomon and his ridiculous abdominal muscles.

My name doesn’t get called.

“Lucky bitch,” Helen mutters, pinching my side. “Do you think they’ll let us trade?”

“I wish.”

The last group is called and yup, there’s my name. So much for my hopes that I’d just been accidentally overlooked in the first two groups. I glance at Solomon and get the feeling he’s very intentionally not looking at me.

Or he doesn’t even remember you and you’re making way too much out of everything.

Coach Carla takes over again. “Feel free to say hi to your trainers before leaving today. And if you have any questions or any issues you want them to know about, go ahead and discuss them now. Otherwise, you’ll see them tomorrow for your evaluations.”

I very badly want to get to the locker room and not think about being alone with Solomon in one day’s time. But the universe really doesn’t have my back today because Coach calls my name.

“Hang back a minute, Ransome.”

Fantastic.

I watch as my teammates leave the field. Most of them stop to say hello to their student trainers. The crowd around Solomon is ridiculous, and I’m pretty sure a good number of them aren’t even assigned to his group.

Once things have cleared out a little, Coach gestures for me to join her and the lead trainer. To my dismay, she also pulls Solomon from the masses of tittering girls and brings him over.

I force my feet forward, trying not to think about the way his muscles had flexed when he took his shirt off. Or about the fact that I’m literally dripping sweat and flushed bright red. I probably look disgusting.

Which definitely doesn’t matter. Who cares what some rude asshole thinks about my looks?

I force a neutral expression on my face as I close the remaining distance, trying not to notice that the guy is staring at me intently.

“What’s up, Coach?” If my voice sounds breathless it’s only because I’m still recovering from the drills we finished earlier. Nothing to do with the guy. Definitely not.

“Devon wants a word,” she says. She fixes her sharp gaze on me. “Listen to what he has to say. Begood.”