Page 28 of Play For Me

I shake my head, trying to clear it. The truth is, none of this really matters. It doesn’t matter if Solomon is a jerk or not. Doesn’t matter if he’d been rude to my girls or struggling with something I didn’t understand. And it certainly doesn’t matter that he’s probably the most attractive guy I’ve ever met.

What does matter is my soccer season. Showing my coaches that I’m strong and capable. Showing the national team that, despite my injury, I’m worth taking a shot on again.

Our first match of the season is in a matter of days. I don’t have time for cute boys with pretty eyes, sweet blushes and ridiculous abs. Especially not when that particular boy’s presence on the soccer field and in the training room reminds me of my damn injury, and how close I am to losing everything I ever wanted.

NINE

SOLOMON

“You are capable and talented.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to block out the ambient sounds outside of my car as the soft, calming, disembodied voice repeats herself.

“You are capable and talented.”

Did I say calming? Because honestly, she’s actually kinda creepy. There’s an almost alien quality to her voice, like she’s too positive, too gentle. No one talks like this in real life.

“You have the power within yourself to accomplish all that you desire.”

I roll my eyes and tear the earbuds from my ears. I know Em was just trying to help when she downloaded this crap to my phone, but it’s definitely not doing it for me.

I don’t actually think an affirmation app exists that will help me with my current difficulty. Namely, the gorgeous, stubborn, angry soccer player who wants nothing to do with me.

Who I’m going to have to touch in a matter of minutes.

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. I’ve never been so nervous to do an athlete evaluation since I started my program. Granted, up until now I was usually shadowing another trainer,but the instructors in my program are really good about us getting hands on experience.

Of course, none of those athletes were Cecelia Ransom.

I’m so screwed.

If there was any doubt, seeing her on the soccer field yesterday proved to me exactly how much trouble I’m in. A part of me had hoped that the universe might do me a solid and make her a bit less attractive when sweaty and exhausted from a tough practice. I was dead wrong. If anything she looked even better, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed from exertion. She had her hair up and out of the way, which meant I had a hell of a time keeping my eyes off her bare neck. She has a little freckle right below her ear that I’m dying to?—.

Jesus, man, get a hold of yourself,I think, pissed off at myself. I’m about to go inside and perform a physical evaluation on this girl. I need to be professional. Clinical. Sitting here thinking about how attracted I am to her is not going to help.

Besides, she most definitely is not reciprocating any positive feelings. Our short meeting yesterday told me two things, very clearly. One, is that Cecelia isn’t interested in working with me. And two, my actions at that party probably kept her from wanting to even talk to me.

When I’d mentioned us getting off on the wrong foot, something had flashed across her face. Something decidedly angry. Just for a second, then she seemed to carefully rearrange her features into a careless expression, but I’d seen it.

This isn’t the kind of thing I usually notice. According to just about everyone who knows me, I’m generally pretty blind to the vast array of emotions people wear on their faces. “A tragic inability to read the room,” Jay would call it. How many times did I piss off my parents because I hadn’t been able to decipher the emotional intricacies of conversation when they’d dragged me to one of their networking functions?

But for some reason, it’s easier with Cecelia Ransome. Maybe because I’ve spent the last two years watching her whenever we were in the same room.

And now you’re sounding like a fucking creep, man,I think to myself, sighing as I reach for my bag on the passenger seat.

I have to get out of my head and focus on what needs to be done. The evaluation is an essential piece in developing a training routine for these athletes.

It doesn’t help that Coach Carla pulled me aside the day we were introduced to the team to reiterate how important it is that we keep Cecelia healthy. “She’s been in the youth national team pipeline since she was a kid,” Coach said. “That injury took her off the national U-20 team. But if we can get her healthy again, and keep her that way, she could easily be wearing a senior national team jersey in the next few years.”

Ifwe can get her healthy again. No pressure, though.

Whether Cecelia wants to admit it or not, she needs help this season. There’s no way a person could come back from the kind of injury she had without a lot of effort and rehab, and it isn’t the kind of thing she can just do on her own.

Convincing her of that is obviously going to be the difficult part.

Once I’ve made my way inside the soccer facility, I manage to remember how to get to the treatment room. Anne, the team’s assistant trainer, is there, writing notes on a clipboard. She looks up and smiles when she sees me. “Hey, it’s Solomon, right?”

“Yeah.” I take her outstretched hand, trying not to visibly react. I’m not the biggest fan of touching strangers.