Page 35 of Play For Me

What the hell, brain?This guy doesn’t need me to protect him.

Solomon takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself. “I sometimes have a hard time with crowds. And loud noises,” he says. “Parties aren’t always the easiest for me. The punch just kinda…put me over the edge.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can see the effort this is taking him and it hurts my stomach. Again, the urge to soothe him in some way rises up in me.

“I tend to shut down when I feel overwhelmed like that.” He meets her eye. “But I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

Vega grins up at him, and I wonder if she’s noticed at all how difficult this was for him. It seems so clear to me.

“Seriously, no worries. If you were rude, I was probably too drunk to notice, honestly. And we all really appreciate you standing up for Violet.”

He shrugs. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Vega continues happily. “Now we can all be friends!”

I swear I catch a glimpse of panic on his face at the idea of befriending our admittedly crazy group, and I can’t quite bite back my laugh. They both look at me, and something shifts in Vega’s face, something I don’t like the look of at all.

“You know,” she says, voice a shade too casual. “I actually have somewhere I need to be, so why don’t I leave the two of you to talk?”

I glare at my cousin, trying to wordlessly express my strong desire to strangle her. She just smiles sweetly back at me and I know, I justknow, she’s remembering all that bullshit Vi was spouting about me being into this guy.

“I thought we were having dinner,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Sorry! Totally slipped my mind. But I’ll see you later tonight?” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Ortomorrow.”

“Very funny,” I mutter under my breath, but she’s already turning back to Solomon. “It was good to see you again!” And then she’s flouncing off on her ridiculous four-inch wedge heeled sandals.

I take a deep breath before turning back to Solomon. He doesn’t seem to be having any trouble meeting my gaze, and there’s an annoying hint of a smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what Vega was up to taking off so quickly.

I take a step back. “Well, since my dinner plans just ditched me, I guess I should?—”

“I actually have dinner for us,” he cuts in, and I’m so surprised I freeze. He holds up a brown paper bag I hadn’t noticed before. “Noodles from Miso House.”

I fight to hide my reaction. I freaking love Miso House. But that’s beside the point.

“I don’t understand. You brought dinner? For me?”

He nods, expression earnest. “I figured we could take it over to the intramural fields. Maybe kick the ball around a little before we eat?” He shrugs. “I always thought these noodles were better cold.”

Well, that goes without saying. Cold noodles from Miso House are thebest. But it still doesn’t answer the question of what the hell he’s up to.

“Look.” He takes a step closer and I have to swallow hard as I look up at his face. I feel flushed all of a sudden and I don’t like it at all.

“I get that rehab exercises aren’t your favorite thing. But I thought maybe if I could see you play up close, I could come up with some things that you can do as part of your regular training. Then it won’t feel so much like rehab.”

I have no idea what to say about that. Agreeing with him feels like admitting that I’m the giant baby who doesn’t want to do her treatment.

Sensing my hesitation, he dips his head a little closer, meeting my gaze. For a second, I feel trapped in the deep chocolate of his eyes. “Come on, what have you got to lose? At worst you get to play a little extra soccer today.”

“I generally never turn down the chance for more soccer,” I grumble, and he grins wide, like he just won some kind of prize. It makes me stand up straighter, eyes narrowing.

“You think you’re good enough to keep up with me?”

He lets out a surprisingly carefree laugh. It makes my chest feel all weird and tight. “Hell no,” he says. “But I can certainly try.”

The intramural fieldsare empty save for a group of guys throwing a football around on the opposite end. Solomon pulls a soccer ball from his duffle and places it in the grass between us. “Wanna show me your normal stretching routine?” he asks. I fight down the knee-jerk urge to give a snarky negative. The guy bought my favorite noodles for dinner—the least I can do is behave.

“I keep it pretty simple,” I tell him. “I try to focus on my hips, tightness there seems to affect my mobility the most during practice or games.”

I half expect him to pull out a clipboard and start taking notes the way he had during the evaluation, and I’m surprised when he plops down on the grass instead, mirroring my movements as I begin my first stretch.