Page 62 of Play For Me

My best friend just stares at me. “You would want to with her.”

I open my mouth to argue and then realize I have nothing to say, so I shut it again.

Em’s face softens. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her? It’s been two years of you watching her from a distance, Sol. And it’s only gotten worse since you started working with her.”

Yeah, I definitely don’t like this conversation at all.

“So you think I’m going to get in over my head and get my heart broken?” The words taste as bitter as they sound. It’s nothing different from what I’ve thought a million times. It’s the entire freaking reason I never tried to approach Cecelia all this time despite having a crush on her since her freshman year.

Getting close to her will only end one way—with her moving on with her life while I’m left alone and hurting.

I’m not sure what Em reads on my face, but her expression shifts. I’m not always the best at reading this kind of thing, but it’s pretty obvious she looks sad.

“I just want you to be careful,” she says softly. “The program means so much to you.” Her face tightens. “And if the department finds out, you’re the one who’s going to bear the brunt of it. It’s not like they’re going to kickherout.”

She has a point there. No way does a likely future Olympian get punished over some nobody. And that’s not even taking into account that half the people in her family are incredibly famous.

“I know,” I mutter. “I know nothing can happen. I’ve got it under control, okay?”

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me but whatever she sees on my face has her dropping the subject. She simply reaches across the table and gives my hand a tight, hard squeeze. I’m not always great with touch. Pressure is good, but anything gentle—especially when unexpected—makes my skin crawl. And if there’s any one in this world who knows that about me, it’s Em and her brother.

Funny, it hadn’t bothered me at all to feel Cecelia’s soft, gentle fingers twined with mine right after we kissed.

SEVENTEEN

SOLOMON

The next week is…confusing.

Cecelia is mostly normal. I had expected one or both of us to be uncomfortable after what happened at her party. Instead, we’ve been professional—but still friendly—on the field and in the training room. I would almost think I’d imagined the whole patio scene.

Except every once in a while, our gazes will catch, and I’ll get that rollercoaster swooping feeling in my belly and I know, I justknow, that she’s thinking about the kiss.

It makes me feel both relieved and frustrated. Relieved that our kiss seemed to have affected her as much as me and frustrated that she does such a good job hiding it most of the time. Or am I frustrated because I know I can’t do anything about these feelings?

Like I said, it’s been confusing.

And things are about to get even more complicated, because I’m scheduled to join the women’s soccer team for their away match in San Jose at the end of the week. Which means at least eleven hours roundtrip on a bus, two nights in a hotel, and endless opportunities to be alone with Cecelia off campus.

Everyone in our program is supposed to do at least one away match with their respective team. The logistics of training on the road can be complicated, so it’s something they want us to get experience with. I had been looking forward to it, but now there’s a certain amount of panic beneath the surface.

It’s hard enough to stay away from her when I’m in my apartment across town. How the hell am I going to do it when we’re staying in the same hotel?

I get to the athletic complex parking lot on Thursday afternoon before the players. The training staff has a lot to get done before the bus can leave, mainly packing and inventorying all our equipment and med kit supplies and making sure it all gets on the bus. I’m glad to be busy. Keeping my mind occupied always helps when I’m feeling anxious.

Maybe the bus ride will help me build up some tolerance to her presence,I think to myself as I count hydration packs. Yes, we’re going to be stuck in the same small, enclosed space for five hours, but I’ve been on enough trips during my own athlete days to know that the staff will sit up front while the players stick to the back. So at least there will be a little distance.

That idea goes out the window as soon as she shows up to board the bus. Of course, Cecelia Ransome just has to be one of the first girls here—and I can’t freaking keep my eyes off of her. I have to recount my ice packs three times because I keep seeking her out.

The whole team is dressed the same for the trip, in black athletic pants or leggings and a white team t-shirt. It’s a simple outfit, typical for athletes traveling to a match. So why the hell does it look so good on her?

And how am I supposed to pretend I’m not aware of her every move when she’s walking around in those skin-tight leggings?

Her looks are only part of the reason my stomach clenches every time I look at her. She’s just so…lit up. Talking with her teammates, helping cart luggage and equipment to the bus, always laughing or smiling that smile that makes it hard to breathe. I don’t understand why every eye in the parking lot isn’t locked on her.

Eventually she notices me watching. Or maybe our eyes just happen to lock at the same time. Either way, she directs that radiant smile to me and I quickly duck my head back to the clipboard so she can’t see how fucking gone I am for her.

It doesn’t keep her from approaching me, though. “You’re looking very serious, Mr. Trainer Guy.” She stands in front of me, one hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes against the sun as she stares up at me.