Page 86 of Play For Me

“Well, the boys are getting in line in the food court,” I tell her. “If you want Ash to grab you anything you should tell him now.”

She pulls out her phone to text her twin before looking back at us. “So, what’d I miss?”

“Just CeCe being disgustingly adorable about her boyfriend. Again.”

“Aw.” Vi reaches over to tug on the end of my braid.

I bat her hand away. “I was not being adorable. I was just sending a text message.”

“But you get this look on your face,” Vega argues, fixing her own face in a soppy expression I’m sure I’ve never worn a day in my life.

Honestly? It’s hard to get worked up about her teasing. Not when I feel this happy.

It’s been almost three weeks since the away game in San Jose. Since then, I’ve been playing some of the best soccer of my life. I’ve scored in every game since, and the team is at the top of our conference. The team doctor wasn’t concerned when he checked out my knee, just told me to keep an eye on things and keep my trainers in the loop. So Solomon has been like a dictator about my treatment. Every once in a while, I’m able to convince him to save the soft-tissue massage for when we get back to his apartment. Those nights are my favorite.

You’d think I would start to get sick of him, with how much time we’ve been spending together. Every week we spend hours on the field or in the weight room or in the treatment room. After training, we’re careful to not be alone on campus, or to indulge in any PDA, but, like today, he’ll usually sit with me and my cousins at lunch, or I’ll join him and Jay.

Apparently, all of that time isn’t enough for me, because we end up sleeping at one of our places almost every night. When he’s at mine, we usually hang out with my cousins in the living room, watching movies—with incessant commentary from Cadeand Vega—or playing cards. Our nights at his place tend to be a bit quieter. We argue over what sports to watch on TV (he’s still trying to get me into baseball) or work on a LEGO set.

There’s something about seeing Solomon all casual at home in the evenings that always gets to me. Him padding around his apartment in bare feet wearing sweats—and he always switches to his glasses at night, which continues to drive me crazy for reasons I can’t quite express. We make dinner together, or order in, and I spend a lot of time trying to convince him to join me in breaking my meal plan. He tries to act like a responsible trainer but he always gives in.

We tease each other a lot. When I first met Sol, I thought he was too stoic, grumpy and serious all the time. But now I can see that he actually has a really dry sense of humor, a lot like mine. One time he made me waffles and, without thinking, I blurted out that the best waffles I ever had was at a hotel in Belgium during Ransom’s European tour when I was in middle school.

Solomon had stared at me. “A European tour.”

“Um, yeah?”

“So your summer vacation in middle school was a string of luxury hotels across Europe?”

I cleared my throat. “It was that year. The next year it was Asia.”

Sol just shook his head, but I could tell he was amused. “You are physically incapable of sounding normal.”

Ever since then, he’s been mercilessly teasing me about how not normal my rock and roll childhood was. I tease him right back about being a cowboy, and something about it makes me so happy. Maybe my love language is shit talking?

And then we have the nights together. I had no idea sleeping with the same person for more than a few nights could be so exciting, but there’s not a single part of me that feels bored withour sex life. In fact, I basically can’t get enough of him, and it’s pretty clear he feels the same way.

Pretty much the only time we’re not together is when we’re in class. He’s even traveled to our other away games, despite the fact that his program only required him to get that experience once, because Coach and Devon have been so thrilled with how well Solomon has been managing my injury. They want him working with me all the time, even switching one of the other student athletes under his care to a different student trainer to free up his schedule.

We don’t argue with the opportunity to spend even more time together—though we’ve refrained from sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms after that first time.

Things aren’t perfect, of course. We’ve hung out with Emery a few times and while she’s always polite, I can’t help but feel like she doesn’t really like me. And I can’t shake the thought that she’s watching me with Sol whenever she’s with us, like she’s waiting for me to mess up somehow.

I also get the sense, sometimes, that Sol isn’t completely honest with me when it comes to social situations. We don’t go to parties together—too much chance someone from the team will see us—but we do hang out with all of my cousins quite a bit, and I know they can be a lot to deal with. Or sometimes, when we’re all out at a loud bar or restaurant, I can tell that he’s getting tense. Any time I bring it up he insists that he’s fine but his smiles seem a little forced.

He still hasn’t told me what exactly happened when he saw his mom that night in San Jose. Or why he reacted the way he did after the punch fiasco at the Sigma party. I mean, I can make some logical guesses. He clearly has issues with sensory stuff—loud noises, crowded rooms, the feel of a wet, punch-soaked shirt sticking to his chest.

I’m pretty sure he struggles with anxiety. I’m not a stranger to that. Ash has been dealing with anxiety and depression for most of our lives. His mom had issues with that, too, and so did our Uncle Lennon. Our parents have always made it a point to be open about that kind of thing—our family is not the type to be judgmental when it comes to mental health issues.

But Solomon seems determined to not talk about it, no matter how gently I bring it up. I’m torn between wanting him to trust me with more and not wanting to push him about something he’s clearly sensitive about.

And then there’s the whole guilt issue. Namely, the guilt I feel every time I spend more than a few nights at his place. In other words, more than a few nights away from my cousins.

It’s ridiculous. I know that. We’re in our early twenties. In a few semesters we’ll graduate and go on to find jobs and probably live in different places—even though I can’t think about that for too long before I start to feel panicky.

My cousins have always been the most important people in my life. And I don’t really understand how I’m supposed to let someone new in.

But at the same time, I really,reallywant to let Solomon in.