Page 35 of Personal Foul
“I’m still working on convincing you to do the same.” I wink.
She opens her mouth to speak, but remembering where we are, she stops herself. Her eyes turn glossy, flashing me a small smile, then follows behind her parents to our table. He leads us past the bar, through the restaurant to a table seated in the back corner.
“Your waiter will be right with you. Have a nice evening.”
Pulling out the seat for Sydney, she subtly brushes her hand over the front of my pants as she takes a seat, whispering, “Thank you.” I bite down on my lip to avoid moaning right in front of her parents.
Trying to distract myself from the temptress next to me, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the distant setting sun, painting the sky with a mix of pink and orange hues. The view is stunning, and I briefly wish I could be alone with Sydney to enjoy it.
I’ve gotten used to dressing up for events and fancy dinners in these upscale restaurants, but this isn’t at all what my life was like growing up. In fact, there were some nights we struggled to scrape by and put together a meal. My mom worked hard to provide for us, always feeding my brother and me first before she ever considered eating herself.
“I haven’t been here since you were named Coach of the Year, Dad.” Sydney smiles, resting her elbows on the table, folding her hands together.
The conversation shifts from when Coach started with the Blaze, later getting the head coach job, to Sydney’s life living in Miami. They gush over her high school years, reminisce about their trip to Hawaii when Sydney graduated with a four-point-zero, and when the Blaze made it to the playoffs.
“Who would’ve thought we’d be here now, and with you working for the Blaze,” Susie boasts. “I still remember when we found out your dad got the head coach position. He was busy when he was an assistant, but boy did it get busy when he started traveling more. I needed to be home to help care for you and see after things.”
It’s clear we’ve lived vastly different lives up until now. Exotic trips, fancy restaurants, this wasn’t who I was at my core. My mom always had to hold a job, providing for our family. Yeah, it’s great to have money and be able to buy nice things, but it’s not what matters to me. It’s why I’ve always wanted to get involved in the community, find ways to give back.
Coach pulls out a picture of Sydney with him at her first Miami Blaze game. Reaching over, I squeeze her thigh under the table when she covers her face over her embarrassment at her long red hair, freckled face, and braces. She was adorable, easy to see how she grew up to be such a beautiful woman.
We top dinner off with pecan pie and singing “Happy Birthday” to Susie before we say our goodbyes. Once her parents are out of eyesight, I pull her into my arms, wrapping my arm around her waist. Burying my nose into the crux of her neck, I inhale her clean scent mixed with her floral perfume.
“Want to take a walk down by the water?” I whisper close to her ear as we reach my car.
She peers down at her heels, and for a second, I expect her to say no. It’s not a far walk, but I will understand if she decides against it in those shoes.
“Yeah,” she says, catching me by surprise when she closes the distance, kissing me lightly on the lips. Our fingers mesh together as we follow the sidewalk around the restaurant down to the docks overlooking the water.
Boats line the marina and seagulls coo overhead. We take a seat on a bench facing the water. Reaching over, I wrap my hand over Sydney’s thigh as she moves to drape her legs over mine.
Turning to face her, I say, “I feel like tonight went well. Your mom is every bit of the woman I’d expect Coach to be with. You can see how much they love each other.”
She smiles, running her fingers over the base of my neck, her nails dragging into my hair. The sensation causes tingles to spread through my body as I lazily glance over at her and smile back.
“Yeah, they do.”
“So, about last night…” I say, testing her reaction. We haven’t talked about what happened after I got home from the game. We’ve been riding this line between us. One second, she’s wanting to keep her distance and making it clear she only wants a friendship, then the next she’s waiting for me at her door wearing only my jersey.
I don’t know what to make of it. We both have reasons to be hesitant or to worry over why this wouldn’t work, but it seems like, with every passing day, those reasons grow more and more faded as the lines between us blur.
“What about it?” Her tone shifts. What was once quiet and relaxed is now guarded and defensive.
“I guess I was wondering where you stood with everything, after what happened the other night, us going out to dinner with your parents tonight.”
Her eyebrows furrow, pulling her hand back to massage her fingers over her temples. She seems frustrated or surprised. I’m not quite sure.
“What?” I ask.
“I mean, I guess we are still on the same page. I’m trying to focus on my job. You need to keep your head in the game. Not much has changed.”
Immediately, my defenses are up, guiding her legs off my lap. On one hand, I expected this. I knew it was coming. On the other, I’m annoyed because why does it have to be one or the other?
“We were on the same page, but I also think things have changed. We’re not doing anything wrong. We are adults, Sydney, and we are fully capable of doing whatever we damn well please. Do you actually think your dad doesn’t have an idea after seeing us together tonight?” I scoff, laughing.
Her nostrils flare as she moves to stand. She narrows her eyes at me, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m ready to go home now.”
“Why, because you know I’m right?”
“No, because I don’t want to be around you right now.”
She spins and marches up the dock. Her long legs power walking, eating up the distance. I don’t bother chasing after her. If she wants to be pissed, she can be. I’m not going to argue with her, but I sure am going to punch holes in every one of her bullshit excuses.
I don’t think this has anything to do with her job. There’s more to this than she wants to admit, and the fact she’s running away from me right now, not wanting me to see it on her face, proves I’m right.
By the time I make it up to the car, she’s leaning against the passenger side door, her arms crossed in front of her chest. I don’t bother saying anything to her this time, hitting the lock on the door as she reaches for the handle and climbs in.
Why does she always insist on pushing every one of my buttons?
