Page 28 of Striking Heat
“It is,” I agree, moving down and stealing August’s seat so that we don’t have to talk too loudly over the TVs and noise of the restaurant.
“How come you decided to write? You could have coached anywhere, like me. And if your career wouldn’t have done it, I’m pretty sure Daddy could have.” Jase means that last bit as a joke, but it doesn’t make it sting any less.
I don’t react to his statement. I have years of practice. Most people say things like that because they want my reaction. “I could have coached, yes, but not because of who my father is.” I make a point of adding that part in.
Jase holds his hand up, in apology, I think.
“I didn’t want to,” I continue. “I didn’t want to be around the sport. It was too hard because of all that had happened. I had dreams and goals, but they were all just taken away. So, I left it behind. I’d always been good at writing and decided to try my hand at this.”
Jase nods. “Yeah, I had dreams too, but someone else had a higher plan. Now here I am, in the US, coaching these girls. Trying to make them the best. Trying to make sure Tampa gets behind them.”
“It’s no small feat,” I say, picking up my mug of dark lager and taking a sip.
“No, it’s not.” He pauses for a second, looking at me, eyes drawn together. “Are you going to include this in your story?”
I smile at him. “Nah, you’re not the story and neither is Hendrix. I’m writing about the striker.” I look over my shoulder, and there she is, staring at me. She’s sitting beside Hendrix, and when Jase looks back and sees them, he waves. They all smile wide and wave back. “Girls seem to like you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m respected because I played the game,” he teases.
“I didn’t kick a ball, but I do know a thing or two about sports. It’s nice to be around it like this,” I admit to him.
He nods and replies, “Yes, it is. It’s why I’ll coach the goalies, because even though I can’t play, someone is benefiting from what I learned along the way. It’s someone else I can explain my field vision too.”
“It’s admirable.”
“Don’t print any of this.” He jokes.
I shake my head, “Don’t worry I’m busy writing about her.” I remind me again, gesturing behind me to where Mac is watching me.
“Mac’s a handful, from what I’ve heard. Almost took your head off with a ball and now you’re going to write about her. That should be fun.”
I only mean to steal a glance when I look back at Mac again, but she’s laughing and having fun with the girls at her table. I love how natural her smile is. I don’t always see that side of her. I think I did at lunch, but most of the time, she’s more guarded with me. Probably because she worries that I will print something about her she wishes to keep private.
“You know, if you’re writing about her, challenging her in the pressroom, and trashing her in the papers, you can’t be making googly eyes at her.” Jase stares at me, brown eyes pleading with me.
I steal a glance at him and then look back at her, sighing before I turn around to face the TVs again. “That’s not what’s going on here.”
“Mac is a beautiful girl. You gotta watch yourself around that one—around all of them. They like to draw you in with those big eyes, and before you know it, you’re losing your credibility over a pair of long legs and blue eyes.” He chuckles and pushes my shoulder. “Don’t let that be you.”
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience. Is Hendrix making things hard for you?” I tease him back because he’s suggesting that there’s something going on between Mac and me. I don’t think there is, really. There’s just this electricity and verbal sparring that feels like foreplay. I love it. It makes me feel alive, and it’s barely anything. Just tells me that I need to get laid because it’s been too long.
“Um, no, she’s not. She’s a good goalie, and she likes to work. Reminds me a lot of what I was like when I played. Men and women can work together and not have it turn into twisting in the sheets, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Which is why I’m not sure why you think that something is happening between Mac and me.”
“Oh, because I don’t look at Hendrix and grin the way you just did when you saw Mac. But what do I know?” he tells me as August joins us again, taking what was his seat.
“How is Maria?” Jase teases him.
“She’s fine. Getting a little clingy, so it was time to cut that one loose,” he replies.
“Oh, and over the phone? You are cold.” Jase laughs and shakes his head.
“Yeah, well, you just gotta do what you gotta do.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “You know.”
But I don’t. I don’t let many women get close to me. They tend to think they’re going to get closer to my father. I never know who wants me for me. I wonder if Jase can relate to that, or August. I want to ask, but I decide that I shouldn’t.
We spend the rest of the night drinking a few more beers,eating pasta, and listening to the girls gabbing behind us. It isn’t until I leave that I get a chance to talk to Mac.
