Page 9 of Striking Heat
I get up and busy myself with something else. I put on my cleats and head out back to the backyard and my trusty rebounder. That will help me blow off some steam and clear my head so that I’m more composed the next time Mr. Taylor decides to step up to the mic and ask me more questions.
Chapter Six
~DANNY~
It’s a Saturday night and I find myself back at the Tampa Bay Blaze stadium. It’s a home game against Angel FC, another recently created NWSL team.
The stadium is filling up with fans who are here to see the women play. My article didn’t stop them from coming in, but I knew it wouldn’t. I just hope the game is better today. There are a lot of little girls running around in soccer jerseys. Only a few are wearing the Blaze’s blue and yellow.
I smile as a little girl with a cotton-candy face almost runs into me.
“Sorry,” her mom quickly apologies as she runs after her daughter.
“No problem,” I reply. But I doubt she heard me. She’s too busy chasing her little girl.
The air in the stadium feels electric. I wonder if it has anything to do with the amount of youth who are here. I look up at the jumbotron and see there’s a “Welcome to Youth Night” message on it. That explains it.
It takes me longer than it did last time to get down to my spot on the sideline. The press hang out there during warmups. Notthat the players have too much to say. Usually, my interviews before the game are with the coaches or any other staff. Every once in a while, if I flash my brown eyes, a player will stop and give me a quote or line for an article.
I lean against one of the cement walls that surround the field, keeping the patrons away from the players and the debris off the field. The Blaze are warming up in front of me, doing passing drills, and in the distance I can see the goalkeeper working with a staff member. I think he might be the goalie coach, based on the way he is working with her.
“Are you here to tear them apart again?” a voice beside me asks.
I look over at Nick. “I didn’t tear anyone apart last time.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, you just like asking the tough questions. Do you think anyone will talk to you tonight?” He gestures toward the field, where the girls are running in lines and doing some footwork with soccer balls.
“I’m sure one of them will. I mean, I am the press.” We laugh and look around the field.
A ball comes flying from the field and smacks against the small space between Nick and me. The beer Nick was holding spills all down the front of my white polo.
“Son of a bitch,” I cry out, brushing the liquid off my shirt like it will do anything.
I look up and see Mac watching me, an amused grin on her full lips. “Sorry about that,” she replies, though I doubt she means it.
A woman I recognize from the press conference comes rushing over. “Mackenzie, can we please apologize like we mean it?” She looks exasperated with Mac. Sighing, loudly as the PR staff member bites her lip. She eyes the stain forming on my white shirt. “We have a shirt you can wear,” she quickly tells me in her all-business voice. “That is if you don’t mind repping the Blaze.”
She seems uncomfortable. I’m not sure if it’s the article Iwrote or if she’s worried that Mac’s little misstep will appear in my latest article. It would hardly be favorable press for the team.
“I would not mind at all,” I tell her, flashing her a reassuring smile and softening my eyes to help put her at ease. All I really want to do, though, is slam this ball back at Mac and tell her to fuck off.
“Great, let me get you one. Blue or yellow?”
“Blue, please,” I tell her before she hurries off to fetch me a shirt. “Happy to rep the Blaze colors tonight.” I say it loud enough that I hope Mac can hear me.
And she must, because she turns around. “Oh, are you a fan now?” Her tone is anything but sweet.
A teammate with dark brown hair who’s wearing the number eight elbows her, but it does nothing to stop her scowl.
Before I can even get a retort out, the PR woman is back, handing me a T-shirt. “I guessed on the size. I hope that’s okay.”
I peek at the size—medium. It’s going to be a bit tight, but it’ll work. “This should be fine,” I tell her.
Without a second thought, I pull the beer-stained polo over my head and take my sweet time righting the Blaze T-shirt, giving Mac a nice view of my toned chest and stomach. It works just like I thought it would. She’s staring at me, her blue eyes blazing. And I don’t think it’s out of anger. She likes what she sees. Her full bottom lip is pulled between her teeth as she watches me, and I do my best to give her a show. I wink at her as I pull it over my head and do my best to get it over my chest.
“It’s a bit snug. We should get you another one,” Nick says. “I don’t want to spend all night watching you parade around like Vin Diesel in a muscle shirt.”
“I’ll grab a large,” Cindy replies.
