Page 61 of Challenge
I squeeze her sides and she falls down on my chest, laughing. She sits up and kisses my cheek once before whispering, “Can we go see your changing room now?”
Yes, Indie Porter. Yes, we fucking can.
I lead her into the home-team changing room, pointing out the differences between this one and the visitor’s. Visitors get hooks on a wall for their kits. We have cubbies with backlighting, bronzed nameplates, and a whiteboard for words of inspiration. It’s posh. The visitor’s resembles a prison cell.
“What’s that?” Indie asks, pointing to some text that’s wood-burned into the wall above the changing room exit door.
“It’s a saying that the original owners put up. It’s been there forever.”
“‘I am thine, thou art mine.’” She reads the words and admires the glimpse back in time this area of the room represents. The rest of the room was sheet-rocked and refinished a few years ago—all updated to a more modern, state-of-the-art feel. But this one old, weathered slab remains original.
“We all touch it as we walk out before every game.”
“Interesting. What’s the story behind it?”
I exhale. “Coach says it’s to represent the player’s relationship with the sport. You give yourself to football and it will give itself back to you. But there are other stories out there.”
“Like what?”
“Marty is a janitor who works here. I talk to him sometimes ‘cause he’s old and knows stuff.”
Her brows lift as she turns away from the sign to eye me. “Old and knows stuff?”
I shrug my shoulders because I’m not about to sound like a complete wanker by admitting Marty is like the grandfather I never had. “He’s worked here for forty years, and he said it was a vow the old owner made to his wife on their wedding day. Since they got married on the pitch, it must’ve seemed fitting to burn it into the wall here. I don’t know. Marty’s a romantic I think.”
“What a cool mystery,” she states with a smile. “But I agree. A bit overly romantic.”
“You’re not?” I ask, watching her carefully.
She shakes her head with a light laugh. “No, I look at things too critically. I see the seams of a relationship and it just looks like something that could pull apart.”
“I tend to agree with that,” I reply, mulling over what she’s said when something else catches my eye. “Come in here. You’ll find this interesting, too…‘cause you’re a nerdling and stuff.”
I grab her hand and drag her behind me. I swear I can hear her eyes rolling. “This is called the Cry Room,” I grin. “It’s where injured players are brought in to be examined.”
Her eyes are wide. “Wow, you guys have an X-ray machine in here?” I try not to take it personal that this room impresses her more than the pitch.
“Yeah. They X-rayed me before I left the field last week.”
“Interesting.” She walks around the room, touching anything of interest, which is pretty much everything. I stand in the doorway and drink her in like a creep, eyeing every square inch of her legs the entire time. “You have a staff doctor at every game, too? Does he travel with you?”
As I’m answering her, she slides her plaid shirt off her shoulders and ties the offensive material around her waist. Now she’s in nothing but a skimpy white tank top with tiny metal buttons begging to be unsnapped.
“Let’s revisit that part of our conversation where you said I was a great lay.”
“After all you shared out there, that’s what’s on your mind?” She stops in front of the large padded exam table and hoists herself up, kicking her feet nonchalantly.
I smile and walk slowly toward her. “You know, I was inside of you over twenty-four hours ago.”
She smiles and her cheeks flush. “I remember.”
“Think you’re feeling better down there?”
She looks down, revealing her innocence again. “You want to do it in here?”
I nod. “There are security cameras on the pitch. And since this is a medical room I thought it would be kind of poetic. I’ve been dying to play doctor/patient with you since the first time you kissed me in the ICU.”
“I didn’t kiss you! You kissed—”
