Page 27 of Playing the Field
“Not much reason you’d know, unless you’re picking up fan mail or looking to grub with the team.”
I swipe a mini bag of chocolate chip cookies from a snack bin and open it for Gracie. “To tide you over.”
If I’m being honest, I may not take her straight to dinner, and I don’t want her to be hungry. She practically inhales them, smiling with each bite. “Not a lot of grubbing with the team since I started here.”
“I noticed.”
She casts a sidelong glance. “I’m sure you did.” Her deadpan skepticism belies the reality that I look for her whenever I’m in the main building, but she doesn’t need to know that. I like seeing her, and she seems to go out of her way to avoid me at Kyler’s house.
“I’m very observant, Tink. I notice everything.”
Right now, I’m noticing how she’s biting down on that plush pink bottom lip, and it’s making me want to reach my thumb out and pop it from between her teeth so I can run a finger over it. But that would get me thrown out on my ass for harassment and get me pummeled by my best friend, not to mention losing a place to live that’s started to feel like home. So I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and quicken my pace down the hallway.
When we reach the elevators, I take Gracie up to the roof, where we have a futsal facility. I should be escorting her to the parking garage, but I can’t resist the opportunity to let her into my world. And to see her in my jersey.
“What’s this?” she asks, taking in the series of smaller soccer pitches with their rubber floors and tiny goals.
“Futsal. It’s a six v six game, faster, more technical. It’s a good training supplement to what we do out there.” I gesture over my shoulder with a thumb even though we can’t see the practice field from here.
“That’s kind of cool. I’d kind of like to see it in action sometime.”
“I can do you one better.” I walk over to where we keep the equipment. In a bin at one end, we have soccer balls and pinnies. In a big cardboard box behind the check-in desk sits another big cardboard box filled with shoes and shin guards.
“What size are you?” I ask.
“What size of what?”
“Shoe size. Seven?”
“Yes, but I’m already wearing shoes.” She points at her two-inch kitten heels, which look great with the long skirt she's wearing, but I shake my head and hold up a pair of indoor soccer shoes from the box. “Youth teams sometimes use the facility, and you know kids, they’re always leaving shit behind, so we’ve got pretty much every size.”
“Is it like bowling? Am I not allowed to walk on the floor without those?”
I chuckle at the sweet innocence of her question.
“No, sweetheart, you’re not allowed to play futsal without them.”
Her eyes get round, and she looks from me to the empty court, shaking her head. “I’m not a soccer player.”
“Good. Because this is futsal. Totally different game.” I hadn’t planned on bringing her up here to play, but now that we’re here, it seems the best idea in the world. I’m already wearing indoor soccer shoes, but I’m not accustomed to playing in jeans. Maybe it’ll give her an advantage as I run stiffly in denim.
Meanwhile, Gracie stands there with her arms crossed, still shaking her head. “I’m wearing a skirt.”
Unwilling to indulge her excuses, I move to a glass display case near the check-in desk and slide it open. Inside, there are logo jerseys, sweats, and socks. In under ten seconds, I assemble an outfit for her of black track pants, a Devils tee under one of my jerseys, and a pair of socks that will fit the shin guards I pull from the box. “For when you defend a pass. I don’t want you getting a shiner on your shin,” I explain, handing her the gear.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You taught me about analytics. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine. And I promise to feed you when we’re done.”
She crosses her arms and side-eyes me like she doesn’t understand. “You want me to play soccer? With you?”
“It’s futsal. And yes.”
Ten minutes later,Gracie emerges from the women’s locker room. She looks fucking adorable in full Devils regalia, even as she looks down at her clothes and grimaces. “Not sure about this, soccer star. Something tells me you’re looking to get some kind of roommate upper hand by slide tackling me. I can still recommend you for transfer.”
I make the gesture of crossing my heart. “I would never. No slide tackling. I’ll even play in socks if that makes you feel better.”
She perks up at that suggestion. “Actually, now you’re talking. Let’s play in socks.”
