My sister claims it’s because I’m a female athlete. She spent most of my high school years trying to ignore me, not easy to do with a starting goalie on a state winning soccer team. I played everything growing up: basketball, field hockey, softball, volleyball. I even tried my hand at women’s rugby.
My stepfather decided soccer would be the most acceptable sport, so I was signed up for a club team by six. The private lessons started at eight. Finally, when I was offered a college soccer scholarship in Texas, I jumped at the chance to move two thousand miles away from them.
I love the game of soccer. I loved being part of a team that relied on me to stop a ball they couldn’t. I proudly coach a group of inter-city girls at home. They absorb every lesson greedily while still maintaining their love for the game. I’ll never move back here. I’ve made Texas my permanent home.
My quiet musings pull me back to what Alex told me this afternoon. Is it possible it was only this afternoon? It seems like years since then. He said he might have to check Texas out. I let my mind wander as I think of accidentally running into him working at a local Starbucks. Starbucks? I get that little niggling in the back of my brain again. Starbucks doesn’t sound right.
“Claire, you’re doing that thing with your head again,” my mother whispers loudly across the table at me.
“Sorry,” I mumble, sitting up straighter. Our dinner arrives, so Alex doesn’t enter my mind again until later that night. Okay, that’s a lie, but I do my best to focus on the conversation. I do know this much though, I’ve decided not to go back to that library.
I’ve never had a “one-night stand” but I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to end after one night. Nope, it will just have to remain an amazing memory. I’ll do some shopping tomorrow, study more in my room and head back to Texas first thing Sunday morning.
My decision made, I smile thinking about the beanie crammed into my clutch. It is going to be one hell of a story for ladies’ night!
2
Alex
“Dude, what are we doing here again?” Tim asks as I storm back out of the library.
“Never mind, let’s go,” I say, jogging back across the campus toward the pitch. There are about a hundred junior inter-city soccer players waiting on us. I might be pathetic enough to keep stalking a girl whose first name I only learned right before boffing her behind the stacks, but I wouldn’t disappoint them. I’m quickly becoming obsessed with finding her.
Tim looks at me like I’ve lost my mind when he catches up to me, but he keeps his mouth shut. This is my last afternoon here at the camp I’ve organized for inner-city, at-risk kids, before we fly back to Los Angeles.
I’m grateful when the college players start their groups working on a new set of drills. The players have all given up their holiday to give back to the community that supports them.
I throw myself into giving all of my attention to the players. Yeah, no, but I’m definitely trying to get my mind off the bite mark on my shoulder put there by a mystery with long legs and honey-colored eyes.
“Get your head back in the game,” Tim mumbles out of the side of his mouth when he catches me looking back in the direction of the library during our end-of-camp game.
What if she had decided to skip the library or if I had missed her? At least then I wouldn’t be obsessing over her. “Are you freebasing crank? Is that it?” I just roll my eyes at my teammate before calling an end to play.
Women are easy to come by for me. When you play football for a national team like the Galaxy, women have a tendency to follow you like groupies. It was refreshing when the beauty with her nose buried in her book didn’t recognize me.
I’ve charmed my way into quick romps in closets, bathroom stalls, locker rooms, name an awkward space and I’ve probably had sex there. But never in a library with someone who could tie me in a knot so tight I might never be able to escape it. Claire. Even listening to her name roll off my lips makes my heart race.
After my usual speech about following your dreams, Tim and I wait around signing autographs. “Clint, I really want tae thank ye and the rest of the team for helping us.” I shake the hand of the forward for the Portland Timbers.
“This is such a great cause. We are planning on going forward from here. Thanks for helping us get it organized. Tim, I’ll be lighting you up soon.” Clint walks away, laughing.
“Douche,” Tim mumbles.
“Naw, he’s not,” I say, watching him walk away.
“No, he’s not. He’s actually okay.” When everyone has left, I walk back toward the library. “You have got to tell me what the hell is going on, Alex.” Tim has caught up to me again.
“Soon. Over a beer?”
“Well, in that case, I guess I can keep this up a little while longer,” he grouses before matching my quick pace back to the library. I can’t fucking believe she didn’t wait around.
I met Tim during my freshman year at university. I had been recruited out of the Highlands of Scotland to play forward for Stanford. I was given several offers at eighteen to play pro, but convinced my family that college in the States was a better option for me.
Tim was not only the roommate assigned to me but a freshman goalie. We didn’t get along great in the beginning, Tim blames it on his inability to understand a single word I said. I think he just didn’t like forwards.
When we were both signed with the Galaxy, we rented an apartment together in Los Angeles. I’ve traveled all over the States, but mostly just the football pitches.
When we reach the library, it’s closed for the day. I yank on the doors a couple of times but it’s dark inside. I hear Tim blow out a whistle behind me.
