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Tyler removes several catering trays from the fridge and sets them down on the island in the center of the kitchen. He flips the lids off them and slides the plastic dishes toward me. “Put some sandwiches on a plate, would ya? Kennedy likes the egg salad ones, so grab a few extra of those.”
Reaching into the cabinet, I notice Tyler finally has food on his shelves. That’s a new addition along with Kennedy to this house. For years, we’d ordered takeout every time I had come over here. I consider myself lucky if Tyler has a Gatorade or beer to drink. Now, he has the place stocked, like a regular house. Kane Manor is no longer a bachelor pad.
I help Tyler prepare plates of sandwiches for the girls, and it feels normal as if this is something we do all the time. Maybe I could get used to this. My thoughts contradict the other because I am a walking contradiction. I say I don’t want Sydney when I do. I stopped talking to her even though I was dying to see her again.
“I was thinking about your problem,” Tyler says after he finishes arranging the plates in his hand. “If you can pinpoint when your game went to shit, then we can figure out what caused this mental block you’re having.”
Lifting the tray of drinks Kennedy had pre-made from the counter, I balance them in my hands along with two more plates of food. “I don’t see how we’re going to do that. I had no fucking clue when my game went downhill. It just happened over time, and nothing I have done to get it back has worked.”
Tyler turns his head to the side, thinking as we exit the kitchen. “How many saves did you have last season?”
“Not enough,” I grunt, annoyed with myself about how much my average has dropped.
“Look, I asked Liam to go through the tapes for us. We need to figure out when it started. You were killing it at the beginning of last season, and then it was as if you flipped a switch and haven’t been able to turn it back on.”
“You asked Liam to help with this?” I roll my eyes
at him as we walk down the hall. “I don’t know if I should be pissed or embarrassed.”
“He’s one of the good ones on our team and knows his shit. I don’t see anything wrong with asking him to go over film.”
Tyler is the leader of our team. And he’s good at it. Liam West is an alternate captain, right winger, and helps Tyler with getting the guys together. He has that same sense of authority as Tyler when it comes to calling the shots.
“Well, did he find anything?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. He just started looking this week.”
“You’re all about surprises lately,” I say in a condescending tone.
“We need you on point this year. I want to make the playoffs, and we need you to do it. You’re the backbone of this team.”
I laugh. “We both know that’s not true. If anyone is the backbone, it’s you. You’re the team captain.”
My game fucking sucks. But that has nothing to do with Sydney. I was already off before we had met. And the current season is no better.
After I set the drinks on the table along with the plates, Sydney gets up, takes a mimosa, and raises the champagne glass to her lips, staring at me the entire time. She drinks the whole thing in one big gulp, before slamming it down on the table. Without another thought, she takes another flute, this time, sipping from it.
We haven’t spoken a single word, but her eyes do the talking for her. I wonder if mine do the same. A moment of silence passes between us. Studying her every movement, I watch as she finishes off another champagne drink, as if she’s chugging beers at the bar on a Friday night.
I want to reach out and touch her, slip my fingers into her hair and pull her closer. But I hate myself for feeling connected to someone like Sydney. We are so similar yet so different that I have no idea how we could make a relationship work.
My life has order, where Sydney’s seems to have nothing but chaos. She’s like a tornado. You never know how much damage Sydney will cause and when she will strike again. Just when I had thought we were getting somewhere, moving in the right direction, she had switched back to digging for information.
To lessen the tension and to give me something to do other than stare at her like an idiot, I pick up a tiny sandwich and bite into it. Two bites are all it takes to eat this ridiculous excuse for a sandwich. At this rate, I will need to eat the entire plate to fill up.
Sydney strolls over to the couch and plops down, crosses her legs, and then peeks up at me. “Are you going to stand there and stare at me, big guy, or keep me company?” Patting the cushion next to her, she kills me with one look.
Kennedy laughs so hard she snorts. She’s getting a kick out of Sydney’s behavior. Is there ever a moment where Sydney is not in control? When she came to my house the other day, she sounded so sad and unlike herself. Now, she’s back to her usual persona. I wonder if it’s all an act. Like how I have to put on a happy face and smile, even when I feel the darkness creeping up, choking me from the inside.
With a loud sigh, I sit next to Sydney, doing my best to pretend I don’t want this, except I do. I want her with every inch of my being. Just our closeness is giving me a semi.
“Why the long face?” Sydney asks me, stroking my chin with her fingers.
Her touch goes straight to my balls. I should have taken control when we had first met, instead of allowing her to dominate the situation. I played her games, all of which gave me a never-ending case of blue balls.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Princess.” I take her hand from my face, pull it down to my lap, and rub her skin.
Why do I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach every time Sydney is near?
