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I’d have to be more careful.
Shortly thereafter, Simon and the rest of the girls arrived. He was shouting his ‘hellos’ when he noticed me, and slowed to a standstill.
Anyone who wasn’t watching carefully would’ve missed the moment, but I’d been poised, waiting for it. His eyes, openly lustful, raked over my body. I could almost feel them inside me, and imagined other parts of him I’d like inside me.
While the other girls warmed up with some active stretching, Simon sauntered over to me, looking for all the world like a man who’d been starving in the desert and had just found water.
“Hey,” I said, playing it cool.
“Hey yourself.” He paused, and apparently unable to resist a comment, added, “I see you’ve ditched this morning’s sweatpants.”
“Thought I’d go for something… not covered in dirt.”
“Ah, fair enough,” he replied. “I like it.”
I stammered, “Thanks.”
Regardless of our talk this morning, I hadn’t expected him to be so… so… forward? No, it wasn’t even like he was being that forward. It was more as though an extra layer of meaning, like a thin layer of perfume, had been placed atop each sentence he spoke.
His eyes drank in one last look, and then he turned away.
Practice was hard — hard but good. Simon put us through more advanced testing, presumably trying to get a feel for the team. I admired that he wasn’t just going in blind and hoping for the best, but rather taking the time to see how we worked, and tailoring his coaching to that. The tests were on basic soccer stuff — passing, shooting, etc.
But then we got to the fun part.
He was trying to explicate what he wanted us to do at some point in the practice, and we all quickly realized we weren’t speaking the same language. Maybe they have different soccer terms in England? I don’t know, I kind of thought it was the universal constant. Anyways, there were some specific drills he wanted to do, and the team was confused.
So then Simon rolled his eyes, smiled and said, “Never mind, I’ll just show you.”
I know it was predictable, but I was one of those girls who just kind of goes weak when guys prove to be, like, talented. Not even strong, necessarily, but deft and skillful. Or was that every woman? Doesn’t matter.
He stripped off his thicker outer layers, revealing a thin T-shirt that rode up over his perfectly flat stomach that bore the faint traces of abs, which I knew from earlier he undoubtedly had. His tattooed biceps clenched and unclenched.
You could almost hear the drool running out of the girls’ mouths, and I was no exception. He moved the ball back and forth between his feet almost like a ballerina, so light he seemed to barely touch the ground. He executed a drill — one which we all knew, and had indeed called a different name — and then looked at us expectantly.
“It’s like this, I want it like this, understand?” he asked.
I knew how I wanted it.
Get your mind out of the gutter, I chided myself, then immediately discarded the thought, deciding I couldn’t be bothered to care. At least I wasn’t alone in admiring his ability, right?
“Do you understand, ladies?” he repeated.
“Oh yeah, we understand,” smirked Sophia.
Tanya added, “Yeah, you’re like some kind of soccer god.”
Simon laughed, loudly and freely. “Are you lot trying to kiss my ass in hopes that I’ll make this practice easier?”
I opened my mouth and his focus immediately shot to me.
“Yes, Catya?” he queried, as if there were no one else there. “Got something to say?”
“You are a soccer god,” I affirmed simply. “Total badass.”
He grinned. “Don’t you start, too.”
“Come on, Simon, just take the compliment,” I teased.
“Okay, from you… I’ll allow it, Captain.”
The moment between us had gone on for long enough. A second more, and the other girls would realize something was up.
Simon quickly changed subjects, shouting, “All right, back to work everyone!”
I practiced intensely, wanting to show him what I could do, and also, okay, to show him up a little.
We were paired together in rotating passing drills — he had to participate because there were an odd number of girls — and we worked together in perfect synchronicity, as if we’d been doing it for years. I didn’t even have to look in his direction to know where he’d send the ball. I felt his rhythm from pure instinct. I wondered what sex would be like, with him, with this physical familiarity and understanding.
Practice was, at last, a wrap. I was proud of my girls. They’d showed up in fine form today.
Simon called us in for a huddle.
“Great work today,” he said appreciatively. “Consider me formally impressed.”
They generally tried to be nonchalant, but I could see a couple of the other players smiling with self-satisfaction. We all respond well to positive feedback.
