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I felt things for Catya, serious things. But with all this anger and guilt raging in my head, I thought maybe this wasn’t destined to work, and maybe I’d have known this earlier if I’d followed all the signs the universe sent us — our age gap, my job and immigration status, her scholarship and position as team leader. Our stars kept telling us not to do it, but we decided to cross them anyways.
This game had seemed like such a slam dunk, pardon my mixing of sports, but now? Now I wasn’t so sure. The team was strong, but neither Catya nor I would be doing our best work, and who knows what that would mean in terms of the entire group.
Sighing, I laid back in bed, determined to catch what little sleep I could.
I dreamt of nothing but her.
Chapter 24
Catya
Had my head even touched the pillow? It didn’t seem like it.
Because when the alarm rang at six, I had barely even begun to dream. I’d fallen asleep quickly, exhausted from the rigorous sex, but three hours wasn’t enough time to entire one REM cycle, let alone several. My joints ache, my eyes burned with dryness and the fucking alarm was blaring in my ears.
“Rise and shine!” Sharon-Ann squealed, obviously well rested. Damn her.
The other three skipped out of bed, excited about the day ahead. I pulled the covers to my chin and tried to mentally fortify myself.
Riri turned to me and asked, “Hey, when did you get back last night? I must’ve fallen asleep really fast.”
Grace eyed me but said nothing, and I replied, “A little later than I expected. I ended up having to go out of the hotel to find tampons.”
“In your bathrobe?” Sharon-Ann asked incredulously.
Grace’s gaze was beginning to bother me, so I looked at my hands, crumpled around the bedsheets, and just said, “Yep.”
Sharon-Ann and Riri both dropped the subject, no longer interested. Grace just shook her head and said nothing. I knew she was probably more disappointed than anything, but her face was all anger.
I managed to get myself out of bed, get dressed and go downstairs with the rest of the girls. While we ate breakfast from the hotel’s continental buffet, I kept my head on a swivel, waiting for Simon to show up. He didn’t, for the entirety of the meal. The team talked about the upcoming game, not seeming to notice his absence. I stayed silent.
Breakfast wasn’t sitting well with me. Nothing was. I could feel the lack of sleep like a punch to the gut. I drank more coffee than I’d once thought humanly possible, and it did zero.
When Simon did at last show up, he looked terrible. Well, as terrible as he can look, anyways. There were deep, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, he was covered in two-day stubble, and his hair was growing like wild weeds. I wanted to curse him for still managing to look hot despite all those adjectives. He stole a glance in my direction, and then quickly concentrated on something else.
Listen, it takes two to tango. I was angrier at myself than him last night. I should’ve been watching the clock too, it wasn’t just his responsibility. My annoyance most definitely appeared to be directed at him, though, and for that I was sorry. However, at the moment, I was too tired to work myself up for any kind of apology. After all, shouldn’t he shoulder a little bit of the blame, him being my coach and all?
That’s no way to think, I said to myself. Either he’s your lover or he’s your coach. One man can’t be both.
Ugh, this was too much to consider right now. It was a big problem on a good day, and thus far, today was not a good day.
We finished breakfast, and boarded the bus. This time, I sat all the way in the back, leaving Simon alone in the front. I wasn’t ready to talk, emotionally or physically.
The stadium came up around the bend before I knew it — possibly because I fell asleep during the ride there. The team disembarked, and I realized I was unsteady on my legs. It was going to take everything in my power just to stay upright.
I’ll skip ahead to the interesting stuff. Or, more precisely, the horrible, awful, really very bad stuff.
The game began. It was instantly clear to all present that I was sucking, and hard. I missed every pass in my direction, I shot passes to the wrong people, hell, I even kicked the ball in the opposite direction. My teammates were looking at me like a demon had possessed my body, and I was beginning to wonder if they were right. From the sidelines, Simon was looking visibly distraught, as though my every misstep were a dagger to his heart.
