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“In school I was studying.” Erik fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. “I was kind of smart.”
That was obvious in all the books Erik had in his room, but there was something more here. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I started university at fifteen, and then I started playing football right after I graduated. I went from studying all the time to having practice all the time.”
“You had no girls in school?” Didier asked. “It is a shame.”
“The girls at university didn’t talk to me because I was younger. Besides, I didn’t have time,” Erik explained. “I was in a special program they were testing, to earn my undergrad and advanced degree in the same period of time.”
“What was your degree in?” Jamie asked.
“Biology and chemistry.” Erik shrugged. “I dabbled in astrophysics as well.”
He and Didier exchanged another look. In other words, the kid was a fucking genius.
At least he was in academics. In life—particularly with women—it was clear he was going to need some tutoring.
Most footballers Erik’s age had no finesse when it came to women since they were used to getting all the action they wanted without the work. At least Erik didn’t have that attitude working against him, because having a relationship was different than a hookup. This would just be a matter of training him to connect with the opposite sex.
Jamie knew exactly how to take care of that: speed dating. It’d be a good way to dip Erik’s toes in, and Jamie could see exactly what he was working with.
It’d also give him a chance to see the siren again, to figure out how what he wanted to do about their attraction. Win-win.
He leaned in. “We’re coming back here on Sunday. There’s a speed dating event.” At their blank looks, he said, “Where you chat with every woman in timed intervals.”
Didier set his arm on the bar, shaking his head. “It sounds barbaric. This must be something American.”
“It’s like drills,” Erik said, sitting up taller. “I can do that. What are the rules?”
“The rules don’t matter,” Jamie pointed out. “What matters is your game and how you choose to play it. We play it to win.”
“In that case.” Didier raised his glass. “Cherchez la femme!”
“I don’t know what that means,” Erik said, clinking his glass to theirs.
“It means you’re going to get what you want.” Jamie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And we’re going to make sure you get it.”
Four
It didn’t matter what time he went to sleep—Jamie always woke up early.
Today, it was particularly early. He glanced at his mobile as he rolled out of bed. Not even five o’clock. He wanted to blame it on jet lag, but he knew the real culprit of his restless sleep.
The siren.
He’d dreamt about her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamt about a woman.
Lacing his fingers, he reached up and elongated, bending to either side. In the dream, she’d been standing in front of him. She wore a white flowy dress that rippled. Her hair was up except for that one curl. He’d needed to touch it, but each time he reached for her, she slipped further away.
He didn’t need the team psychiatrist to decipher that one.
He began his routine of morning stretches and then sat down to do his breathing exercises. Usually they cleared his head, helping him focus on whatever needed his attention. It helped him come up with answers. Today he planned on fixing his intention on the offer Brad brought to the table and whether he wanted to accept it.
Except with every breath, instead of feeling out whether or not he wanted to play another three years—or more—of football, he just saw his siren’s naughty lips and Victorian curl. He had to ask himself if he was using her as a distraction.
In his gut, the answer was clear. A woman like her wasn’t a distraction; she was the main event.
When he finished his morning routine, he picked up his mobile. He had a few texts from his teammates. They were the typical messages, asking his opinion on a range of things from dating to professional advice. He quickly answered them, suggesting in one case that he might follow up with the team psychiatrist since Jamie was out of town.
