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“I did.” Lottie grinned. “So when do we do it again?”
“Never,” she and Jamie said at the same time. They looked at each other and both started laughing.
Seven
Jamie lay on the couch, Didier’s football in his hands. He tossed it up, caught it, and then did it again, trying to harness his thoughts. Yesterday had been a revelation on several counts, and he wasn’t sure what to tackle first: his future, Erik, or Rachel?
Erik. Erik was where all this started, after all.
He heard Didier enter the room, bringing with him the wafting scent of Moroccan coffee. Jamie turned his head as Didier set down a cup for him on the table.
In the several days they’d been in Chicago, they’d gone everywhere there were girls. They’d even walked through the outer edge of the university campus. They’d drawn plenty of attention, and several girls had stopped to flirt with them, but Erik always turned to stone once they approached.
This was a bigger problem than meeting a nice girl.
Jamie had seen himself that players who communicated better, with management as well as media, were more successful despite their level of skill or talent. If Erik couldn’t express himself, he was going to be taken advantage of or simply be cut.
That bothered him.
Watching him, Didier sat on the wide chair to the left, his cup cradled in his hand. “Do you have it figured out yet?”
“Not yet.” He threw the ball in the air and caught it again.
“There is more with Erik than appears.”
“That was apparent when he showed up with that haircut,” Jamie said in a wry tone. “Do you think that was a conscious sabotaging? Or is he unconscious about it? Trying to protect himself from failure by creating an excuse.”
Didier made a noncommittal sound that was particularly French. “Does it matter if it’s conscious or not? The result is the same.”
“Last night I watched some media clips online, to see how he handled himself in his interviews.”
“Bonne idée.” Didier hummed. “Et?”
“He needs training in communication, in general.” He shook his head. “I should have thought to check that before we started trying to find him a girl.”
“Bof.” Didier stretched his legs. “So we teach him how to talk to girls. This will be easy.”
Jamie caught the ball and turned to look at the Frenchman. “You think so?”
Didier shrugged. “It’s training. Here, you are the coach. You assess his skill and see where he needs work, and you teach him what he lacks. It is simple.”
“We need to prepare Erik better before trying again, for his own sake.” Watching the train wreck that was Erik trying to talk to a girl was painful. Heartbreaking too, because he knew how great the kid was underneath his situational awkwardness.
“Exactement.” Didier gave him a frank look. “Erik is not the only thing bothering you. You think aboutla belle dameand how you feel about her.”
He didn’t bother to pretend that he didn’t know that Didier was talking about Rachel. “I was just offered three more years in Turin.”
His friend nodded. “Oui.”
“I can’t see her living there, and she’s not the sort of woman who has a holiday romance.” He frowned, tossing the ball in the air. “And, truth be told, I don’t want that.”
“You want more,” his friend summarized.
He twisted to look Didier in the eye. “That’s mad, isn’t it? Her life is here, and I can’t see a path to anything beyond the rest of the time we’re going to be here. There’s a lot of uncertainty.”
Didier shrugged in his Gallic way. “When is anything certain? On the field, you run until an opening presents itself. There is only certainty when the ball is in the net. Why would love be any different?”
He frowned. “You think so?”
