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“Was it hard for you to play after your parents passed away?”
I feel his hands pause in my hair for a beat before they move again and embarrassment shoots through me.
“Sorry,” I mumble, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He finishes the end of the braid and ties it off before replying. “You aren’t.” He tells me, “And no, not really. Football is how I honor them, it’s when I play that I feel closest to them. It’s more of a struggle to find ways to keep their memory alive off the field.”
“Like the library?” I ask, remembering that the grand opening is this saturday.
“Yeah, they were both avid readers and my family has been coming to RCA for generations, so it made a lot of sense. I’m struggling to find other ways though.”
“Be patient. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, you know. You have a whole life ahead of you to honor them.”
“You’re right.” He says, thoughtfully. “What about you? Are you hoping to go pro?”
I scoff at that. “It’s a much more limited field for women, both in terms of opportunity and pay. I love soccer and I want it to be a part of my future, but after college it’ll likely take a backseat to whatever career I choose.”
“What would you want to do?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. Definitely some youth coaching on the side to help train the next generation of girls. I also love animals, so maybe training to be a vet?” My eyes shine with excitement as I continue talking, “Ooh, or open a cat cafe! That’d be so fun.”
He laughs raucously as he stands, the sound tickling my ears. “I didn’t take you for a crazy cat lady.”
I grab the hand he has outstretched towards me and let myself be brought to my feet. “Crazy? Yes. Cat lady? One day.”
His answering smile is so wide, it turns his eyes to mere slits and sends butterflies swarming in my stomach.
He has a thousand different smiles and every one of them has a unique use, a unique meaning. I find myself picking them apart, analyzing what he’s trying to convey with each one.
Right now, he smiles at me with such affection it takes my breath away. His hand reaches out as the back of his fingers trace up my jaw and curl around a loose strand of hair.
“I missed a piece.” He muses.
He brings it up to his nose and sniffs, the inhale coming from deep within him. His eyes close softly as he takes in the smell.
I’m transfixed in front of him.
Finally, his eyes open up. They’ve darkened to such a shade they appear almost black.
“Fuck, you smell so fucking good. It was torture having my hands on you and not being able to do anything about it.”
“It’s– it’s a perfume I bought here actually.”
“It’s not the perfume,” He grunts, “It’s you.”
I blush furiously, both caught off guard and pleased by his compliment. “Don’t worry about the hair,” I tell him, reaching into my dresser for another headband, “You did a great job. I have a headband to keep the inevitable loose strands tucked.” I put it on and pretend to pose for him. “How do I look?”
He takes his time before he answers, his eyes picking my face, my hair, my body apart. It’s excruciating to stand there and not move when the tension pulls between us.
When my body begs me to just take a step towards him.
I know that’s all the sign he’d need to pounce.
“You look perfect.” He eventually says.
I smile at him before looking away, shy all of a sudden. “Thank you.”
He closes the gap between us and reaches out to tip my chin so I meet his eyes.
