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“Hey.” She glances up. “How were drinks with the guys?” She beams like a proud mom, asking me that.
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
I strip, then head into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I return to the bedroom, she’s closed her laptop.
“Really? It was fun?”
“Yeah.” I climb into bed, tucking one arm behind my head.
Sophia leans over to kiss me, then wrinkles her nose. “You smell like perfume.”
“Must be Fritz’s.”
She snorts. “He has expensive taste.”
“He did pick the bar. Cost me twenty euro for the beer he recommended.”
A scoff this time. But nothing else. No teasing mention of my salary.
I roll my head to the side, staring at her profile. “Yes, there were women there. Yes, they were wearing perfume. But I didn’t touch a single one of them. Didn’t even talk to them. That’s nothing you ever have to worry about.”
She’s still staring at the ceiling, instead of me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’m glad you’re settling in with the team more.”
“Sophia, just say what you’re really thinking.”
She exhales. “You’re only signed for one season. You only want to stay for one season. And I just…selfishly, I’m hoping that’ll change.”
I knew this conversation was coming, and I’ve been dreading it.
“I don’t have complete control over my contract,” I tell her. “There’s still a lot of the season left. Whether Kluvberg wants to keep me…whether another team wants to sign me…there’s a little I have a say in and a lot that I don’t.”
“I know.”
“When I told you returning to the US was my first choice—that was before us. This isn’t temporary to me. But…it’s a discussion we’ll need to have, once I know what the options are. Until I retire, there will be unknowns about where I play.”
“I know,” she repeats.
She knows, but I’m not sure if she’s okay with it. She told me she doesn’t like change, that permanence is one of the things that drew her to photography.
“I wouldn’t just pick up and leave.” Like I did to come here. My contract was the one thing holding me to Seattle. I’m more tightly tied to Germany than I ever imagined being, all because of her. “Sophia.”
Finally, she looks at me. The uncertainty on her face stalls the breath in my chest. I never want her looking like that when she’s focused on me. I want her to see me as solid and safe, not shaky.
“You, uh, you like it, right?” she asks. “The sex?”
I blink, stunned. I thought we were discussing my complicated soccer career. The change in topic throws me, the shift in subject to sex even more unexpected. “What?”
“I know you…come, but is there other stuff you’re wanting to do? Like, I don’t know…but if you did know, would you tell me? Stuff you used to do or like to do or…something?”
I blink again. Say, “What?” again.
She sighs. “Never mind.”
I sit up. “What are you talking about?”
