And it’s fun. The last time I really got to get into some fundamentals and teach was during the summer at the camps my old high school would put on for elementary kids. It’s a special kind of cool to see someone pick up a skill I showed them and watch how they get better and better.
In between drills, Vale, with his phone in hand, gets some short clips of me teaching him, telling me to act like a “real coach,” and posts them on his IG stories. And while a real coach might say to stop fooling around, I can’t tell him much because I’m the one who told him to grab his phone in the first place when hepointed to a spot near the middle of the pitch and started being like, “Bet you can’t kick a goal from all the way back there.”
And now there’s video proof that I can.
I get some of him too, and he watches each of them before posting to make sure I’m “not recording me fucking up for all my friends and family and followers to see.”
Being out here and fooling around is1000 percentbetter than staring at some page of a textbook. Maybe especially so because when Vale’s in his bent knee stance in front of me, I can’t help but get a view of his ass that could be described as perfect. Maybe.
“Nah, don’t use the tip of your foot,” I call out to Vale, watching him dribble. At least, if he asks, that’s what I’m doing. Solely focusing on this new career of his as a rookie footballer. Taking my role as coach seriously. For sure not being constantly distracted because his cheeks are justright therebeing hugged by his shorts in a way that makes me wish I was fabric. “Only use the inside and outside.”
“It feels weird.”
“That’s why you practice until it doesn’t. Trust me, your feet and toes will thank you the sooner you get out of that habit. You don’t want to end up with fucked-up feet.”
He smiles while concentrating on the ball on the ground and his footwork. “You talk like I’m about to join a team.”
“Maybe you will,” I tell him with my own smirk. “And then when you’re the team MVP, you can thank me.”
“I’ll make sure to mention you in my acceptance speech. Gabi Piña, hater of caves and philosophy. Incredibly above-average kisser. The GOAT of all goalkeepers.”
It takes a second to let my mind reboot after that kisser drop. But then I’m good and all, “Y tu futbolista favorita.”
That smile comes up and right to me. Only me. And, shit, so many parts of my body go all fluttery when he says, “The only futbolista who will ever have my heart.”
I smile back, squatting down to grab the ball, looking for anything to distract me and get me back into focus. “Alright. Let’s do some more.”
Vale honestly isn’t bad. Promising, even. After getting confident with dribbles, I start playing some defense on him, trying to steal the ball and upping the stakes, just minimally. I’m not trying too hard with it. I can feel him tensing up at first, being forgetful and bordering on sloppy on the passes between feet and dribbling, focusing too hard on where my feet are instead of his own.
“You’re okay,” I tell him, offering encouragement even as I try to work against him. “You know what you’re doing. Just think.”
And, gradually, I see him breathing. Every time he messes up and we start again, some of that confidence comes back. He’s remembering what I taught him. He’s realizing that, hey, we’re Mexican. This sport is in our DNA.
An hour, hour and a half, and soon we’re two hours in, agility cones forgotten and fully into some one-on-one football. He’s surprisingly fast on the switch-up now that he’s getting the hang of it. Swear, if he’d started just four, five years ago, he could’ve been a solid forward. Truly scary on a pitch. Vale catches me close to a steal and,wham, he’s kicking the ball a few yards away. A quick shared look and breathy smiles and we’re off, rushing for it, laughing and yelling and our hands are coming out, trying to keep each other away. My foot’s reaching for it, I feel the ball touch my cleat, and then—
Bam!Vale’s body runs into mine, our arms reaching for something to stay stable, feet trying their best to keep us up. And then feet not doing a great job at keeping us up. Not even a second later, my back’s hitting the ground as I let out anoofand then a groan when Vale lands on top of me.
It’s quiet for a moment, my eyes taking in the clouds and sky straight up above me before I’m asking, “You good?” I can feel his breathing, so I at least know he’s alive.
“Yeah,” Vale says. “Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself in time.”
When I pick up my head, his face is only inches away from mine. He’s lying on top of me, skin pressing on skin, his hand resting on my sweaty shoulder.
“It’s fine.” I let my head fall back to the ground. Not as uncomfortable as I’d have assumed. “Could use a breather anyway.”
“You’re going to have grass and dirt all over your back.”
“Then you’re going to have to wipe me down when I get up for that messy foul,” I tell him, laughing through the words. I close my eyes so I’m not getting too much direct sunlight. “And here I was thinking maybe you should actually try out for the team.”
He laughs back, and I can feel every movement of his body as he does. “I think I’m better in the stands. But I’ve got a pretty good coach.” And then, even without looking, I can feel his hand slowly coming to my face, his middle finger gently tracing the small scar on my nose I forget is there most days. The thought quickly comes and goes of how easy it’d be to kiss his palm right now.
“Soccer injury?” Vale asks, bringing me out of my head as I feel his fingertip leave my nose.
“Yeah. What happens when my hands aren’t quick enough,” I tell him. The memory of that day, a ball breaking my nose, quickly replays in my mind.
“Did they end up scoring on you?”
A smirk comes across my face when I tell him, “Nope.”
