Once I go over my bio and answer questions about life as a Battle goalie, Emmathanksme. She unclips the mic and Istand.
"Is that it?"I ask, surprised at howquickthis was.
Charliescribbles something on a clipboard and hands it to Benji.“Fortonight. We’ll take photos of youtomorrowin uniform, both pre- and post-game. Of course, we’re always getting on-fieldaction during thegame.”
“Okay."
"I'llwalkyou out."Charlieputs a hand on the small of my back and leads me back through the maze of desks. Heholdsthe door open for me and follows me to the elevator bank.
"Are you excited about thegame?"heasks.
"Nervous might be a better description,"I reply."I'm afraid of letting theteamdown.Tishaleaves behind big shoes to fill."
Hemoveshis arm to myshouldersand squeezes, enveloping me in his familiar woodsy scent."You're going to be great. You're a rock star out there andCoachArkhady wouldn't have selected you to take Tisha's place if she didn't believe in you."
"Thankyou,"I say, giving him a grateful smile."It's nice to hear it."
"It happens to be true."He releases me and punches the down button for the elevators."Listen, a few of us are meetingfor happy hour at Poe's. Let off some steam before the bigstartof theseasontomorrow. You should join us. Unless you have plans?"
"I don't, but,"I wrinkle my nose,"Coachwantsus tucked in earlytonightso we're not wasted for thegame."
"Showtime is noontomorrow, right? I promise to have you in bed before ten."
His eyes glint with mischief and hisgazeonce again wanders over my body. Am I imagining it, or did his voice get deeper? A little shiver skittered up my spine. He's always been playful and a little flirty; it's who he is. This is different, and I'm not sure why. Probably because I have Tisha's suggestion about getting laid running through my head.
"I'll think about it,"I finally respond. The bell chimes as the car arrives, and I hurry on as soon as the doors open, eager to move out of his orbit.
"I'll keep an eye out for you."Heholdsmygaze, his dimples deepening as his smile grows wider just before the doorsclose,leavingmealone–and inexplicably edgy.
Three
Palmer
I entertainthe thought of going out for the length of the ride to the lobby. Once there, reality sets in. I have no business going out to abarthe night before agame. Some of myteammatesare going out to "blow off steam," likeCharlie said, but they're hitting up a club and those who aren't are spending the evening with their families or significant others. I didn't want to go dancing, and I no longer had a significant other, which left a quiet night at home in my apartment, going overgamefilm or—more likely—binge watching the latestseasonof Reacher. The last thing I want to do is go out and having to pretend everything is okay. Other thanTisha, no one in the organization knows aboutBrennanandRania, and Iplanto keep it that way. No one cares about or needs to know the sordid details of my pathetic love life. A pang of loneliness shoots through mychestas I unlock the door and enter the silent apartment.
It's a swanky place. One bedroom, one-and-a-half bath, in the tony Roland Park neighborhood ofBaltimore, with a private garage and pool. The stainless steel appliances were all new and the ensuite bathroom boasts a soaking tub, which my aching muscles love. I'd rather live closer to the stadium or nearer myteammates, but my parents insisted, andBrennanwas all too eager to take them up on their offer to cover first and last month's rent when we moved in. I considered moving when the lease is up in thefall, but I'd reallymissthe tub.
WhenBrennanmoved out, he left behind the furniture but also empty bookshelves and cabinets, and voids on the wall where art once hung. I haven't gotten around to replacing anything he took, so after five months, the place looks only half-lived in. Maybe it's time I restock the bookshelves and buy new sets of dishes. It'd been our apartment for so long, but it’s time I make itmineandminealone.
Idropmy bag by the bedroom door and toe off my sneakers, then collapse onto the double bed we'd once shared. I stare up at the painting hanging above the headboard, a sensual abstract piece by Cameron Blake, the major league ballplayer-turned-artist of a woman emerging from a daisy. It had cost a small fortune, one of the few times I indulged myself and refused to give in to Brennan's derision of my taste.
It's quiet, except for the occasional horn and the low bass thrum from my neighbor's radio. Too quiet. I turn my face into my pillow and stare at the empty side of the bed. The sheets are cool totouch, a feature I usually appreciate. Other than during my time in Philly, when I didn't have time or inclination todate, this is the longest I've been without a steadyboyfriendsince high school. I didn't have many relationships, but each one, includingBrennan,was a serious relationship.
There was Barry, my freshman-yearboyfriend. He was a junior and tutored me in statistics and probability the first semester. We had our firstdateafter finals, and by the end of the year, I'd moved my things into his off-campus apartment. Things were great until he came back from SpringBreakwith a pierced ear and a sorority girl named Darby.
Next came Alexei, the right wing for our school's hockeyteam. I spent all of junior year and thestartof senior year walking on clouds as his girl. Right until I walked in on him taking ashoton the five-hole with his roommate's girlfriend. His roommate, Ignacio, and I trauma bonded over the situation, and by May, when I was drafted to play for Philadelphia after graduation, I was already planning my wedding to Ig around theseason. Instead of proposing to me, however, he eloped with said former girlfriend.
Then there'sBrennan. Another three years wasted because I'm so stupid with my heart. What do I have toshowfor it? This aching loneliness and a cold bed. I pound the mattress, disgusted with myself, and scoop up my phone to textTisha.
Me
I figured out my problem. I need a fling.
Tisha
Yeahhh... that's what I told you
Me
