And I looked.
Of course it was the ass-gobbler I’d just been talking about.
Subconsciously, I started to reach back and make sure my hair was tucked up neatly beneath my headband, but I stopped before I got there. Poop. Plus, what did it matter if my hair was messed up? It shouldn’t.
I cleared my throat when he stopped a yard or so away from me and our eyes met. His eye color was clearer that I’d thought it would be. It was a perfect mix of a honey-brown with a fitting blend of murky green. Bright, sharp and incredibly, unbelievably observant from the weight of the stare it was capable of.
Holy bejesus he was tall. His forearms were big beneath the sky blue training polo he had on. Then I glanced back up at his eyes to see them still locked on me. He was watching me check him out.
Fuck.
Poop, Sal. Poop.
Pee. Stop it. Stopitrightnow.
You dragged him out of a bar and into a hotel room without a single thank you in return. Not even a smile. All you got out of it was a threat.
And suddenly with that, I felt fine.
I swallowed and smiled my sugar-sweet asshole smile, using the only half of my face capable of moving. “Hi,” I said before adding quickly, “Coach.”
That heavy gaze flicked down to the number printed on my chest for a moment before moving its way back up to look at my face. The blink he did was slow and lazy.
I tipped my chin up and blinked right back at him, forcing a smug and closed-mouth smile on my face.
The elevator dinged open as he said in a low tone which sounded like it cost him ten years off his life to use on such a lowly faithless creature like myself, “Hello.”
We looked each other right in the eye for a split second before I raised my eyebrows up and headed inside the small space. I turned to face the doors and watched him follow in after me, taking the spot against the corner furthest away.
Did he say anything else? No.
Did I? No.
I kept my eyes forward, and lived through the most awkward thirty seconds of my life.
* * *
The problem with men, or males in general, that I’d discovered over the course of my life, was that they had huge mouths. I mean a whale shark has nothing on the average man with a couple of friends. Honestly.
But you know, it was my fault. Really, it was. I should have known better.
My dad, brother and his friends had taught me the reality behind male friendships and yet I’d forgotten everything that I’d learned.
So I couldn’t blame anyone else but myself for trusting Gardner.
Already more than halfway through that morning’s practice, I had just finished my own one-on-one game against a defender. I went to take my place away from where the sessions were happening, and I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about what I could have done differently to get the ball into the goal quicker when someone stepped right in the middle of my path.
It was a simple side-step that landed the body bigger than mine just a foot away.
I knew it wasn’t Gardner. Gardner had been on the other side of the field when I’d been playing, and there were only three other men on staff it could have been. Except two of them were too nice to do something so confrontational.
The German. It was the damn king of jerk-offs. Of course it was.
The instant I made eye-to-eye contact with him, I knew.
I knew Gardner was a caring, overly blunt bastard who had mentioned my name to the German.
My heart felt like it started to pound in my throat.
He didn’t have to say ‘I know what you said’ because the passive look on his face said it all. If he’d stood through me ranting about my dad without making a face, then I knew whatever it was he’d heard had hit a nerve. A person like him didn’t appreciate being criticized because he already thought he was perfect, hello.
It wasn’t like I’d called him a worthless piece of retired Euro-trash—which was horribly rude. Or said he was an awful player and that he didn’t deserve the job. Nothing remotely similar to that had come out of my mouth, but I put myself into his situation, thought of myself having an ego ten times the size of the one I currently had and asked myself how I’d feel.
I’d feel pretty damn pissed if some kid started saying what I needed to do differently.
But it was the truth, and I’d stand by it. I hadn’t called him Führer or a dick or anything. What was I going to do? Apologize to someone who didn’t deserve it? Nope.
I did what I needed to do. I stayed right where I’d stopped when he first got in my way, and I wrangled my heart into not beating so fast. Calm down, calm down, calm down. Poop. Pee. Poop, poop.