“It took a few years to finish,” I tell her. I don’t know why I’m offering any of this information to her, but she and I have a weird comradery lately and if anything, it breaks the silence.
“Did it hurt?”
“Some parts did. Others, not as much.”
She angles her head to get a better view of the more hidden pieces. I turn my arm out, my forearm now up, allowing her to see all the pieces.
“Do they have meanings?” she asks with a heavy voice as if everything in the world revolves around this answer.
“Most of them do.” She looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate. I point to the angel and she leans in to get a closer look. “This is for my mom. She died when I was eighteen and this is my way of having her with me.” I don’t go into the details of my mom’s passing, but pity still clouds Bria’s eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” I flip my arm over, showing my outer arm. “The clock is a reminder of how little time we have; in life, in our careers, in all of it. It’s the newest addition I got.” With everything going on, with all the drama and my career hanging in the balance, I needed to be numb. Getting inked gives me an escape and the clock was the perfect metaphor.
Bria reaches out and runs her fingers over the ink that is slightly darker than the pieces around it. Her touch is soft, delicate and elicits a visceral reaction from me. I clear my throat to stop from groaning.
“What’s this one mean?” She leans in closer, her thumb brushing over the lion on my shoulder.
“Courage. Not being afraid to go after what I want, to be the top of the food chain, the best of the best. To do the things I’m scared to do.” I glance down. Her face is inches from mine. Her lips are parted and slightly chapped from breathing heavily during practice.
Fuck it. I lean in, ready to throw caution to the fucking wind and take what I goddamn want and what I know she wants too. Her eyes widen for a second, but she can’t fool me. Her pupils are dilated with desire and excitement.
I’m a breath away when her phone rings.
She scrambles away and digs the phone out of her bag. “It’s my boyfriend.”
I push off the ground to stand, giving her space. With an aggravated sigh, I run a hand through my hair. I walk to where the cones are from our game and clean up. I walk back to where all the equipment sits and put everything away. Bria hangs up the phone and watches me.
“You can go. See you tomorrow.” I dismiss her and she nods before grabbing her bag and heading to her car without another word.
I thought we were getting on some sort of stable ground, building at least a friendship, but I think everything that happened tonight tore any potential friendship to shit. I can’t be friends with her and watch her parade around with some douche who doesn’t deserve her.
I don’t normally listen to the gossip the girls on the team talk about, but sometimes it’s hard to ignore. This asshole cheated on her and she took him back. Doesn’t she know she deserves more than that?
First a dry season, and now I’m tempted to implement a no dating rule for the team. Relationships cause distractions and I need her focused.
But I can’t let my own jealousies cloud my judgment.
As for distractions, I spent my night balls deep in one and here I am turning into a hypocrite all for Bria fucking Campbell. I need to get her out of my head.
I grab my phone and consider who can be my distraction tonight.
Chapter Twelve
Bria
“Morgan, ball!” I run into the open space on the field, giving my teammate the space to pass to me. She does and as soon as I trap the ball with my instep, I spin and take off toward the goal. I pass to Lindsay when she’s open, and once I get around the last defender, she returns it to me.
It’s me and the goalie now and I psych her out, faking one way before taking the shot. She lunges right while the ball soars into the top left corner.
We’re up three to one as the ref blows the whistle, calling for halftime.
Endorphins are pumping through my veins as I jog in with the rest of my team. Paxton pats me on the back as I pass. I sit on the bench, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long swig.
“Great work out there ladies. Just because we’re winning doesn’t mean we can get lazy now. Keep it up, keep the defense tight and the offense strong and we’ll leave with the W,” Paxton urges us and we listen, enraptured. We all need and want this win. It’s our first match of the season and this game could set the precedent for the rest of the year.
“I’m going to stick with the two-four-four line-up. I don’t want them getting anywhere near our goal. Bria, you good?”
“Yes, Coach.” I didn’t get subbed out at all during the first half, but I don’t mind. The adrenaline pumping through my veins keeps me strong and all my extra conditioning has done wonders. I barely broke a sweat.
“Good. Sam, I’m going to put you up top with Bri. Lauren, you drop back with Morgan as our center-mids. The rest of you will stay in your normal positions.”
I want to object. I don’t know why he’s pushing Sam from outside left mid to my forward and taking Lindsay away from me. I work better with Linds; I know and trust her. I don’t trust Sam as far as I could throw her bony little ass.
Sam’s devilish grin makes my stomach drop, knowing damn well she’s not going to be a team player to help me out. I’ll have to do everything on my own and try to keep the ball away from her.
“Bria, come here for a sec.” Tatum, who was standing to the side behind Paxton, waves me away from the rest of the team.
I follow him, fixing my ponytail as I trail behind. Sam makes a comment under her breath, but lucky for her I don’t catch it.
As I pass by the stands, I hear my name being called. I glance up and see Ben standing by the railing, waving with a smile on his face. He flicks his head to the side, moving the floppy hair out of his eyes.
I wave back and he cups his hands around his mouth, yelling to me. “Great job. You look incredible.” He winks and my face heats, but I’m sure the blush is hidden under the redness produced from exertion.
Tatum stops and whips his head to see who I’m talking to. His jaw clenches and he snaps my name, forcing me to look at him.
“What the hell are you doing out there?” The venom in his tone is unexpected and I rear back.
“Um, winning the game? Kicking ass?” My hands find my hips and I stare at him, allowing irritation to color my face.
“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. You had two turnovers, almost costing us the lead. You’re trying to go through players instead of using the skills I taught you. I feel like I’m wasting my time with you after watching this game.”
He can’t be serious. “What game are you watching? I scored two of the three goals, and on the third, I had the assist. If by turnover you mean how number fifteen tripped me out there and didn’t get carded, then maybe we’re on the same page.”
“Oh, poor Bria. That’s the name of the game, sweetheart. You can’t be afraid to get a little physical out there. I didn’t see one play warranting a card.”
“Which team are you rooting for, exactly?”