After emerging from the kitchen looking like I bumped into a tornado, it’s going to be very hard to deny that I am in some kind of entanglement with them.
But a relationship?
No way. Nah. Never.
Chapter Seven
Banks
* * *
I’m not one hundred percent focused on practice. Closer to forty.
That much is obvious when I find my players breakdancing in the middle of the pitch when they’re supposed to be running a long passing drill. I fumble my whistle slightly on the way to putting it in my mouth, my clumsiness unusual. I issue the two, shrill staccato blows that my team is well acquainted with. It means I’m not happy.
“If you’ve got so much energy,” I shout across the freshly manicured grass. “You’ll have no problem running stadiums. Last man back runs it a third time.”
Another blow of the whistle cuts through their groans, but they waste no time sprinting off toward the stands, running up and down each row of stairs in a haphazard line. Truthfully, it’s not their fault I can’t concentrate enough to run a decent practice session today.
It’s her fault. Elise’s. Theirs, too.
Might as well get used to Gabe and Tobias. They are clearly as invested as I am.
And Jesus, I am very invested. It’s Saturday. Tonight is the mayor’s reelection gala. I’m attending as a designated fifth wheel. I should be exasperated or humiliated by my willingness to attend a date Elise is having with someone else, yet I find myself checking the time on my phone every eight minutes, approximately. Anxiously waiting to see her again.
My players hit their second round of stadiums, drawing my eye to the stands. Normally, the steep collection of royal blue seats is something I avoid. When I emerge from the locker room at the beginning of a match, I peruse the family section to determine who is there. After that, I refuse to glance at the crowd, whether they are cheering, sitting in silence or jeering the referee. There is no one there for me. I don’t need to be reminded of that when I’m trying to focus on winning the match.
“You got something on your mind today, coach?” says my assistant, approaching from midfield to where I stand on the sidelines. “You worried about playing without Vankman on Tuesday?”
“Yes and no,” I say curtly, embarrassed to have been caught staring into space. “I think Parnell will fill in nicely, but we still need to work on his attack. He’s offloading the ball too soon. I’d rather him take contact then pass into a crowd.”
“I’ll stay after practice and work with him for a while.”
“Good. Thank you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, observing me. “Normally, you would offer to stay as well. You have somewhere else to be?”
Yes. Watching the woman I can’t stop obsessing about go on a date with someone else.
I clear my throat hard. “Just meeting a friend.”
“Sure.”
I stare balefully into his bright smile.
Chuckling, he begins to walk away, but stops and comes back almost immediately. “Sorry, I forgot. There’s something I need to ask you.” He hesitates, my odd mood clearly throwing him off balance. Usually there is an easy camaraderie between me and Pete, but it’s difficult to be in an affable mood when I have Elise on my mind…and no idea if there’s a way to keep her. It figures that I’ve found someone who engages me mentally, physically, emotionally and she’s anti-relationship, whether it’s with one man or fucking three. In a way, it serves me right for living the first thirty-two years of my life as a sworn bachelor.
“I’m sorry for being distracted,” I say to Pete, watching as the players return to the field and collapse into the grass to recover. “What’s up?”
He hesitates, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Our ticket rep called. He wants to know if you still want to leave that ticket at the box office? Same way you do every game?”
A hole forms in my stomach, but I don’t let the sudden blow to my midsection show on my face. Do I want to keep setting myself up for rejection? “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Pete says easily. But I can interpret his expression. It’s pity.
How much longer will I continue to leave a match day ticket for my mother, before I realize she’s never going to show up? At this point, it’s beginning to become pathetic. How many voicemails have I left, asking her to come sit in the designated family box? How many times have I looked into the stands, hoping that just once, there will be someone here for me?