“You will.”
She huffs.
“But if you don’t, you’ll be okay. A different door will open, a new opportunity. Probably one you can’t even fathom right now. Carla, if you want to play fútbol again, you will. There’s no doubt in mind.” I flip my chin toward the empty pitch. “All of this…it belongs to you. And you’re doing everything you can to prepare for the moment when opportunity knocks. Then, you’ll go out and you’ll take it. You’ll take everything.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“You do. You just need to find it again. But it’s in you; I’ve seen it.”
I drop her hand so I can lift my palm to her face. Her skin is smooth, like silk. I stroke my thumb over her cheekbone, tracing it. She leans into my touch, her eyes on mine. Her mouth parts and my gaze studies her lips. More than anything, I want to lean forward and press my mouth to hers. Kiss her recklessly.
But this is Carla. Alejandro’s sister. My friend.
And after the heart-to-heart we just shared, I can’t ruin it by making a move.
I pull in a breath and force myself to lower my hand. “Come on, campionessa. Let me walk you home.”
She stands beside me and bends to lift her bag.
I smack her hand away and shoulder it.
“You don’t have to take care of everyone, DiBlanco,” she murmurs.
“Yeah. But what if I want to take care of you?”
Her eyes widen but she doesn’t say anything and I’m relieved.
Blurring the lines with Carla is dangerous. And as much as I know I need to pull back, a part of me doesn’t want to.
11
Carla
My blood pressure skyrockets when my girls and I approach the field to see the boys’ team practicing. Sergio glances at me over his shoulder and smirks.
He’s pulling this bullshit rank crap. Again.
This week, he’s corrected me twice in front of my team, intentionally misunderstanding me so he could appear to know more. And then, he had the audacity to ask if I truly know the rules of fútbol.
“What are the boys doing here?” Alice wonders, squinting at the field.
“Yeah?” Julieta questions.
“They’re probably training for playoffs, same as us,” Maria points out.
And I’m sure she’s right. Both the girls’ and boys’ teams have advanced to the regional playoffs series. But I reserved the field for the girls to train at this time and Sergio is aware of that fact.
“It’s our time, Coach,” I holler out as I approach Sergio.
He snorts, glancing at his cleats before turning to me. “We’ll be done when we’re done, García.”
“You reserved yesterday; it’s my time now,” I remind him, keeping my expression neutral.
He shrugs, nonchalant. “Julio, square your chest!” he hollers to one of his players. Then, “We’re preparing for playoffs.”
“So are we.”
He gives me a wry look. “Come on, García. You must know that the boys winning a title trumps the girls. Oh, don’t get pissy about it. That’s always the way it’s been.”
