August: Can we talk, just talk.
She never replied to any of it.
I throw the pen down in frustration. Rising, I walk to the large windows behind me. They are my favorite feature of the office. The only thing I told the architect that I needed was windows. I didn’t want to feel like I was trapped in a box for ten-plus hours a day. I wanted to have a view of the outside. And he delivered. I have a view of the practice facility so I can see the girls training while I work if I want to.
Sometimes I do watch them or track how long the practice is so that I can head out and talk to Coach Watts about upcoming commitments or ask how the team is looking. The latter is something I think he could punch me the face for every time I ask. Like he thinks I’m trying to undermine him or take over the team. Nothing could be further from the truth. I know nothing about soccer, but I have to ask. I’ve heard my dad ask all of his coaches that same thing. So, I do it too. Because regardless of how I feel about my father or how complicated our relationship is, I do respect him as a businessman. And deep down, I know I want him to be proud of me and the job I’ve done with this team.
Today, the same view is taunting me with visions of Hendrix Monroe. Thankfully, she’s easy to spot since the goalies always wear a different color, either in a game or during practice. She’s probably dripping with sweat in the hot Tampa sun. I want tohead out there and help her cool off… or find ways to make her even hotter.
Fuck.
I can’t keep having these thoughts. Sure, they were always there, but they never made it so hard for me to concentrate. But now that I’ve tasted her again, it’s harder for me to tear my eyes away from her.
I walk closer to the window, crossing my arms across my chest and casually leaning against the wall. There she is. The girl of my dreams. Standing down there chugging some water while Jase is talking to her. Her long brown hair is spilling down her back in a ponytail. She always wore her hair like that. I remember taking that ponytail, winding it around my hand and using it as leverage to pull her head back or to direct her to where I needed to. I smile remembering the good ol’ days of when I was able to kiss her and make love to her.
I wonder what her friends would say if they knew that she spent a night in my bed. Would they believe it? Would there be a string of ‘I told you so’s’ from them? I’ve always noticed the way that Mac studies us when we are verbally sparring with one another. I try to be a little extra guarded when Mac is around and I think she notices that. I wonder if that makes my attraction to Hendrix that much more obvious.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck, you need to focus.”
My intercom dings and I hear my assistant, Nancy, talking through the intercom. “Are you talking to me or yourself again, August?” There’s a bit of humor in her voice.
I chuckle along with her, “Sorry, Nancy, I’m just talking to me again.”
“Alright, let me know if you need me.”
“I will,” I promise.
I wasn’t thrilled with my dad picking an assistant for me. I’m professional enough not to hire what my dad called “bikini-clad bimbos.” But Nancy has worked out so well and she’s been such a great source of support for me. Almost like a substitute mother, since my own exited my life a young age. There’s nothing distracting about her, which is fine with me. She’s a tiny woman of barely five feet tall and always dresses professionally yet comfortably in short-sleeved tops and pants or long skirts. She’s the perfect non-distraction but also the perfect assistant who has been great at helping me keep the Blaze up and running. It doesn’t hurt that she has made more than one attempt to remind me that I’m doing a good job and that I should be proud of all I’m accomplishing here.
I sigh and glance back at the field. I can see that practice looks like it’s wrapping up. Most of the players have left the field, but I can still see Hendrix in her bright purple goalie jersey working with Jase. I decide to head down and see if I can get a minute of her time alone.
And if I can’t, I’ll just make up an excuse about the listing of interviews I have my desk. Make sure that Coach Watts received a similar list, or some bullshit like that to hopefully not reveal the real reason that I’m down there.
The sun is brutal on my back, so I roll my dress shirt sleeves up to my elbows, hoping that it’ll help keep me cool out here, even though I’m sure it’s not quite enough. I didn’t expect to be heading out to the practice field to see her, or I would have worn shorts and a T-shirt.
“Hey, August,” Coach Andie, our assistant Blaze coach, greets me as I make my way towards the field. “Did you need something?”
“Hey, Andie, I do. I’m hoping to grab Jase for a minute. We’ve got some outlets asking about meetings with him and Hendrix.” It’s a bit of a lie that comes out so easily. Sure, theoutlets want to talk to Hendrix but I’m sure I could add in Jase if I had to and no one would think anything of it.
“Oh, cool. I think he’s finishing up something with Hendrix before she does her stretches,” she says, turning to walk away. “Have a good night.”
“You too!” I call after her.
I stand underneath the awning that is off to the side of the field. The locker rooms are just beyond me and thankfully, the rest of the girls have already headed in. I can see that Jase has left the field and is walking toward the floor that leads to his office. I wait until the door closes behind him before I look back to where Hendrix is getting ready to stretch.
She’s out there alone.
I hate how much that thought thrills me.
She’s stretching on the turf, extending her arms out in front of her and grabbing her toes. She has always been so flexible. Hendrix isn’t a dainty girl by any means. She has muscle and curves all wrapped in a delicious sexy package for me. I think that’s why the women that I take home don’t even resemble her. Because if they did, her name might fall from my lips. Or I might not even be able to go through with it. Hendrix is the one that holds my heart. Even if in college people couldn’t believe that we were dating. They saw me with the tiny women that I now gravitate to.
But they were so wrong. She is perfect for me.
And if I’m being honest, those skinny twigs that I sometimes take home aren’t as much fun to play with. So frail and fragile and they never seem to have her flexibility. I always worry that driving into them as hard as my girl likes would snap them in half.
I decide that I’ve waiting long enough to hear her voice again and step out into the sun, onto the turf and head into her direction. Even though my steps are quiet, she sees me.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” She stands, crossing her arms across her chest.
