10

 

Five minutes later, the practice facility comes into view. As I pull into an empty space and put the car in park, I scope out the area. Windhaven University is an epicenter for all things sports, so the large number of student athletes doing their thing around the complex comes as no surprise. Luckily, I spot an unoccupied soccer goal and the two of us quickly claim the territory.

We bring our stuff over—Sydney with her plethora of supplies and me with nothing but a water bottle and my normal, neutral-colored goalie gloves I suddenly have a newfound appreciation for.

"Time to get down to business!" She grabs a soccer ball and starts doing toe-taps on it. "What should we warm up with? PKs? Free kicks? Far-range shots?"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down, crazy girl," I instruct. "Hit the brakes for a sec. We're not jumping into the deep end right off the bat."

She rolls the ball up her foot and starts juggling. "Why not?"

"'Cause I said so."

A snort escapes her. "Bossy much?"

"Never claimed I wasn't."

I give her a teasing wink and those dark-blue eyes roll.

"Okay, boss. What's the master plan?"

"The plan is we're gonna get rid of this." I reach forward, grabbing the ball in mid-air before tucking it under my arm. "And we're just gonna chat for a little bit."

"Chat?"She makes no effort to hide her skepticism. "That's your great scheme to solve my problem? A conversation?"

"Yup. That's what we're gonna start with. And it's gonna help more than you think." The reassurance in my tone doesn't seem to ease her doubts, so I tilt my head and ask, "You trust me, right?"

"Do I have any other choice? Teach me your wise ways, great sensei," she quips before a serious look is cast over her features. "I trust you."

"Good answer." I point at the ground. "Now pop a squat."

She takes a seat on the short grass and I follow suit. Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my knees and start talking.

"Alright, first things first. Let's go over your game play. I've been to both of your university matches this year."

"Saw you in the stands both times," she confirms.

"I also got my hands on some film from your high school days, and—"

"What? You did?"

"Yeah?" I cock my head, confused at her shocked tone. "No need to look so damn surprised, Syd. I said I was gonna help you out, didn't I?"

She nods.

"That means I did my research to see exactly what I'm working with here." I raise a quizzical brow. "What? You think I'm all talk and no action?"

"Apparently not." A tiny smile appears on her face before her forehead creases. "How did you get the film?"

"That part was kinda difficult, actually," I admit. "Had to pull some strings and drop a few names to get what I wanted. The dude who sent me the clips made sure I wasn't some creepy stalker trying to get the footage for God knows what."

Sydney clicks her tongue. "Well, that guy needs to be fired because he definitely made the wrong judgment call. Isn't he aware you have a police record for stealing ladies' underwear from department stores?!"

"Oh shit. She's got jokes."

I grin as she emits a bubbly laugh.

"So what's the verdict?" she asks. "What's the conclusion from your thorough and oh-so-dedicated research on me?"

"Most obvious thing? You definitely didn't have this accuracy issue in high school." Short snippets of teenage Sydney placing the ball into the back of the net with impressive precision play through my mind. "It's new, right?"

"As of this summer, yep."

"About the time you got a spot on Windhaven?"

"Pretty much." Her reply is punctuated with a heavy sigh. "It's been a major problem since I showed up for July training."

I give a slow, calculated nod. "Yeah, that's what I figured. That's good news, though, because it's for sure not a skill issue."

"What do you mean?"

"Vaughn told me about your scholarship dilemma. No fucking way this isn't related to that. You're overthinking everything, putting way too much pressure on yourself," I explain. "It's a sports psychology type of deal. More common than you think."

"I see where you're coming from, but I don't know..." She shakes her head, short ponytail swinging back and forth in disagreement. "I love pressure, Cam. I live for pressure."

Her passionate insistence has me lifting both hands in innocence. "Hey, I'm not questioning that."

Yeah...not questioning that for half a second.

If she's anything like her sibling, she freaking revelsin the spotlight and the abundance of high expectations that come with it.

"But maybe this is a different kind of pressure," I offer. "One you haven't experienced before. It's no longer about gaining something like a prestigious title or recognition or shit like that. Now you've got something major to lose."

"A spot on the team," she mumbles as her brow furrows.

"Exactly. And that could be what's tripping you up."

She places a closed fist under her chin as she squints at me. "It is always on the back of my mind...an annoying little chirp stressing me out at all hours of the day."

"See?" I nudge her cleat with my own. "It's affecting your game more than you think."

"Okay. Let's say that's the case. What's the solution?"

"Easy. All you need to do is relax. Chill out." I shrug. "Simple as that."

"Chill out?" With a playful smirk, she pulls out another soccer ball from behind her back, tosses it in the air, and begins to head it repeatedly. "What's that?"

I reach over, snatching the ball once again as I give her an amused look. "Well, I'll tell you what it's not—a phrase in your vocabulary."

"Hey!" She laughs and makes a futile attempt to grab the sphere from my grip. I palm it in my right hand, holding it far above her reach before she finally relents. "I'm just messing around. Of course I know how to chill out!"

"Do you?" An incredulous note weaves its way through my question. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"I'll have you know I took a yoga class with Rayne's mom this past June and I totally relaxed. Zoned-out and aligned my chakras and all that good stuff."

A sardonic grunt rumbles in my chest. "Yeah, Syd. I'm sure that one hour of serenity three months ago really changed everything. Gave you a whole new 'zen' perspective on life."

"Fineee," she concedes. "So maybe sitting still and clearing my mind aren't in my realm of talents, but I still don't understand how those would help anyway. What am I supposed to do? Meditate in the middle of the match?"

"Not advisable."

She grins. "I didn't think so. Any other suggestions?"

"Well, what you probably need to do is..." I pause for a sec, scratching my chin before I try again. "I'm thinking the best way to tackle this would be..."

My words trail off.

I'm drawing a total blank here.

Sydney leans forward, eyes wide in anticipation of my promised solution, but I need more intel.

"You know what? You were right," I announce suddenly. "Sitting here talking about this is only gonna get us so far. I've seen you play from a bird's eye view plenty of times. I think it's time for some on-the-field observation."

"Told you so." Her face breaks into a smug smile as she leaps from the ground. "Let's do this."

As I stand, I gesture to the loose blue laces on her left cleat. "Tie your shoe first. I don't need you breaking an ankle under my watch."

"Yes, sir," she mocks as she tightens the cobalt-colored strings.

With goalie gloves situated and shoelaces properly snug, we take our positions. I slap my mitts together and bounce on the balls of my feet to get loose as Sydney does a quad stretch near mid-field.

After we're both ready to roll, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out to her.

"I need this to be as authentic as possible, yeah? Come at me like it's a real match. Game's on the line, scoring is a must. Can you do that?"

"Yep." She nods twice. "Make-or-break situation. Got it."

I point towards the faded white border marking off the 18-yard box. "Shoot once you cross the line."

Before I can shout 'Go!', she's already racing down the field a million miles per hour. The ball moves easily between her scuffed cleats, almost like a dance. It's a type of fluid movement only seen in someone who's been playing the game since childhood.

I watch as she dribbles across the green grass, a smile tugging at my lips.

There's no denying it—Sydney's got speed, skill, and a hint of signature Steel swagger that can't be taught.

With her superstar talent on full display, I'm wondering what the hell could be the problem here, but the answer to that comes swiftly. The moment she hits the edge of the box and lifts her head, the issue is crystal clear.

The girl's face is an open book.

Not just any ol' book, either. I'm talking a large-print, can read the pages from a block away type of novel.

I see every thought and worry that crosses her mind, each one bold,underlined, and italicized. Anxiety and nervous energy buzz in the air, her vision bouncing left to right as she decides where to place the shot.

And I know exactly where she's gonna place it.

Before she even plants her foot on the ground, I'm moving to my right, palms up and prepared to make the save.

As expected, the shot falls straight into my outstretched hands a beat later.

"Urghh!"The disgruntled brunette gives me a pitiful pout. "That looked way too easy for you."

I lift a shoulder, not about to argue the fact. "It was."

"Shit."

"Like taking candy from a baby."

Her head lolls back in defeat. "Salt in the wound, Cam!"

I release a loud laugh. "Sorry. Okay, this is gonna sound weird as hell, but you have the most expressive face I've ever seen. Like, in my entirelife. Someone could film an extreme close up shot of you reacting to shit for an hour and it'd be more entertaining than a damn soap opera."

Her frustration melts into a knowing sigh. "I get that a lot, actually. Poker's not my game. I think I hold a lot of tension in my lips or jaw or something?"

"Nah," I say. "It's your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"Yeah, for sure. They're glass windows to your freaking soul."

On cue, my gaze latches on to hers. The unrelenting sun shines bright on her face, causing her pupils to constrict into minuscule black specks. The vast array of blue hues in her irises seem to spiral in a slow rhythm, like some type of optical illusion. And when she blinks those deep indigo pools at me all innocent and shit, I can't look away. It's like I'm under a goddamn spell, unable to break the eye contact no matter how hard I try.

Somehow I find my voice, though it's noticeably raspier than usual. "They're just so damn big and blue and—"

Beautiful.

Whoa.

The word comes close to spilling past my lips. Dangerously close.

I immediately snap my mouth shut because seriously?

Where the fuck did that come from?

Curiosity flits across Sydney's face at my abrupt pause. "And what?"

I clear my throat, finally snapping out of the strange-as-shit daze.

"I was just gonna say they're really fucking expressive is all." The casual cover-up seems to work and I continue. "I'd tell you to squeeze those things shut, but I'm pretty positive that won't help you hit your target. You gotta learn to school your features. Control your thoughts. It's gonna take practice. A lot of practice."

She wipes the sweat from her forehead. "Then it's a good thing we've got all morning, huh?"

We set up again, but her next attempt ends with an identical conclusion to the first.

And the one after that? Same thing.

By the fourth try, she's getting fired up, blazing waves of anger and determination emanating off her body.

"Time to get serious," she mumbles to herself.

In one swift movement, she peels her t-shirt off, revealing a pink sports bra and her toned abdomen.

This girl is not a fan of clothing.

She tosses the top over her shoulder with disregard, completely oblivious to every dude at the facility who's staring, jaws dropped at her hot as fuck physique.

Me included.

I manage to tear my eyes away from her perky tits and hard nipples visible beneath the thin fabric. Staring up into the clouds, I try to talk down the semi I'm sporting.

She's your best friend's little sister.

She's the chick version of Vaughn.

Don't look at her like that.

But shit.

Why does she have to be so fucking gorgeous?

This might be a problem...

Syd's still unaware of the lingering male gazes and strategic crotch adjustments; she's all business as she tightens her ponytail and exhales. She claps twice, then motions for the soccer ball.

"Again."