“I’m no mind reader, but the man looks like he wants you, not someone else,” Irsia says, breaking into my silent spiral.
“I’m a mess. We agreed this would only be temporary.”
“You’renota mess. And, before you argue with me, know this. That man there? He has women knocking on the plexiglass begging for a chance to get their backs blown out by him daily.”
Acid churns in my stomach at Irsia’s words, jealousy leaving a bitter coating within my mouth. Her expression gentles as she shifts in her seat, twisting her torso to face me. She reaches out to hold my hand in both of hers.
“Even then, Aloo, I’ve witnessed him call you every single night the team’s been on the road, preferring to watch one of your reality TV shows while you chat over the phone instead of going out to pick up other women. So maybe think about how the two of you have been behaving instead of what you agreed upon months ago. You might realize things have changed.”
Amidst the noise of the arena, Irsia’s words arrest me. I’ve been so careful to not let myself believe Cal and I could turn into something more. But if Irsia sees it too, then maybe. . .
Wishes I’d hidden away for fear of heartbreak push through to the surface, drawing a desperate breath of air. I slink into my seat with the realization that I’m in more trouble than I bargained for. The kind I don’t want to find a solution for. Not when that trouble is embodied by a six-foot-plus sports god who makes me feel like I am the only woman who matters.
My cautious mind would’ve chalked this feeling up to great sex, but Cal hasn’t gotten sex out of our deal. Still, he shows up for me in every way I need him to, never pressuring me to give more than I’m comfortable with.
My gaze sweeps across the rink to where he’s exchanging words with his team as they break their huddle and get into position. His eyes flicker to me and away so quickly that, if I hadn’t been studying him, I’d have never noticed. His lips settle into a curve I’ve gotten familiar with and I hold in an audible sigh at how mesmerizing that expression is.
My heart skips a beat, catching me off guard. This is how it started.
I’d spied on him from the deck at Block on Wood because of his smile. It resuscitated a dull, greying heart and infused it with color. And that same smile now barrels me down with a truth I have no way of ignoring.
I’m falling in love with Callum Finnigan.
Like vines creeping up the side of a torn house, covering its broken walls with lush greenery, Cal has slowly filled in the cracks in my life that once felt like gaping chasms.
Maybe I was never meant for casual flings. Maybe this is yet another mistake.
But this one, I refuse to regret.
It’s laughable how terribly my plan has fallen apart. I’d promised myself I would take what I needed from this arrangement and, whenever it was time to let go, I’d wish him well and leave. I’d keep his memories buried within the vault of my desires, never chaining him when he was meant to fly.
I observe jersey #23 zip down the ice with an ease that parallels how stealthily he’s made a home within my heart. And I know there’s no denying it.
I’m his.
43
ALIA
“What?”
I know it’s not the most eloquent response to being offered an opportunity with the potential to turn my life around, but I’m in far too much shock to rephrase it with the more polite ‘Excuse me?’
I’m certain I misheard my old coach offer me the position of assistant coach for the Indian women’s cricket team.
Sitting on my desk, staring at the screen where Coach Rodriguez and Neeta Singh, midfielder when we played together and now newly appointed captain, pitch the job to me, I’m struggling to keep up. The current assistant coach is expected to go on an extended maternity leave in a few months and I, apparently, am the preferred candidate to replace her.
“I know you don’t have formal coaching training,” Coach explains. “We’ll work with the board to get you certified on a fast-trackprogram with special consideration based on your history. That’s why I got you to review those tapes for me. Every recommendation you’ve made, I’ve implemented with an eighty-seven percent success rate.”
I nod on autopilot, still dumbfounded by Coach’s words. I was being tested without knowing it and somehow have come out on top. It’s been so long since I’ve faced success—not failure—my body has forgotten how to generate the appropriate response of joy and excitement. Instead, I’m numb.
A tinny sound echoes between my eardrums as I try to rein in my expressions. I’m still waiting for one of them to burst out laughing and admit this is all some elaborate prank.
They don’t.
Neeta looks earnest as she speaks next.
“I’ve played with you, Alia, and I remember what a keen eye you had for form and position. You always knew how to tweak a play just right to make an impact. My batting average improved when you helped work my swings. I want the new girls to learn from you.”