Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,28

a twitch of his lips, he grabbed my toothbrush, sauntered toward me, then stopped. My breath stalled in my lungs as he held it out to me.

“Be ready in five.”

I nodded dumbly as I took it from his hands then stupidly called after his retreating back, “Thanks for the dinosaur!”

He stopped walking, shook his head, and then kept going.

When I turned to look in the mirror, my face was flushed like I’d just run drills for five hours, and my hand shook as I tried to put toothpaste on the bristles.

And when I looked back in the mirror.

I smiled.

Thanks for the dinosaur?

Good one, Parker. Good one.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Matt yelled as I ran another lap then hit the cones, dribbling between them before hitting the ball in his direction in order to score.

“Just.” I sucked in a breath. “Imagining.” Make it through the cones, and last one, break out. “Strangling you.” Aim. Kick. Goal! “In your sleep!”

“Again.” He grinned, tossing me the ball.

“See?” I went through that same drill another ten times, until he had every move in my arsenal memorized, meaning basically no more goals on my end and more running instead.

He blew his whistle.

“Oh, thank God.” I bent over and tried to suck in air while I watched his cleats walk past me as he grabbed a few more balls. “Wait, what are you doing? We’ve been at this for three hours.”

“One-on-one,” he answered.

I held in my groan and made my way over to him, my legs wobbly and tired, so sore and heavy I wanted to take a long nap on the cool green turf. Instead, I had five balls in front of me and an evil coach with a red whistle that I was going to flush down the toilet later.

Sweat dripped down my face, and I wiped my eyes with my sleeves.

“Got a little something right here.” He pointed at the sweat on my chin.

I gave him a middle finger.

“Ah, that’s the spirit,” he chuckled. “Alright, beat me and you can go home.”

“Wait, that’s it? I just have to beat you?”

“You’re warm, I’m not.”

“You played pro. I’m trying to get in.” I bent over and examined the goal, his posture, the way he looked at me, and down at the balls. “You’re calculating.”

“You’re studying me.” He grinned. “Won’t make it easier.”

“Injury,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Which knee was it?”

“Not telling.” He kicked the ball to me, and I stopped it with my foot. “Besides, I knew I couldn’t cut it, not like the other guys. Some of us have it, others are better on the sidelines.”

“I’ve got it,” I said confidently.

“Then show me.” His gaze was unwavering. I’d never actually had a coach challenge me. I was their star player, and they just wanted points up on the board. They wanted to fill the stadium’s seats.

And I did that, did it and more.

And all it got me was panic attacks, bad memories, and kicked out of my favorite sport.

“Hey.” Matt clapped his hands twice. “Focus or I’m pulling out the whistle again.”

I growled, which only made him laugh.

I dribbled left, right, through his feet, and thought I was home free until he kicked the ball from behind me, tangling me up in his legs and sending me slamming down to the ground. He stuck out a hand to help me up. “Four more left.”

“What happens after four?”

He smirked. “You don’t want to know.”

Shit!

I dribbled toward him this time, aggressively going to the left before I faked right and kicked. I missed the goal, but at least he didn’t steal the ball from me this time.

“Three,” he said like I couldn’t count.

I hesitated and watched his face as I started the third run toward him, and when I faked, I went back to the same side. This time he caught me, and I slammed into his chest, taking us both to the ground.

Sweat dripped from my chin onto his. I grinned and touched the place it splashed. “Got a little something right here.”

“Smart-ass.” He didn’t move. “Two balls left.”

“You’ll let me know the feeling of only having one, right?” I looked down just as he shoved me off him then stood and begrudgingly helped me to my feet.

“I could do a hell of a lot with one, trust me.”

I gasped.

“One soccer ball,” he clarified, hitting me with his shoulder as he walked past and took his stance.

I rolled my eyes and chased after him, then stared at the ball, then