Treading Water, page 4
I glance up, immediately ensnared by crystal green eyes. Fallon’s lips curl and then he winks before turning to look down at the rest of the pool. My cheeks flush, knowing that wink was for me, and only me. It warms me through and through; I bounce on the bottom of the pool excitedly.
Chapter Eight
Sage
Turning the page of my history textbook, I groan when I still don’t find the answer I’m looking for. I rub a hand down my face and slam the book closed. I always try to finish as much work as I can before the afternoon bus comes on Wednesdays. It’s the day my mom takes the car, and Val stays at after-school care till I can get there.
But today I’m exhausted, hell week has been as the boys said–quite literally hell. And I just want to go home and rest, not work on school till I have to ride the disgusting bus. Sometimes I walk, but I can’t fathom that when I’m barely able to remain sitting.
“You okay, Peters?”
His deep voice startles me as I peek through my fingers on my face. I still when I see the perfect male specimen who haunts my thoughts and dreams. I sit up straighter, hissing at the aches of my body as I do, and then nod.
“Yup! Just fine,” I say meekly.
Fallon looks around before turning back to me. “You always do coursework on the side of the road?”
I grimace. “I’m waiting for the bus. I don’t have the car today.”
“You take the bus home?”
My cheeks flush at his innocent question, but he sounds perplexed, and it embarrasses me somehow. “Just on Wednesdays.”
He sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants before nodding over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
And as if he’s offering me a different ride, my sex pulses, and I clench my thighs together. There’s something wrong with me, I should go to the doctor with the way my body responds to this man.
I clear my mind of the dirty thoughts and shake my head. “It’s okay. This is my usual routine.”
“Then I’ll take you home every Wednesday. There’s no point in you waiting out here for hours when I can take you.”
“It’s really only like one hour.”
“Do you argue with me because you enjoy it or is it an instant compulsion?” he asks, his green eyes narrowing in annoyance.
I wrinkle my nose. There’s the reminder of how much of a jerk Fallon Harris can be. But I don’t comment further when I consider how his offer actually sounds like heaven. I just don’t want him to do anything nice for me because it seems like it will come back to bite me in the ass.
Shoving the textbook into my backpack, I stand up on shaky legs. He grabs the bag from me with an amused smirk.
“Sore?”
Ignoring his comment with a glower, I slowly walk behind him as he leads me to a gray truck. Fallon pulls open the passenger door, waiting for me as I climb in with the grace of a newborn foal. He tosses my backpack at my feet and shuts the door before moving to the other side. The truck smells like him, and I inhale sharply, like an addict wanting a quick hit, before he opens the driver's side.
“Hungry?”
Now that I’m here in the car with him, it feels more intimate than my coach just driving me home. I feel like an idiot for feeling that way; he’s just being kind. He would offer to any of the girls, considering he’s basically responsible for all of us. Like a parent is for a kid.
I go to tell him to just take me home, but his eyebrows are raised like he expects me to argue about it. So I settle into the seat with crossed arms. “I could eat.”
“Excellent because I’m starving, and I can only eat at the campus cafes so many times, you know?” he chuckles, like I should get the joke.
Flashing a fake smile, I shrug. “Haven’t had a chance to try, but Emily never complains.”
He hums. “I guess the sandwiches aren’t bad.”
“Can’t go wrong with a sandwich,” I agree, my stomach aching with how awkward this entire conversation is.
I always thought I would ask him a million questions if I could meet Fallon Harris in person. Ask him how he twisted his wrist perfectly nearly every time to skip shots behind his back. Ask him how it felt to play in the Olympics, was it different from college? Was it better when he was sixteen or twenty-eight? But now, after spending multiple days a week with him for the past few weeks, some of the shine has worn off. He’s just a normal, annoying man like the rest of them.
Fallon clears his throat, and I glance out the windshield, barely noticing he’s pulling into the burger place that a lot of my classmates rave about. “You okay with this?”
“I don’t have any money. My bus pass is pre-loaded,” I say quickly because I forgot to think about how I was going to pay for my meal when I agreed to come.
He flinches as if I’ve insulted him. “You think I don’t pay for a lady’s meal when I take her out?”
My blush can’t be stopped at the hint of a date and his eyes widen.
“I meant, like in a you’re my player and I’m your coach kind of take you out way.” He stumbles, the waver in his tone adding to the awkwardness between us.
I bite my lip to stop from laughing at him and shake my head. “I wasn’t thinking of any other way.”
He grimaces and climbs out of the truck. I get out slowly, trying not to limp as I follow him into the diner.
“Need a hand?” he asks, the humor lacing his voice making me narrow my eyes. I flip him off as he snickers and holds the door open for me to walk through. My heart flutters at the gesture. It’s common courtesy, but it reminds me of something a boyfriend would do. And it doesn’t help that Fallon is incredibly handsome. Off-limits, but hot nonetheless.
He leads me to a booth in the corner and I slide in as he sits across from me. Fallon grabs the menus from the end of the table and hands me one.
“Have you been here before?” he asks, glancing over the options.
I shake my head, my mouth watering over the variety of burgers. It’s been a while since I had a good one. “I don’t get out much.”
“Really? They say college is supposed to be your wild years.”
I look up to see the small twitch of a smile on his lips, and I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant and not remember that he thinks I only came here to party.
“Like I said, I don’t get out much.”
He hums, closing the menu as I return my attention back to mine. I can feel his gaze as I look it over, my cheeks burning hotter the longer it goes on. By the time the waitress comes and takes our order, sweat is gathering at the back of my neck from his intense stare.
When she disappears to put in our order, it leaves us alone and with nothing between us to focus on. I take the napkin around the rolled silverware and pull it out, fidgeting as I slowly straighten to put it over my lap.
Fallon watches me curiously, and I finally look up.
“What?”
His eyebrows raise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use paper napkins for their lap in a burger joint.”
My tongue tingles and grows heavy with embarrassment. I clear my throat.
“It’s a habit from when I was young.”
“You were a proper toddler with good manners?”
I snort, covering my mouth as it slips out. I look away from him as I shake my head. “Uh no. Far from it actually. I used to wipe my fingers on my clothes while I was eating. I guess it was like a compulsion or something. My mom taught me to put a napkin there, so I would stop getting my clothes dirty.”
My heart warms as he smiles genuinely. It brightens his face, and he reaches out to unfold his own napkin. “Well, if Mama Peters insists. Who are we to judge?”
I scrunch my nose. “You, apparently. You’re the first person to ever point it out.”
Fallon adjusts the silverware on the table. “I’m an observant person.”
“Or maybe everyone else was just too polite to say anything.”
His gaze clashes with mine, the heated amusement from earlier returning, and I twist my fingers together in my lap.
“Maybe, but I bet they were thinking it,” he says.
“I don’t think people sit there and wonder about other people’s dining etiquette. It must be a you thing.”
The laugh that rumbles from the back of his throat is soft but deep. Chills stir in my belly, and I squeeze my thighs to stop the odd feeling.
The waitress drops off our drinks, and I grab my soda like I’m dying from thirst, gulping it down as I fiddle with the straw. I need to steer the conversation away from myself.
“So, do you think we’re ready for the start of the season?”
Fallon blinks, considering my question seriously. “It’s hard to gauge without seeing how you girls play. Individually, you all have grown tremendously, but this isn’t an individual sport. And the majority of our players are new and haven't played together yet. So we’ll see.”
“So you think we’ll fail,” I say, a small bit of defeat hollowing my tone.
His head jerks back. “When did I say that?”
“In between the lines.”
“Sage, do I seem like the type of person who doesn’t say what I mean?”
I can feel the flush climbing up my neck, knowing he’s right, and I’ve let my own insecurities draw the conclusion. “Sorry.”
There’s a tense silence before the waitress drops off our food, and we both give our burgers more attention than each other. This is how I imagine going out with your coach would be like if you didn’t have a crush on him. The awkward looking around at other patrons as you eat, neither one knowing what to say to start a conversation. At one point, I say how good my burger is, and Fallon only acknowledges it with a small nod. So I give up, accepting I’ve ruined the mood.
He waits till I’ve finished every bite before standing and moving to the register up front to pay. I follow behind him silently, only muttering a quick thank you as he holds open the door. As soon as we’re back in the truck, he finally speaks for the first time in twenty minutes.
“Which way?”
I tell him the cross streets and turn to watch out the window.
“You can turn on some music if you like,” he says, breaking the momentary silence as we leave the parking lot.
Looking at his middle console, which is just a giant screen, I don’t want to embarrass myself by trying to figure that out.
I shake my head. “It’s okay. You can put it on if you want.”
He sighs, his knuckles flexing on the steering wheel.
I cross my arms, annoyed that he seems annoyed with me. “I’m not being difficult. I just don’t care if we listen to music or not.”
“I didn’t say you were being difficult.”
“Your sigh basically implied it.”
Fallon chuckles humorlessly. “You just took it that way. You are awfully defensive any time we talk.”
My mouth falls open and I turn to stare at him. “Because you’re always insulting me.”
He glances at me, his eyebrows pulled together and goes back to the road. “I’ve never insulted you, Sage.”
It’s my turn to laugh now.
“You basically thought I was coming here to only party, you thought my ego was so massive that I was above the entire team, you implied that luck has gotten me as far as I am, you thought I was flirting–” I say listing everything on my fingers before he interrupts me.
“Peters, it’s a bit of tough love. Have you ever had a coach care about the intentions of their players? Making sure they’re taking it seriously?” he asks.
I huff, offended that he’s implying the same thing again and the fact that he’s reverting to using my last name. “I accepted an athletic scholarship. I feel like that tells you enough.”
“A lot of athletes take scholarships and lose them from fucking around.”
“Is this about coming to Slater Hills again? Why does everyone care so much? Don’t list it as a suitable option then.”
Fallon shakes his head. “Because everyone is watching you. They have been for years. They’re looking for that little bit extra that puts you over everyone else. Do you think I chose Slater Hills randomly as a place to coach in my retirement?”
I pale, my hands shaking as I point at the driveway to pull into the apartment complex. Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I push open the door.
“Sorry to be such a disappointment then,” I say before slamming it shut and hurrying up the stairs, my body screaming at me for pushing it so hard. I have to get away from him. I never stopped to think about why he had chosen my school out of all schools to coach. I had just been excited to learn from him. For him to hint that it’s somehow connected to me; my mind hurts trying to figure out the reason why.
Chapter Nine
Sage
The crumpled five-dollar bill is burning a hole in my pocket as Val holds my hand on the way to the corner convenience store. I can’t turn back now, even if I want to. Bringing my little sister has committed me to the job.
So why do I feel like an absolute fool? The fact that Fallon made a comment about coming here to coach me has added fuel to my crush.
And that stupid crush isn’t allowing me to forget that tomorrow is his thirty-first birthday. It’s saying I can do this one thing as a peace offering for freaking out in his truck the other day.
I don’t have a lot of money to spend, but I know I can afford one thing. His favorite candy.
“Can I get a soda too?” Val asks.
I shake my head. “No, one candy. That’s what I promised you to not tell Mom, remember?”
She pouts. “What if I want a soda instead?”
Pulling open the door, I guide her inside. “If you want a soda instead of candy, that’s fine. It’s one or the other.”
Val smiles wide, that missing tooth front and center, before taking off to the refrigerated section along the side. I watch her in the mirrors hung above the back wall as I head to the candy aisle.
The bright yellow box isn’t hard to miss and I snatch it, my heart pounding in my chest that I’m going to do this. It feels silly to get him candy for his birthday. But I didn’t know that much else about him, other than what I’ve read in interviews, and knowing his birthday feels personal enough.
Val comes sprinting over holding up an orange Fanta bottle.
I grimace. “Have you had that before? You don’t even like oranges.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “I like oranges.”
“Since when?”
“Since always,” she says, tapping her foot against the tiled floor with a slight stomp.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. You better drink it all.”
She follows me to the counter, bouncing on her toes excitedly as I pay for our stuff. Her hold on her bottle doesn’t lessen as we walk home and some of my previous embarrassment melts away. Even if he doesn’t appreciate the thought, at least my sister enjoyed our little trip for her soda.
When we get back to the apartment, I pull out her crafting supplies box, planning to make a small card. Val watches me, confused.
“What are you doing?”
I pause, debating on telling her the truth. Even if she tells Mom, there’s no harm in it. “Making a card.”
“For what?”
“Someone’s birthday.”
Her eyes light up.
“Can I help?” she asks, her soda long forgotten on the counter as she crowds me at the table.
I snatch the paper she had grabbed, and hand her a separate piece. “How about you make one yourself? Two birthday cards are better than one.”
“Yay!” Val immediately sets upon the paper with a savageness that would have concerned me if I actually planned on giving it to someone. But that is going straight to the trash as soon as I get to campus.
I fold the light blue paper in half before grabbing a yellow piece and cutting out a near-perfect circle. I use one of her black markers to draw lines and smile at my impromptu water polo ball. Using the sequined glue stick, I attach it to the front and use the marker to write Happy Birthday on the front with big bold letters.
Opening it, I pause, unsure what to write.
“Can I open the glitter?”
My head snaps to the tube already in her hand, grabbing it from her. “No glitter. Last time it took weeks for it to wash out of your hair.”
She frowns. “I wasn’t going to put it in my hair.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can’t chance it,” I say, stuffing the glitter in the box. I hand her a stack of stickers, pointing at a sheet of gold foil hearts. “Add these instead. Just as sparkly.”
I turn back to my paper, suddenly nauseous at writing anything. I know if I don't hurry up, I’m going to scrap this idea altogether.
Cringing with every word, I quickly write:
Everyone needs their favorite candy on their birthday, even if they’re nasty.
I leave off my name and grab the box of Lemonheads. Folding it over the box, I use a small white string to tie the card and candy together. I get up and stuff the gift into my athletic bag, not wanting to look at it for the rest of the night. The deed is done, and I’ll take care of it in the morning. I’m not going to let money go to waste.
“Sage! I’m done! Is it pretty?” Val asks, running from the kitchen to show me. The white paper is unrecognizable with the amount of markers, crayons, and stickers added to it.
I smile. “Beautiful. My friend will love it. Thank you.”
She watches as I tuck it in my bag, and then I have her help me clean up the craft box on the table. The birthday cards are out of her mind by the time she grabs her soda and settles in front of the TV as I cook her dinner.
Chapter Ten
Sage
“Starters are listed. Rest and be ready to start our season strong. Have a good weekend, girls,” Coach Amber says with a comforting grin. Fallon nods at us before walking to his office.
We all stand still for a tense second before rushing to the wall closest to the locker room. Emily hooks her elbow into mine, pushing a few of the older girls out of the way and dragging me to the front. Her wet finger taps at the paper as she screams and jumps.
