Offside

“Yeah, actually,” I said, “I do.”

I walked faster, leaving her behind pretty quickly. I took a few shots on the goal—not my position, but every once in a while you have to branch out, and there was no one else outside to kick a few at me. It was only misting, so at least I wasn’t soaking wet when I went back into the school, changed, and headed to biology with my hair still dripping from my shower.

As I walked down the hall, my mind flashed through my interactions with Rumplestiltskye from the previous day. I couldn’t help but smile to myself; she had been so ticked off at me, and it was seriously fucking cute. When I entered the classroom about ten minutes late, she glared at me before I even sat down. Bucher didn’t even bother saying anything to me; he just went on with his lecture.

“Hey there,” I said, shifting my desk forward and into the aisle a bit to make sure I could look right into her face. It was hot today despite the misting, and she was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a V-neck. I quite liked the deep blue on her, which was fucking hot against her pale skin and brought out the color in her eyes.

She only gave me a slight nod in response and kept her eyes up front. I watched her as she stared at Bucher, taking copious notes as he rambled on. I kicked the side of her leg under her desk, and she glared at me.

“So sorry,” I said with a wink. She rolled her eyes and went back to trying to ignore me. I reached out and bumped her arm, causing her to smudge her notes, and then shrugged apologetically when her eyes shot a handful of daggers at me. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and glared at her paper. I tapped her arm again, and she shifted her whole body so it was angled away and continued her note-taking.

I reached over and swiped her pen.

“Hey!” she snapped under her breath. “Give me that!”

“You didn’t say please,” I whispered, holding the pen out of her reach.

“Give me my pen,” she snarled. I smirked.

“Come to practice,” I said.

“What?”

“You come to my soccer practice after school today, and I’ll give you your pen back.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’ll come, then?”

“No!”

I twirled the pen around in my fingers. Bucher stared over at our table, and I could hear Rumple take a deep breath and sit very still until he looked away.

“Come to my practice,” I repeated.

“Are you going to give that back to me?”

“Are you coming?”

“Fine!”

“Fine,” I repeated and handed her the pen.

“Such an ass,” she mumbled.

I honestly didn’t think she would actually show up but was pleasantly surprised to see her sitting with Heather, Lisa, and a handful of other girls at the sidelines while we warmed up with some drills. After a while, Coach Wagner put me in goal to do some PKs.

Fucking A.

My specialty.

Klosav came up first. He was too easy—always leaning in such an obvious way, contrary to the direction he would kick—it was easy to know which direction to jump. I caught it without much effort. Clint was next and not a lot harder. Jeremy was a little more difficult and would try to fake me out. The thing was, he always faked out in the same way, so I knew the direction he would kick based on the tension in his leading thigh.

Out of twenty-seven PKs, I missed three.

“All right—hit the showers and get out of here!” Wagner yelled. I ran over to the sides and grabbed a water bottle. I looked up at the bleachers and saw Rumple still sitting there. She had her arms crossed and was eyeing me though I wasn’t too sure about her expression. I walked up to her as Heather and Lisa stood up and started gushing over my saves.

“What did you think, Rumple?” I asked her, ignoring the other two.