My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

“See what?”

“You.” He dips his face and lowers his voice. “In bed.”

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what he’s doing or trying to do. I don’t know why he’s saying these things.

The most bizarre, breath-stealing things ever since he came back from LA.

“You want to see me in b-bed?” I ask with dried throat and swollen tongue.

He nods slowly, the strands of his hair falling over his smooth, unbothered forehead. “Very much. I would’ve loved to see you following the rules, being a good girl. Staying where you belong.”

I swat my own hair off my forehead because my fingers are being impatient and unruly, whining to push aside his hair. My heart is being unruly too, whining to get close to him, whining to be laid at his feet.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Somehow. “You’ll get to see that. Me, following all the rules.”

“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it,” he says, boring his eyes into mine, imparting a meaning, a secret meaning, that I don’t understand and yet strangely, I understand in every way.

“Now, can we stop the soccer superstar ass-kissing and play?”

“Sure,” he agrees magnanimously before tipping up his chin at me. “Just as soon as you stop acting like an overeager groupie who cuts the line and fall back into it. Like everyone else.”

I open my mouth to retort because how dare he call me a groupie, even though whatever I’ve learned about soccer, I’ve learned from him.

But his words jar me. They remind me that we’re not alone.

I mean, I knew that but now it really hits me that there’s a group of girls standing behind me, glaring at me, including a teacher, Coach TJ. And I’m doing exactly what they thought I’d do.

I’m taking advantage of the fact that I lived with him and talking to him – who’s also a teacher now – in such a brazen, familiar manner.

Under his challenging gaze, I duck my head and move back.

Once I’m standing in the line, I look up to catch Arrow – Coach Carlisle, sorry – still staring at me with an inscrutable look before he unfolds his arms and looks away. “One by one, I’d like you to come forward, introduce yourself and tell us what position you play. And then, we’ll start with a thirty-minute warm-up game.”

So that’s what we do. We introduce ourselves. When my turn arrives, I try to look as demure as possible.

“Salem Salinger. I’m the wide midfielder.”

My eyes are on my cleats so I don’t know if I’m right or not. But I feel like he pauses on me. I feel like his eyes darken and his jaw tightens at my answer.

Mostly because I just named the position that he plays.

He’s played that position majorly through high school and college, with a few exceptions here and there. But he shines the best as the wide midfielder. His free kicks and bends are legendary, or at least, on the way to becoming so. Like Beckham’s were.

And that’s why I’m a wide midfielder as well, because that’s how I taught myself.

By watching his and Beckham’s game tapes.

All in secret, all stolen by me, from him, from his room.

Aside from writing him secret letters, this was the only way I had to feel connected to him, by playing the game that he loved so much.

I’ve always been kind of athletic and interested in sports. I played soccer here and there. But when we moved to Leah’s house, I really picked it up. I’d watch Arrow play in the backyard and when he’d be at school, I’d retrace his steps and play all by myself.

So yeah, I play soccer.

But I’m really nervous to play in front of him, in front of my soccer idol.

The Blond Arrow.

Once we’re done with the introductions, Arrow divides us into two teams while Coach TJ takes notes of all players on the clipboard. He tells us to take positions and start. Coach TJ blows the whistle and there we go.

As one of the wide midfielders, I dominate the field at the center. I run and cover the most ground, tailing the opposing team’s players in possession of the ball, and stealing it.

Which is my area of expertise, if I might add.

The stealing.

I always have trouble though, keeping the ball in possession. But today, I do everything that I can not to lose the ball.

I dribble it like I’ve never dribbled before, my feet flying across the field until the opportunity opens and I can shoot and score.

When I make the first goal within the first five minutes of the game, I feel like I’m on top of the world. But that’s nothing compared to what I feel when I make a goal again ten minutes later from the center of the field and hit the net dead center.