Striker's Waltz (Seattle Sound Series Book 6) Page 8

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ll see him again sometime anyway.” Not totally a valid statement, but bravado appealed more than collapsing into a blubbering puddle of emotions. “Might as well do it now.”

  I stalked to the elevator, refusing to let Brenna see the embarrassment and rejection crash over me yet again. I wasn’t sure what would be worse: Teo acknowledging me or pretending I didn’t exist.

  We were greeted at the back entrance by a man I’d met during the camps. His name was Kenneth. I couldn’t remember his job title, but he seemed to ensure everyone was where they were supposed to be.

  Kenneth strode down a concrete hall, flashing a badge at the employees and security guards we passed. My heart thumped when he led us toward the team offices.

  “Where are the rest of the symphony musicians?”

  “Your brother can fill you in.” Kenneth’s brow puckered as he knocked on the thick wooden doors. They swung open to reveal a harried woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Her name might be Wendy. I wasn’t sure because I only saw her in passing during the clinics.

  Taking in my viola case, she gasped. “Oh, thank good gravy you’re here.” She gripped my arm with desperation, tugging me farther into the space. I dug in my low heels.

  “Whoa! What’s going on?”

  “Major change of plans.”

  Teo strode over, looking way too edible in his soccer shorts, tight-fitting jersey, and cleats. Even his shin guards looked attractive. Damn him. Annoyance gathered in the pit of my belly.

  “The rest of the musicians were in a car accident on the way here,” Wendy said.

  “What? Are they okay?”

  “Nothing too serious, I don’t think, but a broken cello and two pulverized violins. Noah’s on the phone with one of them now.”

  “Being sick benefited you.” Brenna patted my arm. I left the symphony hall earlier than I probably should have, stating my need to nap before the game tonight. “Otherwise you’d have been in that car.”

  “Wait!” I cried. Teo’s gaze met mine and I couldn’t breathe. “I—you want me to play by myself?”

  “You’ve got this, Pres,” Brenna said. “This is way easier than your part in ‘I Do Not Love You.’”

  Wendy turned to gawk at me. She looked me up and down, her lips pursing as she took in my dark slacks and long-sleeve, cowl-neck sweater with its frayed asymmetrical hem. A favorite of mine, thanks to its softness and emerald green color. “You play with Asher Smith?”

  I nodded, feeling numb. Teo’s eyes widened. “You said you don’t sing anymore. After your broken ribs.”

  Wendy considered. “Maybe start with the fiddle then sing.”

  “Viola,” I replied. No one cared about the difference, but it mattered to me. “And I’m not singing.”

  Brenna clapped her hands together. “Oh, come on. I haven’t heard you sing since the barbecue last summer. She looks so skinny but she has a set of lungs on her,” she loud-whispered to Teo.

  “You still sing?” Teo asked.

  “No. I don’t do live performances.” I glared at Brenna.

  “You are tonight,” Wendy dragged me forward toward an office. “We’re paying you,” she said before turning from me to speak into a walkie-talkie. “I found a singer. Call up the announcer and tell him Preslee Jennings is singing the anthem.”

  “No, I’m not.” I kept my voice firm. “I’ll play the viola. Like we agreed. For symphony promo.”

  Teo’s fingers touched my cheek. I closed my mouth, but not before a soft gasp slid past my lips. “You don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to, Preslee.” His accent licked over my skin, burning and soothing me at the same time.

  “Don’t give her an out, Matteo Romero de Cruz! Someone must sing the national anthem.”

  The woman sputtered before she banged her head against the wall. “Could this day get any worse?”

  “Come on, Preslee,” Brenna urged. “It’ll be fun!”

  My eyes met Teo’s. His thick lashes got me every time. I sighed. “Would it help you?”

  He shrugged. “We don’t play the game until the anthem’s sung or played.”

  Brenna moved forward to stand at my elbow. “You know all the words, and it’s not like you haven’t done this before.”

  Teo’s eyebrow went up, but he waited patiently for me to make up my mind.

  “No,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I can’t sing.” I didn’t tell them why.

  “Fine. Just the viola. God, I hope you can pull this off.” Wendy looked me over critically. “You can’t wear that. It looks like a funeral outfit.”

  “It’s standard symphony dress,” I said, offended.

  “Your brother has some extra jerseys in his office,” Teo offered. He leaned in so I could smell his spicy body wash. “A souvenir,” he whispered, his breath warm against the fragile ear of my skin. My entire body vibrated, heating up. I glanced up at him in askance. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Bring the jersey, Cruz, and back off the talent. I need this to work.” Wendy scowled.

  Teo smiled again, the one that devastated my defenses, before striding toward my brother’s office. One of the trainers and another man—an assistant coach, maybe—eyed me with various levels of interest. I cringed back into Brenna, who squeezed my shoulder.

  “It’s fine, Pres. You can do this.” Brenna’s cheeks bloomed with color and her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Oh, I’m recording this. Your performances are always electric.”

  Teo’s scent drifted around me, relaxing me. “Here’s a jersey. Do you have anything to put under it?”

  “I wore a long sleeve white shirt under my sweater,” Brenna said. “I’ll give it to her so she doesn’t look weird in her dress blouse.”

  “Excellent!” Wendy clapped her hands together with a finality that reminded me of an executioner’s drum. “Twenty minutes until you’re on!”

  I took the shirt, fingering the large C on the back. Teo brushed my bangs back from my forehead.

  “Why are you up here?” I asked.

  Teo raised his chin toward the two men who were still watching us. “I needed to be cleared for tonight’s game. Because my hamstring has been tight. That’s why Mariana was at my place. To help me develop a therapy plan.”

  I flushed bright red and dropped my gaze from Teo’s. Confusion built and slid through me, making me light headed. The pretty red head wasn’t his girlfriend—just as he’d told the press. So…what did that mean?

  “Come this way.” Teo led us into a larger room with a couple of sleek couches, chairs, and a low coffee table. “You need anything?”

  “Water. Thanks.”

  Teo shut the door behind him to give us some privacy. Brenna clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

  “A solo. I love your solos!”

  “I don’t want to do this.” I started to shake, the fear from that night when Oren told me I’d better not try to put my slutty self out there, to let other men see what was his, washed over me, and I placed my hands on my knees to keep from collapsing.

  “What’s wrong?” Brenna rubbed her hand up and down my back in soothing strokes.

  “Oren said…”

  “Oh.” Brenna imbued so much into that one word. She continued to soothe me until the black floaters drifted away from my vision. “It’s been years, Pres. I’m sure he’s over it. This is a great opportunity.”

  I scowled at her. “That I don’t want and don’t want to chance.” I swallowed, a thick sound weighted by the garbled emotions filling my throat. “I could’ve just said I wouldn’t play at all since I was supposed to be part of a group. But no, you pointed out I do solo stuff sometimes.”

  Brenna’s mouth popped open. She whipped her sweater and shirt off, throwing it at me. “Excuse me! I wasn’t the one who insisted on coming to this game so I could rub up against a soccer player.”

  I yanked off my blouse and threw it at her. She shoved her arms in and started
buttoning it up. “That’s not true. I don’t rub.”

  “You still want him,” Brenna hissed. She pulled her sweater back over her head while I turned her shirt right-side out.

  “And if I do?”

  “Then I’m a lucky man,” Teo said. He leaned against the doorway. “Fabulous as you look like that, Preslee, I suggest you put on a shirt before you hit the Jumbo Tron.”

  In a huff, I yanked on Brenna’s white tee. Teo stepped into the room, a fierce frown on his face. I scuttled backward. “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “You really sing?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not often. And only for myself.”

  He studied me for a long moment, causing my cheeks to heat. “Wear the jersey. Please. See you on the pitch.”

  Brenna started. “I’ll wait and go up with Preslee.”

  “I’ll do that,” Wendy said, bustling into the room. “We need you in your seat.”

  Brenna’s mouth twisted in annoyance, but she left without another complaint. Teo’s eyes burned into my skin, causing a rush of heat to ripple across my neck, arms, chest, but I focused on opening my case and tuning my viola.

  Once I was satisfied with my instrument and my ability to play the piece alone, I pulled on Teo’s jersey over Brenna’s too-tight white shirt, disgusted yet thrilled to step out in front of a stadium of people dressed like this.

  “Five minutes.”

  I handed Wendy my coat and viola case, before picking up my instrument and bow. She clutched both, mumbling about this having to work. I followed her up the stairs, trying to calm my nerves. She stopped a few feet from the tunnel entrance and pushed my hair back.

  “Good thing you keep it so short. Ready?”

  I shrugged. No. I hadn’t had time to prepare for this. I stepped out onto the soccer field, a big fake smile plastered across my face. The drone of the crowd didn’t change. The announcer pointed out I was the electric viola player on Asher Smith’s new single. That quieted the crowd, and within a breath, all that attention zeroed in on me.

  Closing my eyes, I began to play. After the first few notes, I hit my stride, letting the music fill me. Oh, this felt good. I opened my eyes, blinking a couple of times, as I pulled the bow across the strings.

  The entire stadium stood, quiet, their hands over their hearts. I hummed the tune as my fingers moved down the neck, then back up. My body swayed to the music. The crowd began to sing, as caught up in the music as I was.

  This was electric. My fingers picked up speed, adding more intricacies to the melody. I kept swaying to the tune as the crowd’s singing grew louder.

  I’d missed this. I’d really missed playing to a crowd.

  I hooked eyes with Teo, who watched me with unblinking focus. Holding his gaze, I finished the song, prolonging the note a tad longer than I should have because I didn’t want to break eye contact. I bowed my head to the cheering crowd and stepped around the mic, my instrument and bow down by my legs.

  As I walked toward my seat, Teo stared at me, his dark eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t quite read. He smiled and dipped his head; an answering grin tugged at my lips. Yeah, I knew my way around a bow and some strings.

  Brenna hugged me, bouncing up and down. “You rocked that, girl. The way you stroke those strings gives me chills. And the look between you and Teo at the end…you played that for him, huh?”

  I smiled as I uncapped my water. Had I played for Teo? I shrugged. I’d performed well. That’s what mattered.

  “Your case is right here,” Brenna said. “Wendy brought it over along with your coat.”

  I took both, stowing my viola at my feet and my coat in my lap.

  The players took the field, and the match started. The Timber wore their home whites while the Grizzlies were in a strange combination of gold and swirling green.

  Teo played forward, typically in the striker position. The Timber quickly gained possession of the ball, and he moved down the field with easy, loping grace. His footwork was better choreographed than any dance, but his head swept the field, looking for defenders and his teammates.

  Teo made a quick pass to the left, and the ball sped just behind the feet of the defender, right to his teammate’s cleat. My mouth popped open at the accuracy of the pass. While I’d been watching the ball, Teo darted around his opponent and took up position closer to the goal. No wonder Teo wanted to play for the premier European league. Those were probably the only players in the world who could keep up with him.

  With a quick flick of his hand, Teo caught his teammate’s attention, and the player kicked the ball toward him. Unfortunately, the kick wasn’t as precise as Teo’s, and a Grizzlies’ defender intercepted the pass with ease. They began to work the ball down the field, toward the Timber’s goalie.

  Teo’s face showed flushed resignation as he picked up his opponent and worked his way back down the pitch. Another few minutes passed with the Grizzlies getting closer to the Timber’s goal, causing the goalie to step forward and intercept a lazy pass within his circle. As he punted the ball, I already knew Teo was in position to receive the pass.

  I leaned forward, fascinated by his game acumen. He knew where all the players were on the field and he knew their weaknesses, preferences, dominating his opponents. I wondered if he’d be this attentive, this focused in the bedroom.

  Brenna nudged me. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “So, go.”

  “Buddy system.”

  I sighed, standing. I pushed through the crowd and headed toward the steps. The collective breath I heard in the audience made me to spin back toward the field. Teo dribbled the ball, maneuvering between two defenders before he kicked off the side of his left cleat. The ball sailed over the goalie’s outstretched hands and into the back of the net. I ran down to the railing, screaming with the rest of the fans. Teo turned to look toward my seat, frowning when his gaze hit my empty chair. His eyes scanned the crowd, disappointment pulling down his triumphant grin. I waved like mad, and his eyes met mine, just as his teammates jumped on him. I smiled and clapped, and his face lit up in a bedazzling grin before he disappeared under sweaty male bodies.

  Brenna stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.

  “What? I wanted to see the goal.”

  The rest of the game passed in a blur of almost-shots, though Teo got the closest with two more shots on goal. His hamstring didn’t seem to bother him, and I hoped his problem was simply lingering stiffness. With his talent and ability to read the game, Teo outshone the rest of the American players, who, surprisingly, didn’t let their own egos get in the way of improving their chances of winning.

  Yeah, Matteo Cruz was a soccer force, and watching him lit the joyful fire of teamwork and desire to win deep in my belly. I placed a hand there, wishing I could run out on the field and play for ten, twenty minutes with any of the players.

  Somehow, in six short years, I forgot how few and far between scores could be in soccer. Not that it mattered. I enjoyed watching the footwork and the explosiveness of some of the players. I stood, feeling exhilarated. Noah had been right—closing myself off from the sport hadn’t reduced the pain of losing my chance at competing nationally; instead, I tried to amputate a vital part of myself.

  As we were putting on our coats, an usher came to our row. “Ms. Jennings?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your brother is dealing with the media and said to tell you he’s sorry he can’t come out, but Mr. Cruz asked if you’d come down to the meet-and-greet. I’ll show you to the waiting area.”

  “Um, okay. Sure.” I fumbled my purse, then turned to Brenna. “Want to come with me?”

  Brenna’s eyes drifted to the field, the usher, then back to mine. “No, thanks.”

  I collected my viola. “If you’re sure…” At her nod, I said, “See you later, Bren.”

  She kissed my cheek. “Be careful,” she whispered in my ear. “He hurt you last time.”

  “Of course.”

 
“He’s an athlete so you know he’s all about sex.” She raised her brows high. “With someone.”

  I glared back, letting her know my position on that dig. “I’m ready,” I told the usher.

  The usher jerked his head, glaring at Brenna. My cheeks bloomed with color. He must have heard her comment.

  “He’s not like that,” the boy said. His tag read Stephen.

  “Who isn’t like what?” I asked.

  “Teo. He’s not like that—using women. The media’s making stuff up about him, I know it.” Stephen’s face suffused with color even brighter than mine.

  “Um, okay.” Our feet clopped along the concrete. “Do you play soccer, Stephen?”

  He nodded, relieved by the change of subject. “Midfield. I’ve got a few schools looking at me, thanks to the Timber training camps.”

  “I helped with a couple. I played through most of college until I was injured.”

  “Really? What position?”

  “Midfield. Like you.”

  “I’ve learned a lot from the camps, too. When Teo or Jorge set up the drills and stuff, we all learn tons. They’re the best.”

  “Is Teo better as a player or a coach?”

  “He’s great at both.” Stephen pushed open the door, holding it open for me. “You saw him out there. He’s phenomenal. We’re hoping he’ll stick around and join the coaching staff here.”

  Noah had told me that part of the reason the front office picked up Jorge Valencia was because he was Teo’s first coach, and the GM hoped Teo would want to stay because of him.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks. Just wait here?”

  “Yeah, this is the most private area. Only the players and some staff are allowed down here. Teo will be out soon.” Stephen fidgeted for a moment. “Can I get your autograph?” he asked in a rush, the words tumbling over each other.

  I blinked at him. “Sure.”

  “You play really well. I love that song you did with Asher Smith.”

  “Thanks. I just helped Asher with the melody—I didn’t know he planned to put that on his album. Do you have something for me to sign?”

  The kid glanced around, consternation dragging down his brow. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket as I dug through my tote for a pen.