The Odd Ballerz (17 page)

She checked the clock on her dashboard. Thirty minutes had passed since she left Z’s place. She sighed and turned her car around. A very unlucky day in more ways than one this was turning out to be.

It was dark out here, she thought, turning onto the road that would lead to Z’s. No streetlights to speak of, and she liked streetlights, preferring to see wherever she was going actually. She checked her clock again. Twenty minutes had passed and it was closing in on nine. She was turning into his drive. The lights were on in his home, she noted as she drove past, headed to the gate, hoping to drive to the restroom—an undetected trip of sneaking in and sneaking out and him none the wiser—and an eighty-six to that, as the dang front gate was locked. The huge-ass chain holding the post to the gate was her clue. “Crap,” she said aloud.

She put her car into reverse and parked in one of the spots in front of his home. She hoped he was alone. Motion sensitive lights popped up along the walkway, leading up to his house. Nice, she thought as she made her way over to the front door. Shirtless and wearing a pair of jeans—the lived-in kind, hung from his lean hips—and what a chest; muscular, defined, tanned, and scrumptious—was how he answered the door. His hair was wet and he smelled good, evidence of a recent shower, she thought.

“Jones?” he said, surprised to see her, she thought, but calm about it; his way she was learning.

“Hey, Coach. Sorry to bother you, but I think I left my phone here. Did anyone turn one in?”

“Nope,” he said, opening the door wider. “Come in,” he said, and watched as she cleared the threshold.

Something smelled delicious, Memphis thought, scanning the room quickly, looking at everything and anything that wasn’t his chest. “Can I check the restrooms? I would have checked on my own, driven around, didn’t want to bother you, but the front gate was locked,” she said.

“The restrooms are locked too, so you’d have had to knock regardless and I’m not bothered. Let me grab my shoes and I’ll walk over with you,” he said, stepping away from the door. While he was away she looked over the room, cramming as much as she could into her memory. It was the home of an artist, she could tell, one that felt more cozy than museum, she thought. Light grey paint covered the walls, covered with pictures, large and expensive. Glass and iron artwork, sat on hard surfaces, tables, and shelves. Nice sized living room: comfy couches, a couple of them, ottoman in front. Big ass TV, French doors open to the deck and he was back and quicker than she thought, sliding his feet into a pair of athletic shoes, before pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, eyes like lasers meeting up with his.

“No reason,” he said, and turned to leave. She followed along behind him, checking out more of his home when she wasn’t checking out the back of him, all muscled back under the shirt, bummed that he’d put one on. Nice was her word choice for the parts of his home she could see, which wasn’t much as he quickly moved her through it and out the back door.

Motion sensitive lights came on as they had in the front yard, popping up and lighting the way. He unlocked the restroom doors and she followed him inside. To her left on the floor was where she generally left her bag, and yes, there lay her phone, just as she suspected.

“There it is. Great,” she said, picking it up from the floor, noticing the missed calls and texts from Alex and Aubrey. “Thanks and sorry to bother you again,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“
Again
, it’s no trouble, Jones,” he said, opening the restroom door for them to make their exit. “Aubrey told me you had a condition since you were a kid. Is that true?” he said, watching her.

“I told her that in confidence,” she said.

“She was worried about the possibility of you getting hurt. She thought she was being helpful.”

“Right,” she said, anger rising up again.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What would you like me to say?” she asked.

“‘I’m sorry for not telling you something so important, Coach.’ That would be a good place to start,” he said.

“Really, and I don’t know you like that,” she said, her anger taking over. “But okay. I’ll play along. What would you have done with that knowledge, had I told you?” she asked, and yes, she meant to be a tad bit sarcastic with her question.

“I don’t know, but it would have been helpful to know, don’t you think?” he said, staring back.

“Sure thing, Coach. You would have done what most people do with it, actually what every coach up until this camp has done with it.”

“Which was?” he asked.

“To push me off to the side, put me in a category in your mind, stopped expecting anything from me. That’s the worst of what people do when they label you. You would have turned the lights out and moved on, moved me to some place where I would do the least amount of damage. Am I wrong?”

“Defensive much?” he said, chuckling.

“You don’t know my life, and yes, I’m defensive. It’s hard not to be. I saw what was in your eyes before you learned of my issues and more so after you did,” she said with force. That was years of people and their expectations escaping.

“And what do you think you saw?”

“Pity and I don’t like pity. Actually I hate pity and sympathy,” she said, and blew out a breath, looking away to try and rein in her emotions. “Dyspraxia is what I have, or a mild form of it was what I was diagnosed with last year. It is the explanation for my clumsiness. Dyspraxia is the clinical name for childhood clumsy, elementary and middle school clumsy. It was worse then, if you can believe that.”

“You can take a deep breath now, Jones, and maybe even let go a little of that chip. And it wasn’t pity, what you think you saw. Can your dyspraxia be fixed?” he asked.

“With work, I’m told. Occupational therapy if I wanted.”

“You have problems with anxiety too?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Medication?”

“Not if I can help it. Really, it’s mostly under control, doesn’t impact my daily living anymore,” she said, and released another breath. “This whole football playing thing makes me nervous. Being on display in front of everyone makes me nervous, and it’s a fight sometimes for me to not live my past.”

“What does that mean, live your past?”

“Nothing.”

“Alex doesn’t know?” he asked, letting her non-answer go.

“She does now, but no, not before.”

“Okay then,” he said.

“Okay then what?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said, chuckling. “Ease up a little, Jones. It’s not that serious. I mean, it is and it isn’t.”

“Spoken from someone who has always had it easy, I bet. Good looks, good body, good in sports; pick a thing and I’ve bet it’s come easy for you,” she said, looking away before she met his gaze again. They’d reached the back door of his home again and he followed her inside. “Sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s old anger that you’ve done nothing to earn.”

“Apology accepted,” he said, watching her. “Why try then?”

“What?”

“Why try then? I know you’ve been trying at camp. Not the first day, but every day since then. I can tell and you are getting better. Small increments as I’ve said before, but it’s progress, Jones,” he said, moving around her to lead her down the hall again.

“The bet, remember, and you said I would make the team, that everyone that showed up would, so really it was less pressure after that. I might as well try,” she said to his back. “I’m competitive in other parts of my life. I’m one of the top insurance agents in the state, and I didn’t say that to blow myself up, but really I’m that good. I’ve managed to conquer my nerves, my anxiety, in that area, right? And now, this thing I thought I was awful at, or that I was most afraid of, maybe it’s time to get past that too. No, I would not have put myself at your camp. However, now that I’m here, it’s not so bad, or as bad as it used to be, as bad as I expected, or it doesn’t hurt as much… maybe I’m less sensitive about it, I don’t know,” she said, taking a breath. She laughed then. “That was a lot of words, huh,” she said. “What I’m trying to say so poorly is that I’d like to see if I could be more. I like the thought of Memphis the athlete.”

“I see,” he said, staring into her eyes, a small smile at his lips.

“I don’t want someone telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.”

“We’re talking Aubrey now?”

“Yes, we are. She and I have been friends for a long time. Elementary school, and she lived next door to me growing up and looked out for me. She’s seen that part of me, the little girl that was terrible at everything, and she knows me, but not in everything, and I find myself wanting to prove a point.”

“To her?”

“To me, always me,” she said.

“And that point is?”

“That you never know with people, that the ones you least expect can turn out to fool you.”

“Good, then,” he said and she had no clue to what he was thinking. She thought the shades were the things he hid his thoughts behind, and no, it wasn’t. It was his face that he kept his thoughts hidden behind.

“Were you really going to kick me off the team?” They had reached the living room and back where they started.

“Yes, I had considered letting you go, especially after the first day, but that’s long gone now. If you continue to try, I’ll find a spot for you,” he said.

“Not like a charity case or something?”

“No, not like a charity case or something.”

“Good, ’cause that’s the last thing I’d want. I can take being cut if I’m not good enough, just so you know.”

“Got it,” he said, smiling.

She smiled, calmer now, lighter now, having let go of that anger. “Something smells delicious. Your dinner?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Some would say the polite thing to do would be to extend an invitation to one’s visitor,” she said, Charlotte’s advice about flirting coming to mind. Go strong or go home.

“Is that your way of asking to have dinner with me?” he asked, chuckling, meeting her eyes, humor in his gaze.

“No,” she said.

“Good, ’cause we have this rule, the Ballerz have this rule, right? Nothing romantic between players and coaches.”

“Right, so you’re having romantic thoughts about this player?” she asked, chuckling to save face, ’cause, dang, that was not the answer she’d hoped for.

“No, it was meant as a warning in case you were,” he said, smiling.

“I’m not, I wasn’t. I’m not really sure why I said that, but anyway,” she said, searching for a face-saving way out, “you’re safe.” She smiled strong to cover some major embarrassment.

“We’re both safe. How about that?” he said, and it was his turn to chuckle.

She laughed. “Better. I feel less like an idiot now. Dang, that was harsh. If I was having
any
romantic thoughts about you, they are officially shut down.”

He laughed and, man, he was handsome when he laughed.

“You get that a lot?” she asked, chuckling still.

“What?”

“Women coming on to you.”

“Was that what you were doing?” he asked before he chuckled. “More than I’d like,” he added and smiled. “So would you like to stay for dinner now that we’ve settled the romantic thing between us?”

“No, but thanks anyway, and that was a nice way to ease my pain. Thank you. I don’t feel
as
bad now,” she said, chuckling. “No, really, you’ve been a huge help tonight, helping me to find my phone, listening to me rant about my issues, but the biggest thing you’ve done for me is to be different from every other coach I’ve had. So a huge thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze tangled up with hers. Clear and calm was that gaze of his. “Good night, Jones,” he said.

“Night, Coach,” she said, and slipped out his front door.

He stood on the front porch and watched her walk to her car. More of those lights came on so she could see the way back. She waved just before she slid behind the wheel, and he returned it, glad she’d shared that part about herself with him.

He’d watched the anxiety on her face earlier at her friend’s words, followed by hurt, and for some reason seeing hurt on Jones’s face affected him in a way he couldn’t explain. It was the same hurt that had silently roped him into standing beside her earlier at camp, coaching her through her last attempt at the forty-yard run.

He’d been in her shoes, so he also understood the anger she felt at people who doubted and or tried to make you feel small because you couldn’t do fill-in-the-blank. Aubrey was interesting and worth watching, and probably not in the way she’d hoped. Yeah, he’d met her kind before too.

How to help Jones? Could he help her? He wanted to try, so that was a start. But it was also more than that, more like a feeling of kinship, this thing he was beginning to feel for Jones. He desired her lovely assets and fine form, true. But he was most impressed with the woman who showed up to his camp, prepared to suck but unafraid to show it to whoever. What courage and strength that required and worthy of a more considered study for something other than training. Perhaps Jones could fill the spot for something he’d been searching for and for a while now, something he’d started to give up on finding. He smiled and went back inside.

# # #

That hadn’t been unpleasant at all, Memphis thought, turning on to the main road that would lead her back to the city. It had been good to talk to him away from camp, alone without the younger boys looking on. So he knew her issues now. It would be interesting to see what he did with that knowledge. She had not seen pity in his gaze this evening, so that was a start.

She’d had enough of pity and sympathy to last her lifetime. She’d take the snickers and laughter, the whatever, any day of the week over the tragic, isn’t it, the thing about the Jones girls, with the father dying, leaving them with all his debts and the mother who just gave up on life. Poor little Memphis and her sisters, a phrase she heard often growing up. So no, she wasn’t much into pity and or sympathy.

She was pulling onto the freeway now on her second trip home, with her thoughts all over the place: darting around from thoughts of him, all positive, wishful thinking; to Aubrey, and how to proceed with her friend—no answers for that—before settling on her sisters. She loved those two dearly, would die for them, so yes, she was protective of them. She had raised them so how could she not be? And yes, she should have told them about her issues.