Ricky stared down at the phone in his hands. His heart pounded inside his ribcage as though he'd been running laps with his team for the past hour. He could hear her voice in his head when he read her words. Thursday seems a long way off. Did he dare hope? You're worth waiting for. How the heck was he going to concentrate on the games tonight?
He shoved his phone back into his gym bag and kicked it under the players' bench where he'd have access to it. More often than not, he left his gear in his truck, but tonight, he'd brought it all onto the field with him, and boy, was he glad he had. It was early and only a few of the kids had shown up. He'd sent them out onto the field to do some goal shots, so he'd been sitting on the bench alone, going over game plans and strategies he'd worked on with his team when he'd heard the text notification.
But Ricky was sticking to the plan. He'd made a promise to himself to give Gia whatever time she needed, and to let her come to him when she was ready, and that's what he was going to do. He wouldn't call her, no matter how badly he wanted to. He wouldn't text her unless she texted him first and needed a response. And he wouldn't, come hell or high water, stop by her work to have lunch with her like he usually did on Wednesdays. No, he'd wait until Thursday night at five o'clock, just like she'd requested.
Even if it killed him.
His composure slipped a little as he thought about Barista Boy and all the time Gia was spending with him. He was the kind of guy to whom she'd never have to say things like "You need to shower first," the kind of guy who dressed for dinner, who wore blazers on his days off. "He probably doesn't wear socks with his shoes but his feet never stink," he muttered to himself as he stood to greet several more team members arriving on the field. "Enough, man."
Giving his whistle two sharp blows, he rounded his players up and lined them up for warm up drills. The Diesels were twelve and thirteen year old kids who'd been playing soccer since they were five and six. He loved this age because they were young enough to think he was old enough to be treated like an adult, but they were old enough to really love the game. This was the age when most of the kids in AYSO really began focusing on skill and technique, and not just playing by the rules and hoping to win. They practiced strategy and different plays, capitalizing on each player's strengths and targeting the opposing teams' weaknesses. When they lost, they raged, and he let them, as long as they did so with dignity. And after they raged, they put their heads together to come up with new plans, new strategies, and different ways of getting the ball down the field and into the net. He wanted them to feel the frustration of not getting it right, to find the motivation to do better next time. When they won, they celebrated hard and loud, and he celebrated right alongside them... as long as they did so with dignity. And after they celebrated, they still put their heads together to come up with new plans, new strategies, and new ways of getting the ball down the field and into the goal, because that's what team practice was all about.
One of his most impressive players was a girl named Tiffany. The crazy thing about the girl was that she looked like a Tiffany—she'd developed early and stood a good couple of inches taller than the biggest boy on the team—but she played soccer like she'd been born in cleats and shin guards. He'd seen something in the girl's eyes that reminded him of Gia—someone who would go the distance no matter what they threw her way—and the first time he heard one of the boys say, "Good morning Stiffy—I mean, good morning, Tiffany," to her, followed by a chorus of snickers and guffaws from some of the other boys, he'd taken them to task. The culprit was kicked off the team—Ricky had zero tolerance for that kind of behavior—and the other four boys who'd laughed at the crude greeting had been benched for four games. Of course, as irony would have it, they were some of the team's best players, and it hurt for them to have to sit on the sidelines and watch their team lose because of their bad behavior...except that they hadn't. Ricky had hoped Tiffany would come through, and she did. He played her in each of the four positions usually played by the boys on the bench, and she'd proved herself a champion in every one. She'd almost single-handedly won the second game for the team when she filled in for the goalie and blocked every goal attempt the other team made. And somehow, throughout the whole ordeal, Tiffany still made her team members feel important, going so far as to ask the boys on the bench for pointers when she filled in for them. By the end of the second game, she'd become a team favorite, and although she wasn't the official team captain this season, Ricky was pretty sure she'd be nominated for the next.
Tiffany's mother, Trina, however, was a different story, and one Ricky was struggling to know what to do about. Because Tiffany never missed a game, a practice, or any of the team's celebratory outings, neither did Trina, but Ricky couldn't tell if Trina came for her daughter... or for him. The woman had a good ten or fifteen years on him, but she flirted with him outrageously, to the point that he was more embarrassed for her than he was for himself. He'd done everything he could think of—without coming right out and saying so—to let her know he wasn't interested in whatever it was she was offering, but he knew the time was coming when he'd have to confront her.
He glanced over to the bleachers. Sure enough, Trina wasn't paying any attention to her daughter's phenomenal dribbling skills, but instead, was watching him, an expression on her face that made him grab at the collar of his shirt just to be sure he was actually wearing one. He looked away quickly. How much simpler things would be if he could just tell the woman he had a girlfriend. Even better if Gia would show up and actually be that girlfriend.
Now he just sounded like a chicken. He didn't need to hide behind his girlfriend. He'd just have to man up and deal with it; her staring at him wasn’t his problem unless he made it his. Hopefully, when he refused to respond, she’d get the hint and find somewhere else to look. He was here for the kids, not their parents.
In spite of his lack of focus, Ricky's team plowed through every game like the powerhouse they were named for, and the night ended on a celebratory high. He knew the poor kids had to go home and do their best to get a good night's sleep, but he was too wound up to do the same, and he thought he might crawl out of his skin if he couldn't see Gia. Any other game night like the one they'd just had would have had him calling her up to share a large meat lover's pizza and a joy ride with the windows rolled down, the rock and roll up too loudly to do anything but sing along. That's just the way it was between them.
That's the way it had been between them. Now, all he could do was hope and pray that it could be that way again. Except that maybe, just maybe, the next time they took that joy ride, Gia would be snuggled up against his side instead of leaning her head out the passenger side window and singing "We Will Rock You" at the top of her lungs.