She laughs, and not the nice sound you think would come from her at first glance; in contrast to the bright royal blue leggings and cropped top, her interior defies all brightness with that sharp sound.
"You got to be kidding me," Her dark eyes narrow at me, an unspoken challenge in her gaze.
I lean back, studying her reaction. "I don't joke about business proposals, Delezar."
"Business proposal? Is that what you call this?"Â Her lips curl into a sardonic smile.
"Call it what you want. But you might as well hear me out."
She crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed. yet reluctantly stays quiet, giving me the go-ahead.
"Dean Richard is giving you a hard time; you want media; I got that; new jerseys? My family contributes enough funds to this school to put some fabric together. All you have to do is play the part of my girlfriend; im not asking for your hand in marriage, im asking you to play make-belief".
"Fun wordplay; you're asking me to lie." Her expression is stoic, her slightly sunken cheeks more visible with her lips pressed tight.
"Like the Dean's done to you for months? He has funds, Delezar."
"Its Sofia-"
"Too many Sofias might get confusing." I flash her a smile, but to my surprise, it doesn't earn me a thing; not a tint of pink comes to her cheeks, and she looks even more unimpressed.
"It won't."
"Look, Delezar, this could work for both of us."
Her laughter returns, this time with a hint of disbelief. "Your grand plan to fix your image is to date me? The women's soccer team captain who's been at war with the Dean for months? That doesn't even make sense.."
"All you have to understand is that this is a win-win situation. Your team gets the support they need, and I get to clean up my act."
Her skepticism doesn't waver. "And why should I believe you'll deliver on your promises?"
"Because I have everything to lose if I don't. My reputation is on the line, and I don't plan on going back on my word," I reply sincerely.
"You're asking me to put my integrity on the line for the sake of your image makeover?"Â She leans back, tapping her short, white-painted fingernails on the table.
I meet her gaze. "I'm asking you to consider a partnership that benefits both of us. Think about it, Del. You get what your team needs, and I get what I need. Balls in your court."
I observe her closely, taking in every detail. Her legs are crossed, one over the other, with a rhythmic bounce to her foot. A high ponytail keeps her dark hair slicked upwards, a few loose strands fawning her face. She seems lost in contemplation, completely immersed in her thoughts, as if I'm not seated right in front of her, anxiously awaiting a response.
She looks up from her contemplative state, meeting my gaze with a resolute expression.
"No."
"No?" I repeat something I'm not used to hearing, especially from the opposite gender...
She uncrosses her leg, getting up from the chair. "No, I'm not going to put my integrity and work ethic to the side for thisâwhatever this is," she motions to the space between us.
"And lose the nickname." She flashes a phony smile, and I take in her smile lines and scrunched nose, even if it is fake.
I watch her walk away, not bothering to argue. "You know where to find me when you change your mind." The calm tone in my voice betrays the need for this plan to work.
+++
I make my way home; technically, I wasn't supposed to leave the house today, but after Sloan gave me that revelation, I had to shoot my shot. Unfortunately, the very stubborn brunette wasn't interested.
I enter the house, greeted at the door by my father.
"You weren't supposed to leave."
"Don't act like you didn't know where I went." My father, an ex-cop, to put it plainly, stalks me. Not in a life-threatening manner, but in a way that he knows when I fuck something up before I even have to tell him.
"Not the point, Stephan," he states sternly. My father and I have never gotten along. I think the last time we had a charitable father-son moment was before I discovered football and before he saw my potential. Sometimes I wish I never even started because the day he found out I had talent was the day he'd put that first.
I walk past him into the living room and flop onto the couch. Shortly after, I hear him in the kitchen, overlooking the living room.
"How much did you bench?"
There it is. Not, "How was your day?" or "What did you do?" Oh, wait, how stupid of me. He knows how my day went because he has privacy issues. He knows I went to the gym and then a cafe. I glare at him for a moment.
"I hit back andâ"
"Your back is fine. I told you I want you benching no less thanâ"
"Goodnight, Dad." I cut him off and head up to my room.
I hear a knock at the door, and I already know who it is. "Yes, Sloan," I drag out the 'n'.
"Sup, loser." She steps into my room with her soccer gear on, minus the cleats.
"Get out, you stink," I say, throwing a pillow at her.
"You should've seen my goal. I even copied UFN's captain's celly." She chirps, putting both her hands up as if to tell me to get ready to watch. She backs up and motions, scoring, then grasps her long blond ponytail, fastly twisting and releasing it so it sways on the other side.
"That's it?" I ask, underwhelmed.
"You don't get it," she says, rolling her eyes, her enthusiasm undeterred.
"Sam Castano thought it was hot," Sloan mutters
"Who?" My eyes narrow.
"Want anything from downstairs?" she quickly diverts
"Yeah, take the stick out of fathers ass, thanks."
"You put it there," And with that, she shuts my door and I can hear her quick footsteps down the stairs.
Im left alone in the dim light of my bedroom, the radio almost muffled, and my thoughts to contemplate.