Penalty Kicks

by D. S. Dehel

  “Um.” She paused.

  “Huh?” His eyes were slits.

  “Sorry, can’t think. No neighbors that way. Wall.”

  “Ah.” He let go and thrust deeper and the thudding grew frenzied with their movement.

  She was gone, and though it wasn’t her habit, she came with a small cry. What he did, she couldn’t say because she couldn’t hear over the blood in her ears, but she could definitely feel him. He grabbed both of her hips and pulled her onto him as he rose up. She felt him tense and then his pulsing release and the combination sent her off again. She collapsed into a shuddering heap on his chest, then a thought crawled into her brain. “Fuck.”

  “Yes, yes we did.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I may not have any neighbors that way, but I do have an old man who lives upstairs, Mr. Barber. I know he heard me.”

  Matt kissed her forehead. “Us. Heard us, and who really cares?”

  “You’re right.” She shifted off of him. “Hurry back. We’ve got some cuddling to do.” Then she worried he might not want to. She had read that some men preferred not to be so intimate in a casual relationship. “If you want.”

  “If I want.” He shook his head as he kicked off the sheet that had tangled around his feet. “Woman. Stay right there. I’ll be back to show you how it’s done.”

  As she flipped the sweat damp pillows over, she realized she might be in over her head with this man.

  * * *

  “Aunt Dia!” Sadie threw her arms around India in her usual rib-cracking greeting. “Hang on. I gotta let Mom know I walked inside safely.” She rolled her eyes, then walked back to the entry door and waved at her mother who had stayed in her brown SUV.

  India went inside her apartment, and Sadie stomped in a few moments later. “Whoa, this place looks great.” Sadie had been remarkably helpful on move in day.

  “Thank you. Hang your coat on the peg.” The sofa had arrived earlier in the afternoon, and the comfy red cushions invited a person to flop down, which is exactly what Sadie did. “Don’t put your feet on the table.”

  “I won’t.” Sadie didn’t use her usual irritated teen tone. Probably because India was designing her prom dress for free. “This sofa is really pretty.”

  India went to the drafting table, picked up the stack of magazines, and plopped them on the table. “I went through all of these first. You should, too, and tear out any you like, even if it’s just the color of the dress. Make a pile.”

  “Some of these are wedding magazines. Why?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Because there are bridesmaid dresses in there, too, and who knows, you might find a design element you like in a gown. Don’t make that face at me. We only have two and a half hours before your mom comes to pick you up, so get to work. I’m going to check on dinner.”

  “It smells great. Did you make your famous meatballs?” Sadie began flipping through the magazine.

  “Yup.” They were Sadie’s favorite. “Turn on the TV, if you want.”

  India went into the kitchen and stirred the sauce. The pasta water was just beginning to boil, so she tossed the garlic bread in the pre-heated oven and measured out the pasta, adding a little extra that she could take for lunch tomorrow. From the living room came the sound of a laugh track, which quickly changed to something more serious sounding.

  The little spider plant had survived one day. It wasn’t a record, but somehow she had managed to keep from knocking it off of the windowsill. She’d try to remember to tell Matt when he called, if he called. He’d warned her that today’s practice would be a rough one, and that he might simply crash since he’d had a late night.

  Though they hadn’t been up that late. She’d turned off the light around eleven and curled up with Matt snuggling into her back. She hadn’t moved all night, and if Matt had woken, she hadn’t noticed. When the alarm went off, he’d almost beaten her to it, then he had smothered her in kisses that nearly led to more.

  He turned down breakfast. “Don’t be offended. I’ve got to watch what I eat, so breakfast and lunch is at the TC. We have a cafeteria.”

  “I’m not offended.” Okay, I am a little. “I understand.”

  “How about this?” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Let’s struggle to take a shower in your ridiculous bathroom, then I will take you to my favorite smoothie shop before I drop you at work.”

  “Drop me at work?”

  “You said you work in the Peterman building. That’s on the way.”

  So that’s what had happened. Mostly. Showering together was quickly abandoned.

  Chapter Eight

  “Right, Aunt Dia?” Sadie stood in the kitchen doorway, a magazine in her hand,

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Are you okay? You look tired.”

  “It was a long weekend, remember?” She focused on stirring the sauce.

  “Yeah, I guess it was. So, I should tear out examples of fabric I like, too?” Sadie waved a picture.

  “Yes, you should. We might not be able to get that exact fabric, but it’ll give me something to look for.” She grabbed a potholder and opened the oven. “Dinner is almost ready. Would you move the magazines, please? Just set them on the drafting table.”

  “Sure.” Sadie headed into the living room. “I need to use the bathroom, too. That’s through your room, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” India sliced the bread, drained the noodles, and dug the grated parmesan out of the back of the refrigerator. How did it get all the way back there already? “Sadie, dinner’s ready.”

  When her niece didn’t come bouncing in, India went in search of her. “Sadie?” She nearly walked into her. “There you are. Din --”

  Sadie stood holding the box of condoms India had forgotten all about. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  India felt a flash of anger. “No, there’s nothing I need to tell you. Exactly who do you think you are?”

  “I…” Sadie turned beet red and lowered the box. Mara had probably never spoken to Sadie with such sharpness. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you of all people to need these. I mean, you’re so old.”

  “You need to go put those back before I chuck you out into the hallway and call your mom to come get you.” She turned her back on her niece and returned to the kitchen, slamming about the pots and pans. Too old. Ungrateful teen.

  Sadie slunk into the kitchen. India pointed at the food. “Get your dinner. What do you want to drink?”

  “A soda?”

  India had never heard Sadie so contrite, and she relented a little. “I have diet. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? It appears the child does have manners.

  A cop show blared on the television. India tried to focus on it, but she’d seen this one already, so her mind kept sliding back to Sadie. Am I too old for casual sex?

  She and Sadie sat in silence for most of the episode, then her niece cleared her throat. “I want a do-over.” Sadie glanced at India sideways. “I really am sorry, Aunt Dia. I shouldn’t have been in your business, and I definitely shouldn’t be so sassy, not to you anyway.”

  “Fair enough. Apology accepted.”

  “And you’re not too old. I mean, Amy Nordinger’s parents still have sex, and they’re over fifty.”

  “You should have stopped while you were ahead. Fifty is not old, and people have sex as long as they’re physically able.” But she wasn’t mad anymore. Forty was ancient to a sixteen-year-old.

  “How would I know? No one talks to me about any of this.” Sadie spoke into her spaghetti.

  This is not my responsibility. But then, she remembered that their mother had refused to talk about sex, too. Cora Hill’s advice had fallen somewhere between Lie Back and Think of England and Don’t Have Sex or You’ll Die. India had struggled her way through her late teen years, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “Well, what is it you would like to know?”

  A me
atball made its way from one side of the plate to the other, and she could see Sadie trying to decide what to ask. “Where’d you get those fancy condoms?”

  “A store on the other side of town. Why? Do you need them?”

  “No!” Sadie turned the color of the sofa. “I mean, not yet.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, who is this guy?” Sadie’s face slowly returned to its usual color.

  “Someone I met at the fundraiser Friday night.” That was a safe enough answer.

  “Is it that lawyer guy?”

  “No, the lawyer guy was a douche. It’s someone who works with the Spirit.” It was her turn to stare at what was left of her dinner, lest she give too much away with her expression.

  More silence. On the television, the perp whined about being arrested and the detective quipped about not doing the crime, if you can’t do the time.

  Sadie stopped and started several times, finally blurting out, “Howdoyouknowit’sokaytohavesex?”

  India took a moment to process the question. “Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with your mom?”

  “She won’t talk to me.” Sadie’s frustration was clear in her body language. “She just says we’ll discuss it when I’m older.”

  “That’s not the answer.” Curse you, Mara. “Um, well, you just know it’s right, and it should be a decision you make, not one you’re pressured into. You should talk to your partner about it, too. Talk honestly. About all the consequences. If you can’t talk to him -- it is him, right? Not that I care.”

  Sadie nodded.

  “If you can’t talk to him about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.” Though she knew it was easier said than done.

  “I get it.” Sadie set down her plate and scrunched herself into the corner of the sofa, semi-facing India. “But everyone always preaches that you should be in love to have sex, and you don’t love that guy you met.”

  “No, I don’t.” I am crushing hard, though. She set her own plate aside.

  “So, how did you know?” Open curiosity was written on the teen’s face.

  “Really, it’s difficult to ignore. Trust me, you’ll know, but look, love is one thing and sex is another. Sometimes they overlap, but often they don’t. It’s important that you know that. People your age confuse the two and end up hurt. That’s why you have to talk to your partner.”

  Sadie sat back, her brows furrowed, but made no comment.

  “Is this something you and Shane are considering?”

  “No.” Her eyes flew wide. “I mean, maybe. Not yet. I don’t think he’s ready. He’s too immature.”

  Caught off guard, India let out a guffaw.

  “What?” Sadie sounded incensed.

  “That answer is not what I expected. Good for you knowing your guy so well.” She patted her niece on the knee. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, not right now. Maybe later.”

  “Can we talk about your dress? Let’s put these dishes in the kitchen. I’ll take care of them later.” India grabbed her plate and headed for the kitchen. “You really should talk to your mom about sex.”

  “She’ll just blow me off. Hold up. You’re not going to tell her about me talking to you, are you?” Her voice held a tinge of panic.

  “No, I won’t because I’d rather you have someone to talk to.” And God knows what you’d find on the Internet.

  “Thanks, Aunt Dia.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, pictures were scattered across the table, some spilling onto the floor. Most had red circles in marker around the parts that Sadie liked. A few had giant X’s on them. India scribbled furiously in her notebook. On the other side of the room, Sadie perused the sketches India had made, while keeping up a running commentary on each.

  “The collar on the teal dress is uuuggggly.” Sadie shook her head. “What were you thinking?”

  “Noted. What about the skirt?” A tinkling chime issued from under a magazine. “What? Oh, my phone.” India snatched it up. “It’s probably your mom.”

  But the screen read Bettony. And heedless of Sadie’s stare, India answered it. “Hey, you. How was practice?”

  “Hello, beautiful. Practice was brutal. There isn’t a part of me that is not sore.” His voice oozed fatigue.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She wanted to say more, but Sadie’s posture told India that the teen was eavesdropping. “You’ll be better soon, I hope. What do you think of that dress, Sadie?”

  Sadie turned with a Who Me? on her face that melted into a mischievous grin. “It bites.”

  “Ah, your niece is still there. I wondered why you hadn’t volunteered to come massage me.”

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Maybe later?” She tried to keep her voice neutral.

  “As much I would love you to wrap those legs around my waist, I’m dead tired.”

  “You sound it.”

  “I just called because I was thinking of you, and I wanted to hear your voice.” His tone was a sexy purr that made goosebumps run down her arms.

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “I also called because Doc told me that I’ll be starting the game on Saturday.”

  “Oh my God. That’s wonderful!” She squealed and did a happy dance. “I am so proud of you.”

  “I hope my mom reacts with as much enthusiasm.”

  He called me first? “I’m sure she will do backflips.”

  “That I would pay to see.” In the pause she could hear hesitation. “I am hoping you’ll be there.”

  “Be there? Of course, I will. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” A memory knocked on her brain. Something she had read online. “Oh, hold on. Isn’t the game sold out?” Maybe I can beat Nolan up for his ticket. “I’ll check the resell sites in a bit.”

  “I’ll find you a ticket.”

  “No, you don’t have to --”

  “I’ll get it.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Really?” She let him know she was annoyed.

  “Sorry. I am fashed and that makes me a complete tosser. Please let me find you a ticket, especially since I won’t see you before Saturday.”

  “Awww.” She was whining, but she didn’t care. “Oh, all right. You can get the ticket. This time.”

  “I’m going to go get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow evening.”

  “If you can.”

  “I will. ‘Night, beautiful.”

  “‘Night.”

  India lowered the phone to find Sadie staring at her open-mouthed. “What? Don’t you like any of the dresses?”

  “That’s not it.” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “You sound happy.”

  “So?” Why does the kid care if I’m happy?

  “So? I haven’t heard you happy in years.” Sadie dashed across the room and gave her a hug. “Good for you.”

  “You’re a goofball.”

  But when she thought about it later, she really was happy for the first time in years.

  * * *

  “Hello?” She didn’t know the number, but something made her pick up the phone. Besides, this Wednesday could not get any longer. She’d stared at the same account since lunch, but her mind was on Matt. Maybe making a telemarketer crazy would distract her from thoughts of his body.

  “Is this India Jackson?”

  That made her pause. Most people still called her India Roberts, and she hadn’t changed the name on her phone account yet. “Speaking.”

  “This is Luella Grant, Maida Pelham’s assistant.”

  This isn’t possible. Be cool. “Yes, we met last Friday. How can I help you?”

  “I think I am about to help you.” Luella didn’t sound arrogant. It was more like she was sharing a secret. “Maida would like to meet with you next week to discuss you potentially designing a dress for her.”

  “Oh, wow.” There goes all hope of playing it cool. “Absolutely. When and where?” She pulled a sticky note reminding her to pick up her dry cleaning off th
e pad and stuck it to her monitor.

  “Next Tuesday afternoon at three. I’ll text you the details. Needless to say, this meeting is to be kept confidential.” The intimate tone was now laced with ice.

  “Of course. Should I bring anything with me? A portfolio?” Not that I have one. “Ideas?” I don’t have those, either.

  “Just bring yourself and perhaps something to take notes in. This is a conversation.” Luella was back to sunshine and secrets.

  “I understand completely.”

  “See you next week, Ms. Jackson.”

  India wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. A commission. Maybe. This could be the chance of a lifetime. Her first instinct was to call Matt, but his phone was literally confiscated when he walked into the TC, and anyway, the meeting was hush-hush. Yet he’d told her about starting on Saturday, and that wasn’t exactly public knowledge. If Doc found out, he might change his mind. And anyway, telling her boyfriend wasn’t leaking information.

  Help me, I just thought of him as my boyfriend. He’s just a friend. With benefits. Who’s a boy.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself and decided to tackle the first big problem, asking off Tuesday afternoon. Fortunately, she had taken very little time off in the ten years she had worked with Parker-Hurst. Unfortunately, her boss would expect the Lind account audited before then.

  India groaned and went back to scanning the endless rows of numbers.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunshine assaulted India’s eyes in the seconds between stepping out of the tunnel that led to the subway station and putting on her sunglasses. Luckily, she didn’t need to see where to go. All she had to do is join the river of fans heading toward Quixotic Insurance Stadium.

  Earlier in the week she had been disappointed to learn that she couldn’t get a jersey from the fan store with Matt’s name and number seventeen on the back, but then, no player had pre-made jerseys for sale. Doc had elevated no one above the rest in such a fashion. In short, the Spirit had no stars. They were equals, and those who wanted to rise above would have to claw their way to the top.