Penalty Kicks

by D. S. Dehel

  “Argh.” She hauled herself into a sitting position. It had taken forever before the ibuprofen had kicked in enough for her to sleep. Those cramps had been killer. At least she hadn’t had them during the game.

  A second buzz. “I’m coming.” India knew whoever was banging on that button couldn’t hear her, but she shouted anyway.

  Her pajama pants were too long, and they flopped around her feet as she shuffled toward the front door and hit the video button. A familiar head of wavy brown hair appeared on the screen, and she could see him raise his finger to press the button again, but she cut him off. “Come in.” She unlocked her front door and waited until she heard him turn the doorknob, then she began shuffling back toward bed.

  “India?” Matt’s voice held concern.

  “Hmm?” She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Are you mad at me?” There was a thunk, probably his bag hitting the floor, then he somehow was in front of her, as if she was an opponent on the soccer field.

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “No, I’m not mad at you. I am irritated that you didn’t call first.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on stopping by.”

  “No?” She turned and looked pointedly at the bag on the floor.

  “I put that in the trunk earlier.” He waved it off. “But I was on my way to the house, and you were only a few blocks away, so I came over. I told myself if I couldn’t find a spot quickly, I’d head on home, but there was one right in front of your apartment, and it felt like serendipity. I hope it’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay. I’m glad you’re here.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. No longer sweaty, he smelled of his aftershave, green and bright, mixed with beer. “I just could have saved you a trip. I got my period tonight.”

  “Oh.” Then he gave her a squeeze. “That’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “It’s not okay. I mean, no sex. I -- just no.” She didn’t know his thoughts on the idea, but that was out as far as she was concerned.

  He laughed low. “Agreed. What I meant was, I came to see you. Sex is not necessary.”

  “Good.” She took his hand and walked toward her bed.

  “I like the new light.” He nodded at the gold frosted lamp that glowed softly in the corner.

  “I figured it would let us find the bathroom without bodily harm. I also found a second nightstand for cheap.” She flopped into her spot and stared unabashedly as he stripped down.

  He set his phone on the nightstand and crawled into bed. “Good find.” He pulled her into a cuddle, sliding his hands under her sleep shirt and up her back. “I will admit it blows that we won’t have obnoxiously loud sex, but I’m fair knackered. Mmmm. You feel nice.”

  She snuggled into his chest, enjoying the fact he was naked. “It does blow, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  “That’s a fair point.” He sighed and settled into the pillow. “I’ve never asked, what is your opinion on children?”

  She tilted her head back so that she wasn’t speaking to his chest. “I don’t want them, which is why I don’t have any, and I’m a little old to entertain the notion anyway.”

  A chuckle rippled through his chest. “Clearly, you’re not too old. You know, every time I think we’re a good match, I find out something that makes us even better.”

  “Really?” He seemed so young to have decided to never have kids, but then, she’d known at right around the same age. “You don’t want kids?”

  He shook his head, making the pillow shift. “Never have, and I can’t imagine I ever will. That was the final straw for Bridget.”

  “That would do it.” Although it explained why he never whined about condoms.

  “It’s definitely what made me leave.” He kissed her face. “But I’m glad I’ll never have to worry about you.”

  India sensed there was a story. Though she was curious, she didn’t press, and he didn’t seem inclined to share. He sighed, and she could feel him sink into the pillow. She buried her face in the warmth of his chest and drifted off.

  Chapter Ten

  When she woke, she was alone, but she could hear Matt in the other room. India stretched, found her slippers, and padded out of the bedroom. She expected to find him parked in front of the television watching the Sunday morning Premiere League game. It was on, and Chelsea was up by two over Liverpool, but no Matt.

  The sound of water led her to the kitchen. “Hello, beautiful. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Beautiful was the last word that described her state at the moment. “You didn’t wake me.” The smell of coffee and bacon wafted toward her, and she realized she was hungry. “Something smells good.”

  “Breakfast for you.” He shooed her out with his hands. “And I plan on delivering it to you in bed.”

  “Really?” That perked her up. “You’re making breakfast for me?”

  “Yes. Now go back to bed.” He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and gently pushed her toward the doorway.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice, but how long will it be? I’d love to take a shower.”

  He surveyed the kitchen, which was awash in bowls and eggshells. “Thirty minutes, give or take.”

  “Well, then, I’ll stay out of your way.”

  * * *

  When she exited the bathroom twenty minutes later, he’d made the bed, but turned down her side. The Sunday paper waited nearby. He had to have sprinted to the corner store to get it. What is he up to? She’d taken two steps when Matt poked his head through the doorway.

  “There you are.” He pointed to the bed. “Want coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee. I take --”

  “I know.”

  He remembers how I take my coffee? Impressive. She climbed into bed and began to peruse the paper. She hadn’t made it to section B before he appeared carrying a plate and a mug. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  “Last I looked, it’s pouring.”

  “I mean you, and you know it.” He handed her the plate and put the coffee on the nightstand. “Be right back.”

  She surveyed the plate: eggs, whole wheat toast, bacon, fruit. This was more than her usual scarfed down yogurt or bowl of cereal closer to gerbil food than human fare. Before she had done more than sample the eggs, he appeared with his own plate and sat on what she had begun thinking of as his side.

  “Well?” He looked at his plate, but she could hear him waiting or approval.

  “Everything looks wonderful. I’ve only had the eggs so far, but they’re great. What time did you get up? Cutting the fruit had to take some time.” The cantaloupe was chopped into perfectly even cubes.

  “Not too early. I decided I’d let you sleep. You were a little restless last night.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It didn’t really bother me, but I woke, and you were on the far side of the bed. You usually don’t move. Anyway, I went to see what was in the fridge, and it looked like you bought out the produce section.”

  “It just looks that way because I have a tiny refrigerator, but I had hoped you’d be here for breakfast, so I tried to buy healthy. I’d meant to make breakfast for you.”

  “I owed you at least one.”

  “You owe me nothing.” She picked up the bacon. Crispy, just like she preferred.

  “Actually, I do.” He grew silent, as he did when organizing his thoughts. So to buy time, she finished the bacon and started on her toast.

  “You took Andrea to dinner last night.” His tone was neutral, so she couldn’t tell what he thought about it.

  “I didn’t take her to dinner. We went together.” She shifted so she could see his face better. “Why does it matter?”

  “That was very kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

  “No, I didn’t have to, but she was alone in the city, and it seemed unfair for her to come all this way and spend the evening by herself. Besides, it’s not like she was a total stranger.
You and Salé talked about her.”

  “But still, I appreciate it.” She wished she could puzzle out the expression on his face. It was new, and she didn’t have much context.

  “I had a good time, and she seemed to. She has lots of stories about you and Salé.”

  Matt cringed. “I wouldn’t believe everything she says.”

  Andrea had been flatteringly positive about Matt, but he didn’t need to know that. “She swore me to secrecy. So you made me breakfast because I was nice to Andrea?”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I really do appreciate it.”

  They ate in companionable silence, and in the space, she plucked up her courage. “Matt.” But he looked at her and that courage ran away.

  “Yes?” he said around a mouthful of eggs. A concerned line cut across his forehead. “What?”

  “Everything’s good.” She waved her fork at the plate. “I just have one question. It’s something that Andrea said yesterday, and I wasn’t sure whether or not to correct her.” Man, I feel sixteen again.

  “Which was?” He sounded more curious than concerned.

  “Andrea called me your woman, and I know that’s a general term. I just --” She stared at her strawberries as if they held the secrets to the universe. “I have no idea where we stand. I mean, for all I know you could aim to have a girlfriend in every city you travel to this season.”

  “Seriously?” Humor, derision, and a smidge of anger colored his voice.

  “How would I know? We’ve never talked about it. You had no idea how I felt about kids until last night.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded. “The short answer is that I have no intention of having a girlfriend in every city, just in this one. That would be you, in case I’m not clear enough.”

  “Oh, okay.” She couldn’t help smiling, though.

  “And… ?” He nudged her with his elbow, causing her fork to skitter off of her plate.

  “I guess you’ll do.” He snorted in reply, and she nudged him back. “I wasn’t looking for you, but I’ll keep you.”

  “I’m glad.” His voice was soft, then he cleared his throat. “What’s your plan for today, Ms. Jackson?”

  “I’m going to finish this wonderful breakfast before it gets cold, maybe have a second cup of coffee, then curl up on the sofa with my boyfriend and watch some soccer until he gets sick of soccer and me and decides to leave.”

  “Then I’m never leaving.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  * * *

  Just before three on Tuesday afternoon, India sat in the waiting area. Everything was some shade of gold or champagne. Some things were gilt, and there was too much of everything. She stole a glance at the ceiling, surprised to find that it was plain white. Not a single putti puttered above.

  It took all her will not to chew on her nail. Maybe it would amount to nothing, but her gut told her otherwise. She studied the front of her leather-bound calendar.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  “No, thank you.” Anything she drank would want to come right back out.

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” Luella smiled and disappeared into the depths of the apartment, which had to be as large as the house India had just sold. It encompassed the top two floors of one of the tallest and newest high-rises in the city. She’d expected the apartment to be ultra-modern, with sleek lines and a monochromatic interior. Instead, the apartment was Louis XV on an acid trip.

  India took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing pulse. It’s just a meeting. She’s just a woman.

  Said woman appeared in the doorway wearing a floral skirt and a bright yellow tone-on-tone shirt that competed with her personality.

  “If it isn’t Ms. Jackson. Come on in.” Maida waved at her.

  India stood again, grateful that she was wearing dress pants that she had designed and made herself. The heels of her boots sounded loud on the parquet floor, and she hoped they wouldn’t leave a mark.

  Maida’s office was dull and boring compared to the antechamber. Here were the sleek modern lines and Scandinavian furniture. Bold primary colors assaulted the senses, and she couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than rococo.

  Instead of a desk, a long pale wood table dominated the far corner of the room. Neat stacks of papers dotted the surface. “Have a seat.” Maida gestured to an upright chair that India hoped was more comfortable than it looked. “How have you been since we met?”

  “I have been busy, but doing well. And yourself?” Aside from the two chart topping songs and sold-out upcoming tour.

  She’d done a lot of research on Maida, who was a rather interesting person. Born in the West Indies, she’d come to America for college, where she was discovered one night singing karaoke in a local bar and been asked to sing back-up on an album. Since then, Maida Pelham had been on a slow, steady, rise to the top, enhanced by having one of her songs featured in a recent blockbuster film, The Fall of a Sparrow.

  “I have been busy as well.” Maida narrowed her eyes. “But you look especially good. Divorce agrees with you.”

  “I don’t disagree.” Movement off to her left caught her eye. A man stood silhouetted in the light streaming through the black curtained windows. “Oh!”

  “I was coming to that.” Maida flashed a sly smile.

  “That.” The figure chortled.

  “Quit being dramatic.” Maida waved her hand. “Rémy, doll, turn around and come over here.”

  “Yes, dear.” Good humor laced his words. As the figure moved, the silhouette resolved into a man, a handsome one. His grey suit had to be custom made it fit his body so well. Rémy was not particularly tall, probably just under six feet, but the cut of his pants made him appear taller. His dark-blond hair was unfashionably slicked back, instead of the floppy trend so many men favored. His cheekbones were knife sharp, and he strode as if he owned the world.

  Maida gave him a side-eye and shook her head. “Dear.” She shook her head. “As if anyone fills that bill. Now, India Jackson, I would like you to meet Rémy Stirling. You may have heard of him. Rémy, this is India.”

  Something familiar niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t place it. “The name sounds familiar.” She stood and held out her hand, then it clicked. “You designed for --”

  “We don’t say that name in polite company.” A smile softened the fact he had just cut her off.

  “Sorry.” She bit her lip.

  His gaze lingered on her mouth a moment, and the heat of it made her heart do strange things. “I think I can forgive you.” He took her hand.

  Maybe it was nerves distorting her perception, but there seemed to be more to his stare than polite interest. “I’m glad.”

  “I’ve been speaking about you.” Maida rapped the desk with her knuckles.

  “She has said the most complimentary things.” He leaned toward her, squeezed her hand one more time, then let it go. “I look forward to seeing if you can walk all that talk.”

  Again flashed the feeling of there being more to his words than appeared at first.

  “I suppose it depends on what she told you.” That seemed to be the safest response.

  “Indeed.” He laughed. “Well, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Jackson. However, I must be going.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Good-bye, Maida dear.” He bent over her hand as if he was a courtier. “Until next time.”

  “See you in Monaco.” She shooed him away. “Now, go. We have things to discuss.”

  “Good luck with her.” Rémy flashed another smile at India. “You’ll need it.”

  India watched as he crossed to the door and exited. It was difficult to tear her eyes away from the gray-clad ass. When he turned back, she was relieved to see Maida staring in the same direction before she faced India again.

  “Now to the reason for our meeting.” Maida folded her hands and set them on the desk
in front of her. “I will be blunt. I am not always pleased with the choices that my stylist makes.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her that you don’t like them?” That seemed the simplest answer.

  “I have tried.” Maida looked at her hands. “But she doesn’t listen, and I am not always certain of my own fashion sense. However, I like your style.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think between the two of us, we could do great things.”

  India wasn’t sure what Maida meant, but before she could ask, the other woman went on. “I will be attending an award show at the end of May.” She mentioned the name. It wasn’t one that India knew, but then, she didn’t watch award shows.

  “I see.”

  “I would like you to design and create a dress for me to wear that night.” Maida leaned across the desk.

  “I should be able to pull that off, but I’ll be honest, I’ve never had a commission before.”

  “I understand.” Maida inclined her head. “How about we take this a step at a time? I am leaving the city the day after tomorrow, but I will be back in two and a half weeks. We will meet then, and you can show me the designs you have come up with. If I find something I like, we’ll go from there. I would, of course, pay you for your time.”

  “I’d be delighted to work for you.” Please don’t ask me what I’ll charge. I have no idea what the going rate is.

  “To keep things simple, I will pay you what I typically pay for a designer gown.” Maida stood.

  “Oh, I don’t think I am worth that much.”

  “Ms. Jackson, you need to start valuing yourself more.” Maida came around the desk and held out her hand for India to shake.

  “I’m trying.” She shook Maida’s hand. “I’ll come up with a portfolio of ideas.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.” Maida gestured to the door. “Luella will contact you about a date and time for our meeting. I have no idea when I am to be where. I’d be so lost without that woman.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “And then Axel tackles me so hard that I crash into the wall and -- India, are you okay?”

  Over dinner, Matt explained that he’d be leaving for the west coast on Wednesday and wouldn’t be back until very late on Sunday. He felt bad, so he’d gone overboard and taken them to the poshest restaurant he knew.