“That really does bother you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Your locker just about gave me a heart attack.”
She laughed quietly through her nose and stroked my temple.
“But you aren’t freaking out being in my bed even though I never make it?”
“Yeah…it’s okay,” I said and realized I meant it. “It smells good.”
“It smells good?” she raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It smells like you.”
I felt my face get warm, which was strange. The darkness probably hid the fact from her, and I was good with that.
Nicole was quiet for a few minutes, and I closed my eyes halfway, just lying there and thinking about how it felt when her fingers curved in a little, and her nails lightly scratched my scalp.
“What did he take?” Nicole asked after a while.
“It was nothing, really.” I shrugged. “Just my sketchbook.”
“You draw?” The shock in her voice made me tense. I never talked to anyone about my sketchbook or anything I had ever drawn, and I didn’t want her to think I was a pussy about art or anything.
“Not really,” I said, trying to backpedal. “I mean, not seriously or anything. I just kind of…doodle, I guess.”
“Why would he take it?”
“He doesn’t want anything to distract me from soccer,” I told her. “He’s just looking out for me—I know that. He just wants to make sure I keep my focus, but there were some sketches…well, I just didn’t want them gone. I don’t know what he did with them.”
“How is that looking out for you?” Nicole said with her voice full of venom.
“I want to go pro,” I said, shrugging again. “If I let other things get in the way, then my chances of getting on the right team aren’t as good. If you are going to be the best, be the fucking best. I’m not going to settle for anything else.”
Nicole scowled at me.
“What team is the right team?”
“Real Messini.”
“Really?” Nicole scoffed. “Thomas…they don’t even scout in the US.”
“They do now.”
There was a long pause before Rumple spoke again.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re coming to watch me play in two weeks,” I said.
“Are you serious?” The pitch of her voice increased, and she sat partway up in the bed, looking down at me. “They’re looking to replace William?”
“Yeah, eventually.”
“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Thomas, that is huge.”
“That’s why he doesn’t want anything else getting in my way,” I explained. “He just wants what’s best for me.”
“Taking your sketchbook and breaking your rib are what’s best for you? How well are you going to play with a broken rib?”