My queen-sized mattress is against the far wall with a nightstand next to it. The down comforter is a slate gray color with red and white plaid sheets. They put up a wooden folding screen next to my bed to hide it from view when necessary.
The place is almost too small for the sofa I got from my aunt and uncle when they got new furniture, but it’s so comfortable. My coffee table is the same colored wood as the screen. I’d describe it as a distressed grey.
The kitchen area is separated from the rest of the space by a breakfast bar that sits two barstools I bought used. Dad and I stripped and sanded them before refinishing them.
The big appliances came with the place, and I have a washer and dryer right down the hall. It’s not bad, and the money I made working for my dad this summer covered a good portion of my rent. My parents paid the rest because they knew it would be hard with soccer and then my studies to have a job.
Practice starts tomorrow morning, and I’m looking forward to it. I’ve played soccer since I can remember or, as my dad tells it, as soon as I could walk. My dad played professional soccer in Australia. He was a bit famous for a while because of a poster that still had made him a lot of money.
It was in my blood to play the game. I’m the captain of the team and a center forward, or the main striker. I thought about going pro instead of finishing school, but my dad played one game before his career was over, and I wanted a career that was going to last longer than a soccer career would.
I’m majoring in business with a minor in marketing. My hope is to work in sports marketing with a sports team. This last year is going to be tough, but in the end it’ll be worth it when I’m working my dream job.
I know my dad was a little disappointed that I didn’t want to go into the landscape business with him. I enjoy working alongside him in the summer, but I don’t want to do that forever. I want to carve out my own path.
For dinner I heat up some leftovers Mom set me up with. I could go meet up with the guys and hit the bars—see what the girl situation is—but I have to be at the field at eight in the morning. Coming to the first practice of the year hungover or sleep deprived is not the impression I want to make.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to party as much as the next guy, but I’m all business when it comes to soccer.
***
“Chance, lead the boys in a warm-up drill,” Coach McLaughlin shouts before walking off the field.
I turn to face my teammates. We run through a kick drill, then lunges, followed by inside out/outside in. After that we split up into our groups. The other forwards and I start shooting drills.
By the time practice is over I’m lying on my back in the middle of the field. Trey, who has been my best friend since kindergarten and one of our goalkeepers, holds a hand out to me, helping me off the ground.
“What’s up, bro? When did you get in?”
We walk toward the gym and head into the locker room. “We were running late, so it was about eight-thirty before we got here. They basically unloaded my shit and left. My mattress is on the floor right now because I didn’t have time to put the frame together.”
“Your parents are crazier than mine.” I mean that in the most loving way. His mom and dad are my second mom and dad.
“I don’t know. You guys have that damn goat. We have a normal pet, a dog.” I shake my head and make my way to my locker.
I take a shower then throw on some basketball shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. I throw my sunglasses on as I head back to my place. A group of cheerleaders wave as I walk by. “Ladies.”
A couple of them and I have gotten real acquainted with each other over the past three years. “Chance, you should totally call me.” Kylie or Kaylee is her name, I feel bad I can’t really remember what it is for sure, calls out.
“We’ll see, maybe. I’ll see you around.” I walk by and know they’re talking about me as I walk toward my apartment.
This is going to be an amazing fucking year, I can feel it.
Chapter Two
Laken
After blow drying my hair, I twist it up into a bun on top of my head. It’s too hot to have it touching my neck. Once it’s all pinned up, I head back into my bedroom and thrown on a pair of worn jean shorts—you know the ones that are so worn they’re super soft. They’re threadbare in spots and fit like the most comfortable glove.
I put on a black cami with a built-in bra because my boobs are basically non-existent. Over that I throw on my Stick Figure tank top. My dad bought it for me when he took me to see them earlier this summer. Dad’s all about that reggae life and is a concert-aholic.
I slip on my tennis shoes and grab my bag then head out into the living room where my roommate/best friend, Nicole, is doing yoga. I walk past her and slap her ass, only because it’s pointed up in the air … easy target.
“Hey,” she says from her downward facing dog position. “You should join me.”
“I would, but I want to get to the bookstore. A couple of the books I need weren't available online.”
“Have fun with that. Meet for lunch later?” She’s now on the floor on all fours.
“Yeah, just text me what time, and I’ll meet you there.” I shut the door behind me
