On My Mind

Kaia woke up a few days later to two text messages from Sid.

I had a great time with you the other day, the first read, and Kaia—lying in bed—couldn't help but grin and bury herself deeper under her bedsheets with a little laugh, re-reading the message a few times before looking at the next one. Can I take you out tonight on a real date? My reservation. Call me when you get this. Kaia glanced at the clock—6:20—and slipped out of bed, tip-toeing past Maggie's closed door, her phone tight in her hand. As she padded down the hallway, she pressed the dial button on her phone, holding it up to her ear anxiously.

It rang three times before he answered.

At the sound of his tired voice, she almost immediately felt her heart drop. “Did I wake you up? I'm so sorry, I—”

“Kai, it's fine,” he mumbled, his use of her nickname almost casual. “I'm up. I have practice this morning.”

“I just got your texts,” she tried to explain, falling backwards onto the couch and stretching her legs out above her. “I'm free tonight, if you—I mean—if you want to go out.”

There was a pause, and she heard rustling on the other line, along with a grunt that she assumed came from Sidney. “I'll pick you up,” he said. “Seven o'clock?”

“Seven,” Kaia repeated, closing her eyes. “Are you going to tell me where we're going?”

“No,” he said indignantly. “It's a secret.”

She let out a quiet, tired laugh. “I guess I kinda deserve that.”

“Kinda,” he echoed, laughing a little. “It's a nice restaurant, though—no backstreet pizza joints.”

“So I probably shouldn't wear your sweater again, huh?” She questioned cheekily.

“You could,” he said. “I wouldn't mind.”

They hung up a few minutes later, and Kaia rushed off to practice, running—once again—barefoot from her parking spot the field, this time shivering a little bit more in the cold weather. On the field, she let herself forget about Sidney, lost for the two hours they were practicing in passing drills and shoot outs. There was a reason that she played soccer, and that morning only cemented it; as the city started to come alive around them, she and her teammates were completely absorbed in the game that she had been playing since she learned how to walk. She ran the extra laps that her coach gave her for being late with gusto, and she led a conversation at the end of practice about their games in the upcoming week: they would be playing away at Villanova on Tuesday, and Ohio State at home on Friday, two games they Kaia knew they had to win.

The team had won the Division I national championships the year before against University of Michigan, a feat that most of the coaching staff had somehow shifted onto Kaia's shoulders. Her teammates—present and those that had graduated—had poured the Gatorade over her shoulders, offering her game ball; college sports websites and newspapers had heralded the nine goals she had scored in the four game final tournament. As she left the field that morning, Kaia glanced back, remembering the feeling of winning the last game the fall before, and thought vaguely of the spectators that she knew would be at all of her upcoming games: recruiters from the U.S. Women's National Team, the same that had watched the final the year before, and the same that she had been talking to on and off since then.

She pushed the thought from her mind and moved through the motions of the rest of her day—a class at noon, and an entire afternoon tutoring underclassmen in her major, her mind everywhere but where she was. She felt like she was floating, her head in the clouds, buoying between thinking about Sidney—Sid, like he had insisted she called him—and the field, the games that she was facing in the upcoming week, the mounting pressure from her coaches and the recruiters to make a decision. When she got home that afternoon, she all but collapsed onto her bed, her mind still racing.

Six thirty that evening found Kaia anxiously pacing around the apartment, wide awake, all of the nerves that she thought she had left behind her back in full effect. Glancing at the clock, she thought vaguely of their exchange on the sidewalk almost a week before: his lips on hers, and, at the end of the night, standing on her tip-toes to reach him, feeling his hands almost lift her up. It was as simple as that, like it had happened before and would happen again, and Kaia found herself wishing desperately that it would.

In front of the mirror, she surveyed her outfit—a simple, long-sleeved black dress that fell a few inches short of knee and a khaki green military jacket—and she glanced at the nude pumps that sat near the door, tall enough that she knew she wouldn't have to reach so much to kiss him. She and Maggie had spent almost an hour and a half rifling through her closet to piece it together. Kaia, alone, had spent another forty five minutes fidgeting in the bathroom, carefully applying mascara and eyeliner and lipstick, which she was now almost grimacing at.

From the doorway, Maggie let out a whistle. “You look great, Kai.”

She cast a nervous glance at her friend. “You don't think it's too much?”

“Look, Kai,” Maggie said sternly, one finger wagging at her friend. “If he liked you wearing a hockey sweater, he's going to love you in this.”

Kaia nodded, but still glanced back in the mirror, her mouth set in a thin line. She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard her phone go off, Sid signaling that he was waiting outside.

“Knock 'em dead.” Maggie grinned at her, watching as she stepped into her shoes. “Have fun, okay? And don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

Kaia couldn't help but roll her eyes, stepping out into the hallway. She shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the hem of her dress. “If this sucks—”

“It's not going to,” Maggie reassured, nudging her toward the elevator. “You're going on a date with a hot rich guy, Kai, take advantage of it.” She shook her head at Kaia's annoyed expression. “Okay—don't do that. But have fun. You look hot. Now goodbye.”

Kaia nodded and started down the hallway, sending Sid a text to say that she was on her way downstairs.

Sidney was leaning against his car when she got outside, standing up a little taller when he saw her. “Wow,” he said, his voice low. “You look—amazing.”

Kaia took in his dark suit and button down, throwing him a cheeky smile. “You do too.”

He gave her one of his lopsided smiles, opening the car door for her. When she gave him a mildly surprised look, he shrugged, as if it was nothing. “This is our first real date. I'm trying to make a good impression, okay?”

When he was seated in the driver's side, Kaia looked at him with a smile tugging at the side of her lips, and shook her head, resisting the urge to lean over and repeat what had happened the night before. “So, Mister Crosby, where are we headed?”

“It's a secret, remember?” He looked over at her like this was obvious. “I should've brought a blindfold or something.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” she murmured, and cast another glance his way.

Sid didn't let the conversation drop as he drove, and Kaia was thankful for the distraction, letting him ease the butterflies in her stomach as he asked about her practice and classes. She didn't mention the imminent presence of the national team recruiters, and focused on talking about her strategy for the games she had in the coming week, amazed at the focus Sidney had as he listened to what she was saying, nodding along. She had to remind herself that he understood where she was coming from—that he, like her, had these important games, and analyzed like she did. Talking to him about it was almost easier than talking to her teammates, or even her coaches.

“This is it,” Sid murmured, nodding toward a restaurant that he had pulled up in front of, and got out of the car quickly. He opened her door again, mumbling something about good impressions under his breath.

Kaia felt his eyes sweep over her from head to toe, and almost blushed, watching as he threw the keys to a valet. “You're good at this, huh?”

He looked at her with a confused expression. “Good at what?”

“First impressions,” she mumbled, shrugging. “Maybe it's just because you look so good in a suit.”

“I think the suit looks better than I do,” he said sarcastically, and nodded toward the hostess when they entered the restaurant, taking Kaia's hand in his. “Come on. We're back here.”

Kaia had to admit that she was impressed—more so than she thought she would be—and tried not to notice the stares as they sat down at a table in the furthest corner of the restaurant, remembering all at once that Sid was, for lack of a better word, famous. Their waitress ogled at him, and some even walked by a few times to look at him in groups, giggling. It seemed like he didn't notice—or at least he pretended not to. She was thankful, without realizing that she would be, that they were separated from the rest of the restaurant by a buffer of empty tables and a thick black curtain that their waitress eventually pulled shut around them, casting one last look at Kaia's date.

Sid had ordered a bottle of white wine, and she felt his eyes on her as she took a sip, smiling a little to herself.

“What?” He asked, his head to the side.

“I'm just thinking,” she murmured, offering him a coy smile.

He laughed a little, taking a long sip from his own glass, and then held it out to her. “Can I propose a toast?”

Kaia smiled wistfully, holding her glass out to him.

“To good first dates,” he said, and tried to tap her glass, but she pulled hers away.

“To great third dates,” she corrected. "We've been out two times before this—those count."

“In that case—to great third dates.” He thought for a second, smiling to himself. “And to you, for being my date. And looking so good doing it.”

She laughed, gently hitting his glass with hers. “And to you for making me blush.”

They fell silent for a minute, though not uncomfortably, and Kaia relaxed into her chair, slipping her feet out of her high heels under the table. Just as she was about to speak, Sid did, his voice casual.

“You know—Maggie mentioned that you were a prospect for the national team,” he said easily. “That true?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. That's what everyone has been saying.”

He looked at her curiously. “You don't think so?”

“I don't know,” she said truthfully, trying to piece together an explanation. “It's weird, I—I want it a lot. Growing up, I wanted to be the next Mia Hamm, you know? And after last year...”

“Last year?” His eyebrows came together. “You won the—”

“A lot of people said that we won because of me,” she mumbled. “It's weird. I think about it, like—we played a tournament up in Boston, and I almost don't remember any of that. I scored nine goals in four games, but—it's, like, it wasn't really me when I was playing in that spotlight. I was so focused on winning, not playing the game.” She swallowed thickly, taking a quick sip of her wine. “I don't want to play if it's always going to be like that.”

Sid was staring at her with eyes that she couldn't read, his eyebrows furrowed a little bit. “I know what you mean,” he emitted after a moment or so. “It's a hard decision to make.”

Kaia nodded, and her eyes met his, full all at once of admiration, a smile creeping onto her face. She didn't know why, but at the same time she did—on the other side of the table, Sid just smiled back, his eyes fading from dark to bright. She raised her wine glass again. “Another toast.”

Sid raised his wine glass, watching her curiously.

“To this. Tonight,” she murmured. Whatever this is.