Page 17 of The Coach

A young waitress dressed in a pale blue button-down and tan slacks approaches our table and pulls a notepad from her apron. "What can I get you tonight?" She smiles warmly.

Andy points to the menu. "A bruschetta pizza to start, then a supreme and—" she turns to me. "Do you like olives?"

"They're alright."

"And a caprice. Thanks," she tells the waitress.

"And a bottle of the house red, thanks," I add with a smile.

"Not a problem at all," says the young girl. When she looks me over, her face breaks into a massive grin and she bats her lashes at me. "Oh my God, it's you, isn't it? Brad Swift?"

Andy throws me a look and rolls her eyes, unimpressed, and I smile politely back to the young girl, stifling back a grin at Andy's obvious annoyance. "Yes, that's me."

The girl pulls out her phone. "Can I get a quick selfie? My brother is like your hugest fan, he's never going to believe I served you tonight."

"Sure." I smile, standing to take a photo with the girl. This isn't the first time I've been approached by a fan, but it's awkward doing this in front of Andy. Probably because of the smart-ass smile she's giving me the entire time.

"Thank you so much." The waitress takes a quick snap and scurries back off to the kitchen excitedly.

I take my seat again.

"Oh my God," Andy mocks, her hand over her chest.

I laugh at her. "You're just jealous."

"Nope! Not at all. I couldn't care less if I get noticed or not. That's not why I play, as opposed to some." She gives me a pointed look. Does she really think that?

"You think that's why I played? To get famous?"

The waitress returns with our wine, and I pour two glasses, handing one to Andy.

She sips at it then holds the glass in her hand, swirling the burgundy liquid. "Was it?"

I give her an annoyed look. I can't believe she thinks that little of me. "Not at all. I played because, for as long as I can remember, it's all I could think about. What about you, why do you play?" I throw her question back at her. See how she likes it.

"For the same reason as you, I guess. I'm one of four girls, and my sisters are all a bit more placid than me. I was hard to manage, so my parents put me in soccer as a kid. I was seriously full of energy, they thought it might tire me out. It didn't, but I fell in love with the game and everything about it. So I started practicing every day. I did every holiday camp I could and eventually got scouted. I became obsessed with being the best. I still am."

She looks proud as she says it. You can see what the game means to her. It's her everything. That's how I used to be as well before I got injured.

"I've been watching you this week. You work harder than anyone else on the team. You remind me of myself when I was your age."

"That must have been a long time ago. You're, like, really old now," she teases.

"Funny, try more experienced! And I'm not that much older than you."

She smirks. "I know you're not, but you're old enough that I have a really embarrassing story to tell you." She wrinkles her nose and offers me the first genuine smile since I got here this week. "This is, like, really embarrassing, but I have to tell you anyway."

She buries her head in her hands and giggles. "When I was in the seventh grade, I had your poster on my wall. It was the one from your first season with Chelsea when you scored that winning penalty in the final. I wanted to be you so badly. Well, as good as you anyway—I didn't want to be a dude or anything."

I grin smugly at her as the waitress brings over our pizzas and places them down on the table in front of us. Taking a little too long, she offers me a flirtatious look before disappearing back to the kitchen.

Andy shakes her head at the waitress, and I chuckle at her. I fucking knew it. The first night we met, she tried to act like she had no idea who I was and as if I wasn't having any effect on her, and all along, she has been crushing on me since she was twelve. "I think that's more embarrassing for me than it is for you." I laugh. "I still can't believe how good you were at lying that first night. Here I was, the poster boy from your wall, and you acted like you had no clue who I was."

"I'm just a good actress."

"That you are." We both grab for the pizza, munching on a piece in silence. She looks deep in thought, and I wonder what's running through her mind. This should be more uncomfortable between us, but it's not.

"So, Andy, I'm curious. You wanted to play like me… or you had a major crush on me?" I ask, picking up another slice and taking a bite. I know I'm getting back into dangerous territory by asking that, but I'm interested to know what the answer is.

---