Page 177 of Chasing Headlines

Sender continued despite the buzzing in my head. “He’s a legend in his own mind. The Van Sante name’s on a plaque outside Striker Stadium, and he doesn’t let me forget it.”

“Dude, not only are you the wettest blanket I ever met,” Jimenez groused as he re-entered the room, carrying a padded chair. “And I’ve spent far too much time with the poster child for anger issues, over here. But you’re like a loser example of the whitest privilege I’ve ever seen. Do you have to carry around your ego in a backpack?”

“Was told to keep him talking. What the fuck's your problem?”

“Ok, ok, Jimenez, Van Sante, go back to your corners.” Coach moved to stand between the two.

“Don’t need your help. We’ll take care of our own.” Jimenez snarled.

“Bite me, asshat.” Sender shot back, but moved away.

Geez, and I was a worse attitude problem than these two?But Coach had already turned away.

“Where's Dotty? Dammit, she can't just wander around here.” He pivoted, glancing about. He rubbed at the back of his head.

The door wedged open and Jimenez stopped glaring at Sender and practically bounded across the room to greet his girlfriend. He pulled her into the room. She looked at me and frowned. “How's your head?”

“Fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re as stubborn as she is. I wonder if that’s what she sees in you.”

She?A flash of that wicked hot dream danced before my eyes. The chick about to ride me. God, I hoped she was real.

“Heh. If you ever figure it out, let me know. I sure as hell can't think of anything.” Jimenez chuckled like he was a comedian.

“What was it you said to me? 'You suck like a Hoover, pana'.” Hah, I remembered.

“I drove in the winning run.” He leaned toward me while pointing at himself. “And I get the girl. If that's sucking, I'll take it.”

“He has a point.” Sender was back.

“See, even soccer-man gets it.”

“Hedoessuck.” Sender shrugged with a bored look on his face. “But he also has a point.”

“You know what, Van Sante, I'm gonna come teach you how we play soccer in Dominica. You and your punk-assed perra?—”

“Ok, ok. You checked on your friend.” Hilda pulled on her boyfriend's arm, steering him toward the door. “Coop says he's fine. I came to get you so you could take me to dinner and celebrate.”

Jimenez shot a last glare at Sender—who didn't seem at all bothered. Arms crossed, he leaned against the foot of my bed and yawned.

“I know a few things about asshole fathers.”

If my head wasn't ready to split open, I might’ve asked. As it was, I just wanted to go back to that dream.

“You're not supposed to do that.”

My eyelids lifted at the same time Sender hauled me upright. He hit the button on the arm of the bed, tilting my upper body—just enough to prevent me from lying down.And going back toher.

“Why are you still here?” I glanced around. The place was empty, again. Or had it always been?

“Remi. The trainer. She asked me to help out.”

“You did. I'm sure coach and Fens will stop by.”

His eyebrows lifted. “They've been by. You don't remember?”

“Uh. Yeah.” I did remember, didn't I? “They said they'd come back, I mean.”