I gasped.
"Kinsley!" Becca yelled from the ground just as my heart kicked into overdrive.
Holy shit.
"Kinsley, reach up. Give me your arm, you're okay." Liam was soothing me even before he'd caught me. I used my core muscles to stretch my right arm to where his hands were reaching toward me. He scooped me up like he was pulling a little kid out of a pool. One moment I was hanging there, feeling my body freeze in panic, and the next I was standing beside him on the plank of wood, breathing quick, shallow breaths.
"Holy shit," I laughed, resting my hands on my head and bending forward. I knew I was fine. I knew I would have been fine even if Liam hadn't helped me, but I still couldn't calm down.
Then Liam made it worse, ten trillion times worse, when his strong hand came to rest on my lower back. HELLO WARM AND FUZZIES. My heart completely stopped—
as in took a vacation from my body— and then it kicked into overdrive.
"You’re okay, Kinsley,” he soothed. “You wouldn't have fallen. I wouldn't have let you fall," he said, soothing his hand back and forth along my back.
I was being slightly dramatic, but heights were not my forte. Plus, his hand felt so damn good— warm and possessive— running along my spine like he did it every day.
“Yeah, because then the team would have been out a midfielder,” I joked.
His fingers pressed into the small of my back as he murmured, “That’s not the reason.”
Wait, what?
"Kinsley, are you okay?” Becca yelled up to me. “Jesus, don't scare me like that again! You were about to slip and splatter your brains all over me! Not cute.”
I smiled. "I'm fine. Now c'mon and please take your freaking time.”
The moment Becca spoke, Liam’s hand retracted from my back as if he was awakening to the fact that he was touching me almost inappropriately. No, it was inappropriate. His hand had been resting just two inches above my shorts. Which is about five inches above my vagina. So… yeah, he was basically touching my vagina.
He took a small step away from me and then we watched Becca climb up the rope so slowly that at certain points I wasn’t sure she was actually alive anymore. When she finally reached the top, I pulled her into a tight hug and we both started laughing hysterically. Exhaustion and adrenaline were a heady mixture.
"Are you guys good?" Liam asked, eyeing the two of us with a serious gaze. I dampened my lips and nodded, trying to repress the memory of his hand caressing my back.
He’s my coach. My off-limits coach. He’s like chocolate and I’m like pickles. They shouldn’t be mixed…
Unless… chocolate-covered pickles?
No.
They shouldn’t be mixed. Damnit.
"Kinsley?" Becca asked, drawing me out of my musings. I'd been staring at Liam the whole time, and I felt a blush creep across my cheeks.
"Yup. Good to go. Let's freaking finish this thing."
Chapter Eight
After the obstacle course from hell, there was still some time to head to the beach before the party that night. The weather was just turning warm enough for bikinis, but not warm enough to actually brave the frigid Pacific Ocean. The rookies and I were perfectly content to work on our tans and nap in the sun.
The afternoon zipped by, and before I knew it I was sitting on Becca’s bed, waiting for her to finish getting ready.
"What about this?" she said, throwing a dress out of her closet.
"That'd be cute with your blonde hair," I answered halfheartedly. This process was taking way too long, and Becca would look good in any of the three dozen dresses now littering the center of her room. I was tempted to lay on them like a pile of leaves, but I was supposed to be focused on helping her find an outfit.
"C'mon, you said that for the last ten!"
I sighed and pushed off the bed. “Exactly! The last TEN. How many compliments do you think my brain can generate? I’m not that creative!” I defended before hopping off the bed and grabbing a form-fitting white dress. “But, seriously, wear this one. It'll show off your tan from the beach." I held it up to her and she eyed it like she wasn't yet convinced.
"You have three minutes before I drag you out of here in your underwear," I threatened, but I couldn't keep a straight face when she started doing a little jig.
"Fine with me," she shrugged, continuing her dance around the room before eventually reaching forward to grab the dress.
While she slipped it on and found a pair of matching shoes, I inspected my outfit in her mirror. I was wearing a light blue cotton dress that was tight around my chest and way too short. I'd thrown on a pair of white converse along with my eclectic mix of bracelets. I'd left my long brown hair down and I'd used styling spray to give it a bit of volume. My light tan from the beach set off my aqua eyes, and I hadn't needed any makeup beyond a little mascara. It took me nineteen years to become equal parts lazy and stylish.