Page 4 of Penalty Kick

The older woman gestured with her head in the direction of the table, her expression unchanged. Tough crowd this morning.

Making his way toward where the hostess indicated, Dash found Chance Walker and DB Elliot waiting on him, the two of them sitting on the same side of the booth. Both of them had their heads down—Elliot looking over the menu while Chance tapped away at his phone—oblivious to what was going on around them. Slipping into the other side of the booth, Dash gave his buddies a moment, waiting for some kind of greeting, before giving them grief.

“What is with the same side of the booth? You two become a couple and not tell anyone?”

Chance continued to ignore him, his thumbs flying across the screen. Elliot did finally glance up at him, eyes barely visible over the obscenely large, spiral-bound menu.

“I prefer blondes,” Elliot quipped.

“Really? Because Haven’s brunette,” Chance asked, eyes still glued to his phone.

“Fuck off.”

Dash laughed, the nerves that had formed earlier starting to dissolve now that he was back with the guys. Their easy comradery had come naturally and been almost instant. It was part of what made them so dynamic on the field—they were so in sync with each other that they were almost able to predict how the others would move and react. It was how they’d won the Fremont Cup in their inaugural year. And it was what was hopefully going to win them the league as well.

“Sorry I’m late,” Liam said, his thick Irish accent booming as he dropped into the booth. “What’d I miss?”

“Elliot apparently wouldn’t date me because I’m not a blonde,” Chance answered.

“Really? Because Haven’s—”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Elliot threatened, pointing at their goalie. “I don’t care what you guys think, I am not into my best friend’s sister.”

“You sure?” Dash goaded. He couldn’t help himself. It was too much fun getting under Elliot’s skin like this. Not a one of them really cared that their buddy was harboring this not-so-secret crush on the girl—although Dash did have to admit he didn’t see the appeal in her. It wasn’t like she was Talia.

“Enough about Haven,” Elliot grumbled. “How’s Delaney?”

His tone was pointed, his whole body turning as he looked at Chance. Biting back another laugh, Dash watched as his midfielder squirmed slightly, not enjoying the turning of the tables. Just as they all knew about Elliot, it was just as common unspoken knowledge that Chance was in love with his best friend.

“She’s great,” he answered, slipping his phone in his pocket. “She says hi.”

“Nice save,” Liam said, holding out his fist for a bump. Chance nodded, taking Liam up on his offer.

“Do you guys know what you want or do you need a minute?” a waitress asked, appearing out of nowhere. She placed four mugs on the table, followed by a carafe of coffee.

Elliot closed the menu, proceeding to order the same thing he had every morning for breakfast. Dash listened as he rattled off the very specific order to the waitress, who was furiously scribbling on her note pad to keep up. Dash had to hand it to his teammate, the man took his diet seriously. Even in a greasy spoon like this, he still stuck with his carefully crafted meal choice. The rest of the group did not, however, opting for choices that weren’t totally unhealthy, but certainly wouldn’t have been met with approval from the team’s nutritionist.

“Excited to be back?” Chance asked as the waitress walked away.

“You have no idea,” Dash answered.

This last week had been the longest of his life. He'd tried his best to stay busy—going on longer runs, doing some extra sessions in the gym at his apartment complex, adding in some yoga. But knowing that his team was training without him was never far from his mind. Knowing that he had missed playing in the game in Salt Lake over the weekend had eaten away at him too. All because of something he still didn’t remember. No matter how hard he tried.

“Not to sound…mushy…but being away from you guys sucked.”

“We could have used you this past weekend against Salt Lake. Mahoney doesn’t like to play that far forward, so he’ll be thrilled to have you back.”

Dash nodded. He and their holding midfielder, Mahoney Holmes, had gelled quickly at the start of the season, easily finding their rhythm, knowing what space the other preferred to play in. For as quiet and reserved as he was—always turning down the group’s invitation to join them when they went out—he was a good teammate, and Dash knew he had his back. Too bad they didn’t see more of him outside practices and games.

“Beau was on fire though,” Elliot added.

Wasn’t that the damn truth. Beau Blackwood might have almost a decade on everyone at that table, but for an “old man”—at least as far as the sport of football was concerned—he still managed to run circles around lots of guys. When it had been announced the veteran player was coming to the Atlanta Rising, Dash had been thrilled at the chance to work with someone he’d looked up to for a long time. So far, they seemed to get on well together, even if Beau wasn’t much for off the field bonding. Now, Dash just hoped that Beau and the rest of the team were as willing to accept him back as the three guys sitting with him now.

That was the other thing that had been gnawing at him since their return from Vegas. Guilt. No, it was more than just guilt. It was shame, embarrassment. He knew he’d let the team down, and it was killing him. He wouldn’t blame any of them for shunning him. He’d fucked up and he knew it. He just didn’t remember it. Now the key was to win back the trust of his teammates and coaches and prove to them who he really was.

Dash Lazaro, star striker of the Atlanta Rising Football Club. Also, not an asshat.

“Well, I am back now.”