I rinse off all the grime, sweat, and dirt from this morning's exhibition game. Of course, winning feels great, but nothing feels better than a cold school locker room shower with uneven water pressure. I can't even lie to myself into enjoying this, but it's better than walking around dirty and gross.
"So, has Westerman got to see that body?" Jordan's voice breaks through the echo of water splashing on tiles. I shut off the water and turn to face her. She's still in her gear, having the luxury of showering at her off-campus house.
"Shut up," I retort, stepping out as she tosses me a towel. To most people, it might seem weird to be completely naked in front of their best friend, let alone a couple of players in the locker room. I'll admit, when I first came to UFN, I was the timid girl changing in the corner, making sure not to accidentally peek. But after a while, you give up, plus I work had enough not to be ashamed of what I got.
"Come on, Sof. You're telling me you haven't slept together?" Her eyes bore into mine, and I shake my head.
"You know I don't do the whole casual hookup thing."
"I know that, but everyone knows Stephan Westerman does." She starts, then her eyes go wide. "Holy shit! This is serious!" I turn away, starting to change into my navy biker shorts and hoodie.
"We're figuring it out," I mumble, glancing over my shoulder to see Jordan freaking out.
"If you're figuring it out, that means there's something to figure outâ" she starts, then her voice falters. "What about Peter Marcus?" That question stings.
"Also yet to be figured out," I admit.
"Sofia Delly, the playa," Jordan says with a teasing grin
"I gotta go; I'll see you," I roll my eyes with a laugh.
"Why the rush, Sofia?" Jordan looks at me smugly.
"He's walking me to class," I sigh, admitting.
"Ha! Knew it. Then he's gonna marry you and have your babies..." she continues, and I respond by grabbing my things and offering my middle finger as I walk away.
When I step out, I'm immediately greeted by the sight of Stephan, dressed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatshorts, leaning on the soccer bleachers with an iced coffee in hand.
"About time," he says, making his way over and handing me the drink.
"You know, if you take sips of it, it's not really my drink." I eye him as we walk toward the school.
"And yet you drink it," he gleams, and I pull the drink down from my lips.
"So, I talked to my parents, and they think we're a good idea. My father's words are, you're respectable."
"Great, so now you can march your ass to the Dean's office and get me some funds."
"They want you to come to dinner. My father was adamant."
"No." I stop walking, and Stephan turns to face me.
"Well, I can't march my ass to the Dean if you're not marching your ass to dinner next week."
"I don't know the first thing about youâ" I start.
"Yeah, and my dad's an ex-cop," he mumbles, cutting me off.
"You're telling me your dad, an ex-cop, wants to see how we, a fake couple, might I add, interact?" I stare at him firmly, my arms now crossed.
I watch as he thinks for a moment before responding. "Meet me at mine at seven."
"I can't. I have an athletic council meeting, and for what?"
"Then eight. To get to know each other. We're playing to win, Delezar." With that, he shoots me a dimpled smile before walking away.
+++
Eight-thirty rolls around and I find myself in the last place I'd ever expect to be: about to knock on Stephan Westerman's apartment door. The place screams high-end, from the glossed marble front desk area to the fancy mirrored elevator. Goodness, the door is even fancy with the thick white trim around it and digital numerical lock. Instead of giving myself further reasons to stall, considering my bladder is about to burst, I knock.
The door opens and I'm greeted by Stephan wearing a navy hoodie and grey sweats and his dimmed apartment. "You're late," he states as I walk in.
"Sue me. Where's your washroom?" I take a look at the apartment, and it's even nicer than I assumed. And I mean, besides the white and grey marble flooring, the modern kitchen, and the spacious living room, the fact that it's spotless. In a million years, I wouldn't assume this was the apartment of a 21-year-old college student, never mind one of Stephan Westerman.
"You can use the one in my room." He casually points to the room with an open door as he heads to the couch, sitting down. I offer a short smile before heading to his room. Again, fairly clean. Maybe a sweater here and there lying around, but it's mostly spotless. A big queen bed dressed with charcoal grey bedding and a massive TV across on the wall.
I make my way over to the washroom, which makes me believe he's somewhat of a normal person considering the lack of tidiness in comparison to the rest of this freakishly clean apartment. I quickly finish up and make my way to the sink, washing my hands with a cinnamon sparkle foaming hand soap. I look up in the mirror, pulling my hair out of its messy bun that now looks disastrous, when I notice the medicine cabinet slightly open.
A peek won't hurt. I open it further to see a shocking amount of pill bottles. I grab one to read the prescription, but it's ripped off. In fact, all of them are ripped off.
"Nosy, are we?" I abruptly turn around, dropping the bottle in my hand, to see Stephan with the door now open, his face unimpressed.
"I could've been on the toilet," I say, picking up the bottle and placing it back in the medicine cabinet.
"But you weren't. Instead, you were rummaging through my things." He states then turns around, heading out of the room, and I follow to the living room.
"So you're not gonna ask?" he looks back at me while sitting on the couch as I do on the opposite end.
"I won't," I respond, now feeling bad about the whole situation.
"Don't give me that look." He gives an annoyed expression before continuing, "They're not mine. They're not even prescription." He admits. "Tommy leaves his perks considering he spends more time here than I do, the guest room is basically his."
I nod in response. "It's freakishly clean. You a clean freak?"
"I like to keep things tidy. I wouldn't call it freaky. Only my father and Tommy have the pass to the apartment, and my father wouldn't let me have it looking no less than perfect."
"He's tough on you," I state, and he leans his head back on the couch in thought.
"Tough love, I guess." He starts, then turns to look at me. "Your favorite colour?"
"Really?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Really." He states
"Green, but not regular green; more of a sage green."
"Green is green." he grumbles.
"Whats your favorite colour? colour police."
"Green, just regular green."
"Was your family born and raised here?" I ask.
"Pretty much, if you'd like to go back three generations, I think I have a great, great grandfather from Italy." He laughs lightly, and I smile in response.
"What about you, Delezar?"
"My father: born and raised in Canada, and my mom immigrated from Columbia. They had my brother Alex, and then me two years later."
"Do you have any siblings?" I ask, and his face tilts in response.
"You know nothing about me." He states.
"The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Westerman." I retort.
"No, I like it. It's refreshing," he admits. "I have a younger sister, Sloan." He continues.
"Favourite food?"
"Pineapple pizza" I state and his face screws up.
"Fuck no."
"Don't knock it till you try it." I pause thinking of something to ask.
"Okay, let's get interesting. Your first kiss, and don't tell me it was your babysitter when you were seven," I say, bringing my knees to my chest getting comfortable.
"Wow, the womanizer you think I am." His hand rests on his chest. "She was Sloan's babysitter, and I was fifteen."
"Oh my god." I let out a loud snort and cover my mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says, rolling his eyes. "Since you want to get clever, your first time: who and when."
"You're acting like that's a big deal. Joshua Meadows, my senior year at Afterprom, in a dungy motel room."
"Yours?" I ask interestedly. "And please don't say the babysitter." I state, and he laughs.
"Summer, just before twelfth grade, a random girl at a beach party. Barely remember it."
"Figures."
"Gonna pretend I didn't hear that dig." He pauses, "If we're 'dating,'" he puts up air quotes, "What's our dynamicâtop or bottom?" he asks, intrigued.
"Depends." I shrug, maintaining eye contact.
"On what?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Mood, person."
"Patrick?" He states casually, as if we're back to talking about favorite foods.
"First of all, his name is Peter, and second, top." His eyes flicker, and I can tell he's surprised I actually answered the question.
"You'll have to do a lot more to break me, Westerman."
"Okay," he pauses., shifting up in his seat.
"Me." He gives me that look, the one I hate, his lids drop slightly and his eyes softly look into mine.
We fall into a silence, and I contemplate even entertaining the question.
"I'm toying with you, your major?" he cuts in.
"Kinesiology," I respond. "I want to go into sports medicine. And you?"
"Business. Not that it matters. I'll end up in the NFL whether I finish my degree or not," he states as if it's an annoyance.
"You're pretty filthy at soccer." He interrupts himself. "Or so I've heard, you not going to try the pro route?" He asks, and I shrug.
"There's no money in women's sports." I admit.
"Thats fair." He responds, his understanding clear in his voice.
+++
By the time I leave, I feel like I've gotten somewhat of a better understanding of Stephan Westerman, not just the hearsay rumors that circulate on campus.
He walks me back out to my car, which isn't hard to find considering its a 2018 red Honda Civic, amidst the 2022â2024 Lexus, Mercedes, and whatever other expensive car's you can name.
Before I drive off, I look back at Stephan whos standing beside the car hands in pockets waiting for me to leave.
"Not even if you were the last person on earth..." I start and his eyes narrow in curiosity.
"But bottom." I state before pulling out and exiting the parking lot.