Chapter 3: Things Get Complicated

The rest of our preseason preparations went smoothly, despite Millie sitting out for a few weeks while her hammie healed. When we started our league season, it soon became apparent that those games were just a warmup for the upcoming tournaments. Mick told me that he expected us to be the best team in our league and that we should win all our games. That turned out to be an accurate assessment.

We won our first three games by a total score of 21-2. Mick should have been happy, but he was still upset about the two goals we gave up. He took a few minutes at the start of practice after our third game and lectured the team about their mistakes on defense. There were a lot of bowed heads as he laid into them, and I thought he was being too harsh for players that age. It brought back memories of my playing days in college. Amy told me later that the girls were used to it, and even after the tongue-lashing, they still liked Mick. He was ten years younger than I was, handsome and unmarried, and I was sure some of them had a crush on him based on how they looked at him.

The lecture must have worked. Our next four games were clean sheets. Tom French, the former coach who had suffered a heart attack, was still involved in the team as much as he could be. When he saw that the opposition in our league wasn’t challenging enough, he used his contacts to arrange some scrimmages against older teams. We lost the first two; then we beat a U-13 boys’ team. Those young men left the field pissed and embarrassed, but the Devils loved it. That got us ready for the tournaments coming up later in the season.

The first was on Thanksgiving weekend in Fort Lauderdale, about a three-hour drive down I-95. Some parents resisted giving up their holiday, even though they had been warned at the tryouts that being on a travel team could mean making sacrifices. We ended up with four “orphans,” players whose families did not make the trip. Ironically, one of those was my niece Amy. Usually, we would both be at my parents’ house for a big Thanksgiving dinner, so I was in double trouble with Mom, both for my absence and Amy missing also.

When our team mom, Gladys Fremont, reserved rooms for the trip, she paired the unaccompanied girls and reserved two rooms for them: one next to Mick’s room and one close to me. I ended up driving the four orphans, one of the consequences of having a minivan. You know the joke: That was like letting Colonel Sanders watch your chickens.

After my experience with Millie, the best way to stay out of trouble was never to let myself get into a one-on-one situation with a player again. It would have been difficult to explain to everyone why I shouldn’t be alone with a teenage girl, so I just tried to relax and enjoy the weekend. I hoped that the four orphans would be too busy hanging out with each other to tempt me.

We went to the lobby to check in when we got to the hotel. Our team mom, Gladys, saw me and ran over in a panic. “Jeff,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion, “we have a big problem. Our room reservations are messed up. Maybe it was me, the hotel, or ... I don’t know...”

“Gladys,” I said, “calm down. What’s the problem?” I was afraid she would tell me we had no rooms, but it wasn’t that serious.

“We’re short two rooms,” she said, “the ones the orphans were supposed to stay in. And they don’t have any because of the tournament.”

“How big are the rooms?” I asked.

“They’re all the same, two queen beds in each. Becky’s family has agreed to let Karen stay with them, and Mrs. Lehigh said she would take Morgan. I thought Amy could stay with you.”

“That would be great!” my niece, who was standing beside me, said. I wished she hadn’t been so enthusiastic, but Gladys seemed too preoccupied with the room problem to notice any hint of impropriety about Amy being so excited about sharing a bedroom with her uncle.

“Good,” Gladys sighed, “so that just leaves Samantha.”

“She can stay with us,” Amy volunteered. “You said two queen-sized beds, right?”

“Would that be all right with you, Jeff?” Gladys asked.

I was surprised that Amy had suggested it. I thought she was looking forward to spending a few nights with her favorite uncle, and to be honest, so was I. Gladys seemed so frazzled that I wanted to help her, so reluctantly, I told her. “That sounds okay,” Her smile convinced me I had done a good thing.

Amy ran over to Sam, who was checking out some of the decorations in the lobby while she waited for us to check in. I heard Amy tell her what the new arrangement was. Sam looked over Amy’s shoulder at me, and maybe I misread it, but I thought she gave me an evil smile and perhaps even a wink. I wondered what I had let myself in for.

That evening, we went to a pizza restaurant next to the hotel, the perfect end to an unusual Thanksgiving day. The place was packed, full of soccer players and their families. I hadn’t been to a travel tournament since high school and had forgotten how much fun they can be. Afterward, Mick and I had to go to a coaches’ meeting, so I sent Amy and Sam back to the hotel, threatening to bench them if they weren’t in the room when we returned.

To my surprise, they obeyed. When I got back, I found them sitting on the beds and watching TV—yeah, the beds. Amy had made herself comfortable on the bed I had staked out as mine, and Sam was sprawled out on the other one.

“How did the meeting go?” Amy asked.

“Okay. We met some of the coaches we’ll be playing against. One of the teams is from England.”

“England?” Sam said, “I bet they’re good.”

“Well, if we win our group, we might meet them in the semifinals.” I yawned and said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired. This has been a long day. We have a nine o’clock game tomorrow morning, so I think it’s time to go to bed. Have you guys had your showers yet?”

“It’s not even ten yet,” my niece complained.

“Didn’t you hear me say we had an early game tomorrow? We should be in bed already.”

“Okay,” Amy sighed. “Sam, you go first.”

While Samantha was in the bathroom, Amy and I talked. I asked her if she had told Sam anything about our tryst at the beach, then I had to explain to her what a ‘tryst’ was. “I know you told Millie,” I said, glaring at her with the anger I had been holding inside. “That was very stupid, so please tell me you didn’t tell Sam.”

“I didn’t have to,” Amy said. The way she grinned at me hinted that there was a ‘but’ coming. “I didn’t have to. Millie told her and a few of the other girls too. I’m sorry, Unc, I shouldn’t have told Millie.” It was just what I had feared; Millie couldn’t keep a secret. I was afraid that eventually, word would spread to the parents, which would be horrible. So, of course, I made things even worse that weekend.

When Sam came out of the bathroom, I could hardly recognize her. I was used to seeing her shoulder-length blonde hair in a ponytail, but now it was unbound, falling freely down her back, still damp from her shower. I had expected her to wear soccer shorts and a t-shirt, which Amy usually wore to bed, but Sam wore a short, blue nightie instead.

There was a mirror on the back of the closet door. Sam stood in front of it while she brushed her hair. As she moved, her tiny nightwear barely covered her bottom. She was built more like a gymnast than a soccer player, just a few inches over five feet tall, with strong, sturdy thighs that I found tantalizing. Even now, over thirty years later, a girl or woman with powerful athletic legs is a turn-on for me. The blue fabric was thin enough that I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra under it either. I thought maybe she had brought that nightgown to tempt me, but then I remembered that when she packed, she didn’t know we would be roommates.

While Sam dried her hair, Amy took her place in the bathroom. I knew from our time at the beach that she liked to take long showers, so I settled back and tried to think about tactics for the games tomorrow, or the weather, or how to get to the field in the morning; anything to avoid having a conversation with the perky blonde standing in front of me, looking at herself in the mirror. It didn’t work.

“Do you think I’m sexy,” Sam asked, in a seductive, quiet voice, if a fifteen-year-old girl who sounded like a ten-year-old can be said to sound seductive. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Sam had asked if I thought she was pretty. Lots of girls that age have insecurities, but using the word ‘sexy’ left no doubt about what she was getting at. I didn’t need to be evasive because I knew she had heard about Amy and me.

“You are a very sexy young lady,” I told her, “and I’m sure you know that. The boys must buzz around you like bees around the sweetest blossom in the garden.”

That made her giggle. “Yeah,” she said, “I guess that’s a good way to put it. But teenage boys can be stupid. It might be fun to get to know an older, more mature man.”

“Why don’t you try to seduce one of your teachers,” I snarled.

“How do you know I haven’t?” she said, giving me another one of her evil smiles.

The conversation ended when Amy came out of the bathroom. As expected, she wore an old pair of soccer shorts and a t-shirt. When she saw Sam and I looking at each other, she asked, “What are you guys talking about?”

Samantha didn’t hesitate. “Oh, you know, soccer and movies and ... sex.”

“Well, don’t stop because I’m here,” my niece said.

I gave Amy a shoulder shrug but didn’t say anything. She honestly didn’t seem surprised that Sam and I had been talking about sex. I wondered what those two had cooked up while I was at the coaches’ meeting. I thought the safest thing to do was avoid them as much as possible, even if that meant sleeping in my van. I didn’t say anything else. I grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom, hoping to find a towel that wasn’t too damp.

I wasn’t sure what I would find when I came out. Not to my surprise, I saw Sam sprawled out on one bed while Amy was comfortably curled up under the covers of what I thought of as my bed. “Move,” I told her as I crawled into the other side and started pushing her out.

“You guys can sleep together. I won’t tell anybody,” Sam announced.

“That’s just because you want a bed by yourself,” Amy laughed. She knew I wasn’t kidding and moved to the other bed.

Sam tried to take Amy’s place. “Well, if you don’t want to sleep with coach, I will,” she said as she lifted the sheet and tried to slide in next to me.

“Nobody’s sleeping with me,” I told her. It wasn’t that the idea of fooling around with the bubbly teenager didn’t interest me, but we were there to try to win a tournament, and we had two games the next day. “Everybody settle down. It’s lights out. I don’t want to hear any giggling or fooling around. This isn’t a sleepover. Focus on soccer,” I told them. I think I was talking more to myself than to the girls.