He climbs in the passenger seat without comment. I twist the key in the ignition, and the engine flares to life. Loud pop music blares through the speakers, suggestive lyrics pounding our eardrums. I think I catch a ghost of a smirk as I turn the volume down and reverse out of the driveway. Jenny’s car is still loitering along the curb waiting for my housemates to depart the house, and I zoom past the SUV.

It’s a short trip to Lancaster’s sports complex. The few minutes feel like hours in Beck’s presence, though. I can’t believe he came all this way. At least at CFOC I knew why he was there.

There is no reason why Adler Beck should be headed to a Lancaster women’s soccer practice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls,” I finally say. It’s the truth, and not only because it’s landed me in the predicament of showing up at practice with Adler Beck in tow.

“Are you?”

“I mean, at the very least, I could have saved you some money on airfare.”

“I think my male athlete salary will manage to cover it.”

“Or some more magazine covers.” The words are out before I’ve thought them through. I feel his eyes on me, and I’m glad I have the excuse of looking at the road.

“You’re a slow driver,” he comments.

“Law-abiding,” I correct.

“Slow,” Beck insists.

“Well, not everyone can get themselves out of a ticket the way you can. I’m not famous.”

“Yet.” The words are matter of fact.

His confidence in me, his belief that I’ll one day be well-known enough that a random traffic cop knows who I am despite the dim, flickering spotlight on women’s sports means more than I can put into words. So, I just agree. “Yet.”

I veer left into the athletic facility’s parking lot a minute later. Jenny’s SUV is nowhere in sight.

Not wanting to lose any of the ground I gained, I grab my soccer bag, throw my door open, and step outside into the chilly morning. Beck follows my lead, unfolding his long, lean frame from the passenger side and following me toward the main doors.

A swipe of my student ID lets us inside the building, and as soon as we pass through the lobby, I point toward the stairs. “You can watch from up there.”

I keep walking toward the entrance of the field before Beck has a chance to respond. My nerves are stretched taut, tensed to the point of breaking. This day is not progressing at all how I expected it to.

It was supposed to start with an early morning practice and end with finishing the marketing project I’ve been putting off all week, but I’m not wed to a schedule. Unexpected events are ordinarily easy for me to navigate.