I mull over the name, trying to recall if I knew any Bennett’s growing up, but no one comes to mind. “Sounds cute,” I confer. “Is he a friend-friend? Or a friend-soontobedatingfriend?”
Her lips curl into a private smile and her honey-brown eyes stay pinned to her leggings. Even without a reply, it’s obvious she’s excited about potentially running into him.
“Good, at least one of us is going to get some,” I wink as the subway pulls up to our stop.
…
“He said they’re on the Great Lawn near 85th street,” Naomi declares between shallow breaths as we stop for water.
I brush away the drop of sweat trickling down my forehead with the back of my hand. “Sounds good. Let’s take the outer loop and we’ll cut across to the lawn.”
She nods in agreement and pulls the plastic water bottle from her mouth, but then she hesitates. Her shoulders slump and her dark brows furrow in thought.
“Am I an idiot for agreeing to meet up with him after I’ve gone running?” she asks. It’s rare to see the vulnerable side of Naomi and I never quite know how to approach it.
“Why? You look athletic and glowing!” I assure her, and she does actually. The whore.
“I don’t believe you,” she huffs as we start to jog again. We pull out onto the trail behind a group of mom’s pushing strollers and running full speed as if they’re competing in a marathon. Only in New York.
“You look double skinny, like dehydrated-chic,” I try to tell her with a straight face, but then we both crumble into hysterical laughter.
All joking aside, I can count on one hand the number of insecure moments Naomi has had in the four years we’ve been best friends.
“Naomi. Do you honestly think I would let you meet this guy if you looked anything but gorgeous right now? Hasn’t it been proven that men like the smell of women after they’ve worked out? Something about the pheromones.” She’s smiling by this point, so I know I’ve got her hooked.
“I’m pretty sure men like women if they have the correct hip to waist ratio for making babies.” She drawls out her speech, as if saying the word “babies” like an old burly man would. We both burst out laughing one again as we run and I have to grip my side as a sharp cramp forms. Why do I think trying to run with her is a good idea?
I sigh, “God… Why does that sound so gross to me?”
“Because it’s weird. If I remember correctly from freshman psych, we like men when they smell like they’ve worked out because we know they can take care of us… evolutionarily speaking. It’s like survival of the fuck-ablest,” she adds with a wink.
Just then, an overly tanned, muscley man straight off the Jersey Shore runs by in a bright neon green track suit. I glance over toward Naomi the second he’s out of earshot.
“Oh, yeah. I bet he could take care of me. He looks like an alpha hunter-gatherer for sure…” I raise my eyebrows suggestively and we both erupt in another fit of giggles.
“Don’t even go there.”
Not even in my dry spell would I go for a man like that. Wait— can you call it a dry spell when you haven’t had sex in three years? More like the freaking Dust Bowl.
The Great Lawn is gorgeous. It’s what most people imagine when they think of Central Park. A multitude of trails wind throughout the park, but the Great Lawn is an undivided, sprawling space with fresh, soft grass, rimmed with maple and pine trees.
Today it’s even more magical than usual because the seasons are changing; the air has been doused with a crisp chill, leaving the sweltering heat of July and August in our distant memories.
Fall in New York is a sight to behold. The city’s trees transform from dark green to bright hues of copper and gold. Then practically overnight their leaves drop to the ground in heavy piles. I love hearing the sharp crunch beneath my shoes as we tread over the fallen leaves that dot the trail like red tears.
Naomi and I wander around, cooling off from our run while trying to spy her friend. People are spread out everywhere and I assume it has to do with the temperature. I can’t imagine anyone staying indoors on a day like this. Families are having picnics and groups are spread out, playing Frisbee and baseball. I take in a cluster of middle-aged men dressed in matching raglan shirts that sport their names printed boldly on the back.
“He said he’s with a group of ten guys,” Naomi offers as she scans the crowd. We weave through a line of children jumping rope and then round a little row of pine trees. When we step to the other side, Naomi freezes in her tracks and I feel her nerves practically crackle through the air. Her brown eyes are wide and she’s staring straight ahead as if she sees a ghost. I slowly follow her gaze and lock onto the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
“If we get to choose, I definitely want this to be my heaven,” I quip as I take in the group.
Ten guys are spread out in the clearing. Not a single one of them is wearing a shirt, and even from a distance I can see the sweat dripping down their bodies. This is not your run-of-the-mill soccer team. No, these guys look as if they’ve just stepped off the pages of Sports Illustrated. David Beckham, eat your heart out, literally.
“Please, dear God, tell me that is Bennett’s group,” I implore dreamily, pulling my gaze from the men.
Naomi still looks like a deer caught in headlights and I’m glad we’re far away. It’s clearly the right group, but if we wandered over now, she would make a complete fool of herself. I whip myself in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders, gripping them gently.
I stare into her chocolate brown eyes and shake some sense into her. “Yes. That is a group of sexy, sexy men. But you are one sexy female and could have your pick of any of them,” I declare confidently. As I speak, the glossiness behind her gaze lifts and a wicked grin forms on her lips. The little minx is back.
“Let’s go.” She winks and pulls me forward. We’re still a couple of yards off and I use the distance as an opportunity to ogle the men as much as I want. Of course, the common denominator is that they all have rippling, soccer bodies. But that’s where the similarities end. They’re clearly all from different cultures and different walks of life. One of the guys has wild, curly hair, and I find myself smiling as he does a silly victory dance after blocking a shot in the goal he’s tending.
“Bennett’s the blonde guy playing midfield,” Naomi declares as we get closer. I pull my eyes away from the curly-haired goalkeeper to find the man she’s referring to. He’s gorgeous, of course, with short blonde hair and sharp features. But that’s not what makes me clutch my hand to my throat. No, that reaction stems from the man Bennett is standing next to— Jude.
They rest there, catching their breaths and talking, without even realizing we’re approaching. They look like an erotic fantasy, standing close together like that. There’s no comparison though; Jude is hands down the sexiest man on the field. He’s got a few inches on Bennett and his dark, unruly hair yanks at the strings of my desire before I’ve even scanned down his nak*d torso.
My lips curl into a private smirk as I recollect my theories from yesterday. I knew he worked out and his chiseled body now confirms it. The morning sun glistens off his tanned chest and I have to clench my eyes closed in defeat.
“What’s wrong?” Naomi asks, and I nearly jump at her words.
“Jeez. Settle down.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and I can feel myself trembling against her palm beneath my tight running shirt.
“Bennett is talking to Photographer Boy,” I peep quietly as I pry my eyes open. The look on Naomi’s face is absolutely priceless.
In slow motion her mouth drops open and her head swivels to where the two guys stand.
“No. Way. No. Freaking. Way.”
“That guy is too sexy to be real.” Her head snaps back to me and I shake my head, glancing down to the ground. I stare toward the golden leaves crunching underneath my neon colored sneakers. Yes. Freaking. Way.
“Do you want to leave? We can go right now, Charley,” she offers, and her sweet tone finally makes me lift my gaze. Bennett and Jude are glancing over at us, along with the other eight guys. I gulp; it’s too late to leave now.
“No. No, it’s fine. We’ve come this far and Bennett already noticed you.” His wide smile shows exactly how happy he is to see her and it’s almost bright enough to block out Jude’s confused scowl.
Without another word, we start walking again and I try to focus on anything other than Jude. It doesn’t work though. He draws my attention as though he’s the sun, and I’m helpless against his overpowering rays. The chiseled v-line of his obliques leads down to his navy soccer shorts. I think that’s called an Adonis belt… and God— now I know why. His shorts sit low on his h*ps and then cut off above his knee, revealing his mouth-watering legs and chiseled abs. Both of his strong hands grip his waist in a closed stance, making it clear I’m far from welcome.
“Naomi!” Bennett calls as we approach. He jogs over to greet us and I have to look away. The scene is practically nauseating as they meet midway and he kisses her on the cheek. I’ll give them maybe a week before it’s official.
“This is my friend, Charley,” Naomi offers, and I force myself to look up and be polite. I really am happy for her. Naomi has had a string of bad relationships and this guy seems so genuinely excited that she’s here; I can’t help but like him.
I run my hand through my long ponytail and step forward. With a big smile, I offer my hand, “Nice to meet you, Bennett.” His hazel eyes lock onto mine and in that brief moment I understand that I’m not a complete stranger. Jude either filled him in yesterday or just a minute ago as we walked up. Either way, the mischievous glint in his eyes tells me I won’t get to pretend that Jude doesn’t exist.
“Nice to meet you too, Charley,” he smiles knowingly. “Thanks for forcing Naomi out of bed this morning.” He shifts his eyes to Naomi, and I swear I can see a blush form beneath her tanned skin. Naomi, you little sap.
Suddenly a voice booms behind us. “Are you two going to play or what?” I look up just in time to see the curly haired goalkeeper run over with a lazy smile. As he steps close, I realize he’s handsome beneath his crazy hair and something about his easygoing attitude makes me lower my guard.
“Only if you teach me that little victory dance of yours,” I muse with a grin. My compliment lights up his face, and for a moment I ignore the sensation of Jude’s eyes pinned on me.
“Looks like we got a keeper, Bennett!” He quips with slight accent laced through his words. He pronounces keeper, as “keepa”.
“I’m Tom by the way,” he offers.
“Are you from Australia?” I ask with a smile.
His hand claps against his chest as he feigns heartbreak. “New Zealand! I’m a kiwi, love!”
The gesture is so over the top that I can’t help but laugh.
Tom dribbles the ball between his feet. “So you are guys going to join?”