Page 32 of Faking the Goal

"Not just personal questions. Insightful questions. The kind that reveal depth, character, the human behind the helmet." She gives me an encouraging little nod like she's pitching me a fucking vacation package. "How's that sound? Pretty exciting, right?"

"You want to torture me, you mean."

"I want to showcase you. There's a difference."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

Coach lets out a long sigh and leans back in his chair, looking between the two of us like he's already reconsidering whatever decision led to putting us in the same room. "I'm not ordering you to do it, Kentaro. But I am strongly recommending it. You're serious about playing professionally, and part of preparing for that is getting better at the things you don't enjoy doing, including dealing with media."

I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. I know that tone. He's deliberately leaving the decision to me while making it painfully obvious which decision he thinks I should make.

Taylor must know it too because she suddenly looks unbearably smug.

I turn my head toward her. "Stop smiling."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

"This is my normal face."

"Your normal face is annoying."

"And there he is." Her smile finally drops, although the amusement stays in her eyes. "I was wondering how long it would take before you insulted me again."

The words hit harder than she probably intended them to, and the reminder of Friday wipes away some of my irritation. I look at her for a moment, wondering if she's deliberately taking a shot at me or if she has any idea that I've spent the last three days feeling like shit about exactly that.

Judging by the pleasant expression still on her face, probably the former.

I exhale through my nose and look back at Coach. "Four weeks?"

"That's what she needs."

I glance at Taylor again. "You don't interfere with practice."

"I won't."

"No questions when I'm preparing for a game."

"Fine."

"No sticking a camera two inches from my face just because you think pissing me off makes for better pictures."

She hesitates long enough to prove that is exactly what she's been doing.

"Lewis."

"Fine," she grumbles. "Although, for the record, your pissed-off face photographs exceptionally well."

I ignore that. "And if I tell you something is private, it stays private."

Her amusement fades, and for the first time since I walked into the room, she answers me without a joke. "Of course. If you tell me something is off the record, it stays off the record. I'm irritating, Azuma, not unethical."

I believe her.

I don't know why I'm so certain of it when I barely know this woman, but I am.

Coach looks between us. "Can we call that an agreement?"