Dang Fine Saviors

Le manager

"Hey, look at you all dolled up for practice," Missy comments on my get up.

"What you mean, my application of makeup? It really was nothing," I joke back.

It is one of those rare occasion that I actually put on eyeliner, foundation and curled my hair.

With soccer it doesn't happen often, but since I am off for a week I thought I would try making myself approachable.

Oh yeah and we have an apparently hot manager coming today.

We are currently walking to the soccer field.

"Hey coach," Missy says.

"Afternoon ladies," she replies.

"Tori?" She asks

"Yeah coach," I reply

"When Slate gets here I need you two to fill up the jugs," she says.

My heart stops.

Slate?

"Slate?" I ask, this time verbally.

"Yeah. Our new manager," she says.

For some unexplainable reason I feel my face heat.

"You okay," she looks at me like I just hokey pocketed in the middle of a church meeting.

"Yes," I say.

"Missy go set up goals," she says.

"Uh okay," Missy replies. Before she walks away she whispers, "you don't think it could be Slate the Hot Jerk do you?"

"I hope not," I say but I know it's not true.

How can this be possible, I think to myself. Our new manager is literally the worst choice possible.

For one he's hot and coach doesn't like distractions. Two he doesn't like me. Three he is a jerk. And four he knows how to hurt people with magic liquid.

Which is sketchy. And dangerous. Which brings me back to the hot thing.

His amazing body is hard to miss when it starts making it's way towards me.

Slate is wearing soccer sweat pants and a base ball cap with blue nike sandels. That's all. If you didn't get that, let me spell it out for you, Slate made his way over SHIRTLESS.

Oh sweet mother of Mary.

Never did I ever think I would come in contact with something so flawless. His tanned muscles have a way of making a girl want to cry. Wide shoulders, check. Toned chest, check. Two sets of beautiful biceps, quadruple check. Six rows of flawless abs? Sixtuplet check.

He has to clear his throat for me to realize that I have been staring at him long after he came over.

I suck in a breath, "hi," I basically say to his abs because currently I am not able to look anywhere else.

He brings his head down to my eye level, "Hi."

I supress a squeal. Because that's what you do when a God sent angel-model says hi to you.

"Are we going to get waters?" he asks and lifts my dropped chin.

"Yep, yep we are," I say quickly and turn around hoping he will follow and not see my reddened face.

We are halfway down the hallway when he grabs my arm, "slow down."

I often speed walk in nervous situations.

"Was I going to fast for you?" I ask trying to be mysterious, but end up sounding like a squeeky, concerned girl.

He looks at me condescendingly, "yes."

"Sorry," I dumbly apologize and go into a less fast pace, but still trying to stay ahead.

When we get into the training room I immedietly go to the waters and start filling, hoping Slate will follow my lead and trying my best not to look at his flawlessness.

It's not like I haven't seen a guy without his shirt off before. It's the fact that I haven't seen a body this God-like my entire life. And I've seen all of the Twilights and Magic Mike.

It's distracting.

AF.

And as weird as it sounds, his shiny tanned skin is completely lickable.

That's right I said it, I want to lick his flesh.

Wow. That sounded cannibalistic.

"You are overfilling," A voice startles me from over my shoulder.

I look up to find a face inches from mine and jump. The water I just filled falls to the floor.

Correction: Almost to the floor. The water collapses to the ground but the bottle ends up in Slates hand.

"Nice catch," I observe and notice the water on his skin made him impossibly hotter.

He clears his throat again, "thanks."

We work in silence for the next couple minutes when he says, "You seem distracted."

You think?

"Uh-yeah-uh- the, I was just thinking about... could you put a shirt on?" I finally just ask.

He smirks conceitedly, "why?"

"Well because, it just, the coach will probably kick you off, because you know the girls can't have a distraction, playoffs are coming up, we need, focus," I ramble.

"Oh so I'm the distraction?" He lifts a brow.

"I-the-yes," I give in.

"Sure, I guess, but only because you insisted," he says and grabs a cut off tee hanging out of his pocket and throws it on.

"Well it-uh-I'm just concerned for the other girls and coach will, you know she'll be, weird and," I ramble.

"Are you sure it has nothing to do with you?" He asks.

"Positive," I say.

Dang girl. Where's all that confidence from the party the other night?

This is what happens when guys take off their shirts. I go fricken wacko.?It's not healthy.

We get to the field minutes later and all of the girls are wiggling their eyebrows at me.

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If you care about my sanity you'll vote okay.

Yes that was an ultimatum.