Lindsay smiled when Shane started talking about his stench, because at the moment she couldn't ignore the fact that he did smell quite foul. “Right now we all really smell bad,” she reminded him with a quick giggle, because even though it was much easier to ignore the gag-worthy stench of a locker room after four hours on the pitch, they all knew they smelled worse than barnyard animals. It was much easier to ignore it when you were the ones causing the stench, but if someone who hadn't been playing took a step into that locker room, they'd probably pass out cold on the spot. “It smells like perfume,” she told him, speaking again about her home-cooked soaking solution. “It really works. It really does,” she added, because she knew most boys weren't fond of smelling like a field of lavender flowers. She didn't think she could get the stuff within a mile of Pete. Even Lindsay herself wasn't terribly fond of it, but she'd put up with the aroma forever if the relief kept coming.   

When Lindsay turned to peel Shane's orange, she knew that he was still behind her. She was concentrating on the task at hand, no longest especially concerned over whether or not she got her shoulder tension worked out, so she didn't think much about his presence. She was still turned toward the refreshments when he plucked the orange from her hands, and was busy putting aside the discarded peels when he started working on her shoulder. It caught her so completely off guard and the relief was so immediate that the sound she produced was downright orgasmic. She had no intentions of  moaning in the locker room – well, not right now, anyway – and the loud, ungoverned moan of ecstasy that emerged from her lips was quite humiliating. Her regular, familiar embarrassed look came over her immediately and she cast her eyes downward, avoiding all eye contact in the wake of her outburst. She wasn't about to run away – she was clearly more tense than she realized and she obviously needed the little massage. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice incredibly soft and self-conscious. If she could make that kind of noise on the pitch then everyone would know where she was.

“Shane, that's perfect. Thank you so much,” she gushed, her voice nearly a whisper – there was probably no possibility of hearing Lindsay speak at a normal volume for the remainder of the day, if not the week. She didn't realize that her hushed voice made her sound a bit like a phone sex operator... or that Shanley was watching so closely. 


we don't realize our faith in the prize unless its been somehow elusive
how swiftly we choose it - the sacred simplicity of you at my side