AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sure enough, he sighs, but says nothing else.
Cries start to come through the baby monitor. No wonder Saylor and Beck look so exhausted.
As adorable as my niece is, being over here makes me very glad there’s no possible chance I could be pregnant.
“I’ll get her,” Beck says, standing.
Saylor straightens and stretches. “I’m grabbing more wine. Want some?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I lie back and stare at the lights of Kluvberg.
Rather than relax and enjoy the pricey wine and expensive view, I tighten my fingers around the glass, my teeth worrying my lower lip.
I wasn’t expecting to see Will Aster again, except from a distance with the barrier of a camera lens between us. Wasn’t expecting to be close enough to discover that his eyes are the same shadowy shade of pines. Or that one of the tattoos on his forearm is a wolf. Details I didn’t get to absorb during our memorable first meeting.
I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find his number. I lied to him about losing his ticket. Even if I had, what he wrote down is saved here. I’m irritated with myself that I even put his number in my phone, especially now that I know who he is. I pegged him as a player, and I was right.
Except what was just supposed to be part of a funny, strange story has become infinitely more complicated. Not only because he’s one of Adler’s teammates—and a controversial one at that. Or that he’s American. Or that I’m now assigned to taking photos of the team.
The main problem is that my memory didn’t twist my recollection of him. Part of me thought—hoped—the bright sun and Noah’s underwhelming company were what made Will stand out like a shooting star.
But he was equally compelling earlier. Just as gorgeous and magnetic. Charm that’s so easy to get lost in.
So, now, his number is a tease that I wasn’t counting on.
Usually, mysteriousness fades the more you learn about a stranger. But everything I’ve learned about Will—both from others and our two brief conversations—has only piqued my interest in him more.
I’ll have to see him again, starting at the first game of the season on Saturday.
I’m apprehensive. Unsure.
Excited.
SEVEN
WILL
“Aster!” Leon Wagner follows up his shout of my surname with a series of harsh syllables.
“Is that how you say good job in German?” I ask Olivier, who’s standing nearest to me.
His lips press together into one thin, flat line.
Guess not.
I sigh and jog back toward the center line, where Kluvberg’s head coach is waiting.
“Why did you not pass?” Wagner barks, his arms crossed.
He’s standing in a warrior stance, legs spread and chin lifted. Looking just as intimidating beneath the bright sun as he appeared beneath the fluorescents in his office. He told me not to make him regret taking a chance on me during that meeting.
He looks like he’s regretting it right now.
“I had the shot.” Made the goal, too, but that seems unnecessary to point out. The whole squad saw, and I even caught a few impressed expressions before Wagner called me over.
“Because the point was to pass,” Wagner tells me. “No one expected you to shoot.”
