“You get quiet when he walks into a room,” she continues. “You defer to him even when you don’t need to.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. My brain completely blanks. I try again. Still nothing. “That’s normal,” I finally squeak out. “He’s a legend.”
“You think I don’t notice? You’re my best friend.”
Oh no.
The room suddenly feels like it’s shrinking. My palms start sweating and my stomach does that horrible flip-flop like I am about to drop from a great height, or confess to a crime.
“You admire him,” she says.
I more than admire him and he can do no wrong in my eyes because he is just so perfect.
“That’s not?—”
“He’s very handsome,” she adds casually. “And you’re bisexual. Of course, you find him attractive.”
I glance around, half expecting the person in the next room to hear. “You can’t just say that out loud.”
“Relax. It’s not like I’m outing you. I’d never do that.”
“That’s not the point,” I mutter, rubbing at my face. My brain is overheating. “The point is . . . Oh God, the point is—Ugh, never mind.”
“You so want him,” she says, chuckling.
A quiet laugh tumbles out of me, more breath than sound. How can she even be joking about this? She was still married to this man just last week.
“You can do something about it, you know?”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve just got the greatest idea,” she says, and I hear her clap. “You can seduce him.”
5
AUSTIN
—Hide and Seek
by Kodaline
For someonewho waylaid me and gave me permission to mingle with the team, Johnson is doing a spectacularly bad job of following through on that. Unless he meant mingle with everyone except him. In that case, mission accomplished.
He barely looks at me during training. If he does, it is quick and then his attention goes somewhere else. When he talks to me, it’s all short answers and nods. I guess that’s his way of acknowledging my existence while giving me the hint to go away.
But he can’t avoid me forever because fate, luck, or some sort of punishment, has decided we’re sharing a room in Copenhagen. I sneak a look at him after we get the keycard to our room and head upstairs. His jaw is clenched and his mouth is set in a hard line. He unlocks the door, steps inside, and immediately claims the bed closest to the window by dumping his bag down on it.
I swallow a sigh. I would really love the chance to talk to him, clear the air. But it doesn’t seem like he wants to hear me out.
The game in Rio yesterday totally wiped me out. The Brazilians played ruthlessly, pressing us hard from the first minute. We fought hard for every inch of the field, and by the end, my lungs burned every time I tried to breath deep. Even now, my legs still feel like they’re packed with wet sand. Okafor, the other goalie, proved to be as good as Johnson, though. Shot after shot came at him, and he stopped all of it. We ended the game zero to zero, but it still felt like we won.
I drop my bag by the other bed and sit for a second before giving in and lying back. The mattress is softer than I expected, cool sheets brushing against my skin. I tell myself I’m just resting my eyes.
The next thing I know, someone is saying my name. I crack one eye open, then the other, blinking against the light. Johnson is standing near the foot of the bed, already showered and dressed, his hair still damp.
“It’s time to get breakfast,” he says.
“Wow.” I groan and push myself up on my elbows. “Thanks.”
