The whistle blows.
And the only thought in my head, under all the tactics, adjustments and shouted instructions, is:Win this game. Then we see her again.
Four
Lina
“The stadium is at capacity, ma’am. Ninety-two thousand. Security is in place, and we have a clear route to the VIP box.”
I nod at Agent Torres, my lead Secret Service agent, keeping my expression neutral as the motorcade rolls toward the stadium.
“Post-game, if the US wins, we’ll escort you to the tunnel area for the official congratulations. Photo op with the team, brief remarks. Twenty minutes, then we’re out.”
“Understood.”
My voice is calm. Presidential. Inside, I’m a mess.
He’s going to be there. For ninety minutes. Right in front of me. And then I have to go down there and shake his hand again and act like a normal human being.
I’m going to die.
Simone catches my eye across the car. She’s got that look, the one that says she knows exactly what I’m thinking and is enjoying my suffering immensely.
I ignore her.
“The team is in great form,” Agent Torres continues. “Coach Hendricks has them well-prepared. Should be a great game.”
Coach Hendricks.
Just hearing his name makes my pulse skip.
It’s been a week. A week since I shook his hand in the East Room and forgot how to breathe. A week since he looked at me with those damn eyes, while talking to me in that low, rough voice that made my knees weak. And I’ve been thinking about it every single day.
My friends call me Levi.
Who says that to the President? Who’s that bold, that confident, that…
Hot. The word you’re looking for is hot.
I squeeze my thighs together and stare out the window.
The VIP box is everything you’d expect. It has plush seats, catering, and a perfect view of the field. There are other officials, dignitaries, and people who want to be seen at an event like this. I don’t care about any of them. Because the teams are warming up, andhe’sdown there.
I spot him immediately. Wearing gray slacks, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s talking to another staff member, gesturing at something on a tablet, and even from this distance, I can see the intensity radiating off him.
And those forearms.
I watched an entire European Championship game ten years ago because of those forearms. Now they’re right there, in the flesh, and I have to sit in this box for ninety minutes and pretend I’m watching soccer.
Lina, you command the most powerful army in the world. You’ve negotiated with fucking dictators. You can watch a soccer game without losing your goddamn mind!
The match kicks off, and I last about three minutes before my eyes drift to the sideline. And let me tell you, watching LeviHendricks coach is… an experience. He prowls the technical area like a caged lion. Pacing, stalking, never standing still. Shouting instructions I can’t hear, his whole body tense with focus. When something goes wrong, the Jumbotron shows his jaw tighten and his eyes flash. When our guys lead, he pumps his fist, and I watch the muscles in his arm flex.
God.
The camera keeps cutting to him, and his face fills the screens around the stadium. That jaw. That beard. His eyes narrowed in concentration.
I should be watching the game, paying attention to the players, the strategy, whatever the hell is happening on that field.
