I saw it. In person. Directed at me, and it hit me like a fucking punch to the chest. Fuck, eight years of watching her through screens, building her up in my head, and she still exceeded every expectation.
And shelookedat me. With that look back before she left. Quick, subtle.
What does that mean?
Most likely nothing. She’s the president. She’s probably trained to make eye contact, to make everyone feel seen. It’s politics. It’s her job. But the way her face heated when I saidI’m a fan of yours too… The way her breath caught, how she let me hold her hand for longer than I needed to…
Stop. You’re reading into things. She was just being polite.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and scrub my hands over my face. I need to sleep. I need to focus. I need to stop obsessing over a woman who is so far out of my league, she might as well be on another planet. She’s the President of the United States. I’m a fucking soccer coach. We exist in completely different universes.
But she looked at me.
“Fuck,” I mutter to the empty room.
I grab my phone again.
* * *
Morning practice is brutal. I run my guys hard through conditioning, drills, and scrimmages. Partly because we need to be sharp. Mostly because I need the distraction. And it works. For about two hours.
Then we break for lunch, and I’m right back to thinking about Lina. The way she moved through the room. The way she smelled. How her voice wrapped around my name.
I want to hear my name in her mouth.Levi.I want to hear it whispered, moaned, screamed,
“Coach?”
I blink. Xavier, one of the younger players, is standing in front of me, eyebrows raised.
“You good? You’ve been staring at your sandwich for like two minutes.”
I frown at him. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because you’ve got this look on your face like…”
“I said I’m fine.”
He holds up his hands, backing off.
Great, your crazy is showing.
* * *
That night, I’m in my room reviewing game film when Danny barges in without knocking.
“Dude! You gotta see this!”
He’s waving his phone around like an excited kid.
“What?”
“President Kane is coming to the group stage opener.”
My heart stops.
She’s coming to the game.
“It’s standard protocol,” Danny continues, oblivious to my internal meltdown. “Home World Cup, first match, president shows up. Good optics. But still, man!”
