Tears are welling in my eyes as I close out of my texts, my heart swelling from their friendship.
Swiping back to Instagram, I watch the twelve videos my mom sent me last night, most of which are about animals or vacation spots she wants to go to with me.
My arm twitches, and a piercing ache follows, shooting up to my entire shoulder. “Fucking hell.”
“You good?” Matt’s voice finds me before he approaches down the walkway, stopping right at my side.
Looking up at him, I flex my hands a couple of times, waiting for the pain to leave, but it doesn’t. Honestly, it never leaves completely. It just fades out like a tide ebbing and flowing, guaranteed to come back.
His eyes are completely unguarded, warm and welcoming. He’s so cute; it’s a crime. I wonder what that gaze would look like between my legs …
Shay.
I clear my throat, thankful Matt can’t read minds, and offer a half smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Dropping my gaze back to my phone, I wait for him to leave, and thankfully, after a beat passes without another word, he strolls along, other players right behind them. Once they’re a few feet back, I hear snickering and a giggle. Anxiety immediately floods my system as I worry that he told them about the shower incident.
Maybe that’s what his message said. I turned notifications off for this cursed thing a long time ago. Not that it stops me from getting on it anyway.
Clicking into our messages, I suck in a breath. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t an encouraging one. I expected maybe something flirty or some kind of joke to try to make me laugh. But instead …
Matt: You’re a badass, Shay. I’m in fucking awe of you.
Without him even realizing it, that’s probably the most attractive message he could’ve sent. His opinion of me carries far more weight than I'd like to ever admit, and reading that, it swirls something up deep inside of me.
Wetting my bottom lip, I chew on it, unsure if I should say something back. Turning my head, I glance down the aisle. My stare finds him instantly, and he’s already locked on me a few rows back. He’s staring unabashedly, and I should stop him. I should message him right this very second and tell him to behave.
That’s what a smart, responsible woman would do. That’s what a coach should do.
Well, a coach probably shouldn’t be messaging a player in the first place, but you know …
Apparently, I’m not going to be responsible today. Maybe I am just exhausted from trying to be that. He at least deserves thesame respect he's showing me instead of my telling him off and saying where he can shove that compliment.
His eyes soften, his eyebrow twitching up almost unnoticeably, and he smiles. My chest bursts, and I feel a warmth burning on my skin from his stare. I offer a small smile back before turning my attention back to my phone.
This is dumb. This is stupid. I am stupid.
Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much that means to me.
He answers almost immediately, like he was in the messages, waiting for my response.
Matt: You have no idea how much you mean to me.
Matt.
Matt: I know. I know. We’re not discussing us until after the Cup is done. I know. But not talking about it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, about you … constantly, every second of every day.
My mouth dries instantly, and I read his words over again to be sure I read them correctly the first time and they weren’t a figment of my imagination. He hasn’t tried to hide his feelings about me in the slightest, but that still does not make me prepared for reading a message likethat.
He sends another message.
Matt: You can tell me not to think about you. Not to imagine what being with you would be like. But it’s impossible. It’s become all I can think about. A million what-ifs about the possibility of us run through my mind all the time.
Matt: I don’t care if it’s against the rules. We wouldn’t be the first people to break them. I know you’re worried about losing your job, but don’t be. Carrington would have our back.
How can you know that? You can’t be certain.
Matt: Don’t you know who his wife is? Evie?
