Page 55 of Last Line of Defense

“Look at me, Alicia,” she whispers in a commanding tone that makes me react instantly.

I look up and hate with all my might how much it affects me to have her so incredibly close, even though we’re surrounded by half the team.

“If anyone mentions even the slightest thing to you again, act like you haven’t the faintest idea what they’re talking about, understood? Keep a cool head,” she tells me, staring me straight in the eyes, regaining that facade of a strict professional that she finds so hard to maintain around me. “What happened last night at the pool was pure madness on both our parts, and we’re going to do everything we can to avoid repeating it while we’re here.”

I let out a bitter laugh, almost a snort of frustration.

“Wow, what a surprise. Back to the plan of acting like strangers.”

For a few seconds that feel like an eternity, neither of us says a word. We just lock eyes in the middle of the gym, challenging each other with our gazes. I realize at that very moment that the real problem with this whole situation isn’t that Alba suspects us. It’s not even that the rest of the girls might end up finding out. The real fucking problem is that I no longer have the faintest idea how to go back, how to rewind the tape, or how to pretend that this whole situation doesn’t affect me.

“Can you tell me what the hell we’re going to do now?” I ask her in a barely audible whisper, almost to myself, as I watch the restrained movement of her shoulders.

“Be a whole lot more careful from now on,” she replies, though the hint of doubt in her voice tells me she’s just as scared out of her mind and just as desperate as I am. “And keep going with our daily routine. Because stopping this right now… I don’t think either of us is capable of doing that.”

Just then, the coach appears in the gym doorway, clapping loudly and shouting for the whole team to gather for the tactical session on the outdoor field, breaking our moment before either of us has time to say a single word more. Clara immediately steps back, putting some distance between us. But just before she turns to join the staff, her fingertips barely brush the skin of my left wrist for a millisecond, setting off a raging, uncontrollable fire that courses through my entire body from head to toe.

“Be very careful where you step on the grass,” she calls out to me, regaining her professional tone.

I nod without taking my eyes off her for a single moment. And as I watch her walk away among the rest of the strength and conditioning coaches, I think about what Alba said just a few minutes ago. What we have has ceased to belong solely to the two of us, and the truly dangerous part is that, even though we know we’re playing with fire and walking along the edge of the abyss, neither of us seems to have the slightest intention of backing down.

21

Crossfire

Clara

The café at the Ravenhill FC sports complex is practically empty at this time of the afternoon. Outside, the sky is beginning to turn a thick, leaden gray that threatens an imminent storm. Inside, the huge windows of the lounge reflect the fluorescent lights, creating a strangely intimate and silent atmosphere—something almost miraculous in a place designed exclusively for the constant bustle of an entire soccer team.

I’m slouched at one of the tables in the back, taking refuge with a steaming cup of coffee in my hands and a dossier wide open in front of me. I’ve been pretending to review the performance reports for ten minutes. In reality, I haven’t read a single line. My eyes scan the same paragraphs and anatomical data over and over again without processing a single thing, because all my attention—and my sanity—is far removed from these papers. I’m thinking about Alicia. Again. As usual.

For years, I got used to living within a fairly orderly and controlled structure. But all that went out the window the very day Alicia arrived at the sports complex and shook my hand. Since then, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t denied to myself what I feel, that I haven’t fought against my body’s urges. Luckily, I’ve come to terms with it now. Although that doesn’t erase the trace of fear, the frustration, or that dizzying sensation that stirs inside me whenever our eyes meet.

I lift the cup and take a small sip of the coffee, which, unfortunately for me, has already gone lukewarm. I gaze absently outside through the window. The memory of what happened last night still clings to my skin in a way that’s irritating, brazen, and terribly sweet all at once. The pool, the steam from the hot water, her hands roaming over me with that urgency and wild need that only she manages to convey just by touching me. Her ragged breathing against my neck, quickening more and more as the intensity of our orgasms grew…

The worst part is that I don’t remember exactly when the idea of inviting her to sleep with me first crossed my mind. But that was, without a doubt, what opened my eyes. Waking up tangled with her under the sheets, feeling the weight of her arm possessively wrapped around my waist, and hearing her slow, deep, rhythmic breathing against my shoulder… made me realize that I’ve fallen into something again that I swore I’d never allow myself to experience, something that… makes me hopelessly happy. Despite how complicated it all is, of course.

“You’ve got quite the long face today, Doctor,” says a very familiar voice, yanking me abruptly and without warning out of my thoughts.

I look up, my heart skipping a beat, and see Alba approaching my table with a tray in her hand. The team captain has her hair pulled back into a high ponytail that’s still dripping wet from a recent shower, and her training tracksuit, partially open at the neck, reveals the tanned skin of her collarbone. Her expression—completely relaxed—stands in stark contrast to the tension settling in the pit of my stomach.

I know full well that Alba has already been talking to Alicia this morning, and I’m perfectly aware that now it’s my turn.

“I’m working, Alba,” I reply with as much neutrality as I can muster as I close the file with a deliberate gesture, trying not to let my fingers tremble.

She lets out a soft, nasal laugh and sits down right across from me, exuding that overwhelming confidence captains seem to have. She rests her forearms on the table and holds her coffee cup with astonishing calm, watching me with narrowed eyes over the rim.

“Yeah, right. It must be truly interesting and demanding work,” she remarks with gentle irony and a slight smirk. “Especially since you’ve been staring at the exact same page for half an hour.”

I hold her gaze for barely a second before looking away toward the large window. I’m unsettled by the feeling of being watched, evaluated, and almost dissected in my own workplace. Alba is smart. Too smart. And people like that always end up picking up on details others would overlook.

“What exactly do you need?” I finally ask, resting my elbows on the table and trying to steer the conversation back to strictly sports-related topics.

She tilts her head slightly, taking a small sip, as if gauging the impact of her next words.

“Nothing, really, Clara. I just wanted to talk to you for a little while, alone. You’ve been pretty busy these past few days, and I didn’t want to interrupt your work.”

I don’t like the mysterious tone she’s using one bit, and my fingers tighten just a little more around my cup as I make a supreme effort to keep a calm expression on my face.