Page 10 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

The neon numbers on the scoreboard make my stomach turn. Two minutes left. Not great.

I weave my way through the crowded bleachers.

“Nice of you to join us,” Charlotte says.

“Don’t, Char.”

“Event run long?” Anita asks, not taking her eyes off the field. A Cardinal Ridge midfielder dances with the ball near the center circle. “Pass it, you idiot! Austin is wide open!”

“Three words to describe my evening: surprise bluegrass band.”

In tandem, Charlotte and Anita groan.

“Exactly. I didn’t even have time to change.” I undo the top button of my white-collared button-down shirt, taking a greedy breath of the cool air. “Regardless, I made it.”

“Good thing, too,” Anita says. “Hotty McStriker’s been checking the stands. A lot.” She gives me a knowing look.

“First, I’m ignoring that nickname. Second, I’m here for the whole team. They come to our games, so it’s only fair I support them, too.”

“Sure,” Charlotte says, totally unconvinced. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“If he wasn’t potentially your something, I would have heckled him for not paying attention to the game.” Anita smirks. “For your sake, I held my tongue.”

I laugh. “He’s not my anything, Annie. Feel free to ream him after the game.”

I hold my breath as Rhoads winds up to strike the ball just inside the eighteen-yard box. A defender comes out of nowhere with a risky slide tackle, misses the ball completely, and hooks Rhoads’s leg. He falls a lot more gracefully than I would have. It’s a no-brainer call for the referee. He blows his whistle and passes Rhoads the ball for the penalty kick.

Flashback to last night, complete with goosebumps on my arms. Me standing at the penalty spot. Missing the shot.

My throat tightens.

I force the memory away.

The stadium goes silent except for the handful of away-team fans who scream like jerks trying to mess with Rhoads’s focus.

He gives no indication that he notices anything other than the ball, poised on the white dot halfway between the eighteen-yard box and the six.

The ref blows his whistle. Rhoads takes three loping strides and connects with the ball. The keeper dives left, but the ball speeds along the ground and finds the right corner. He had no chance.

The stadium erupts. I jump to my feet and yell, my voice disappearing into the crowd. Beneath my feet, the bleachers vibrate from the stomping student section.

I don’t understand how he made it look so easy. That’s what my shot was supposed to do. Then again, he’s a striker, and I’m a defender. He could probably sink one with his eyes closed. For all I know, he just did.

“Chloe.” Anita punches my thigh.

“Ow, Annie. Today was leg day.” I rub the spot and glare at her.

“Might want to smile.” She points to the field. Rhoads stands, surrounded by celebrating teammates. But his gaze is on me.

I smile and shrug, pretending I couldn’t care less. Was it a great shot? Of course. But his ego is big enough already.

He just smirks, then wipes his face on the bottom of his jersey, turning back to his team and grinning from ear to ear.

The buzzer echoes through the night air. Game over.

I step down the bleachers with Charlotte and Anita, my dress flats clunking on the metal. They’re both giving me The Look. “We’re just friends. Or, not even friends. We just have a couple of classes together.”

“Sure you are, tiger,” Anita says.