Page 64 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“But I⁠—”

“I said I’ve got it. You won. Go ahead. I’ll see you later.” He heads to the opposite end of the field to get the cones and doesn’t turn around.

He clearly doesn’t want me to follow, and what I said definitely upset him.

I snatch my bag and water bottle off the ground. Why did I have to say all that stuff? It’s not like telling him did any good. All it did was hurt him.

But, come on. There’s no way this is news. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s flirting, and he’d have to be dumber than that bag of soccer balls to miss the way girls react to him.

If I’m honest with myself, I think I said it more for my own benefit.

So I’d remember why I have to push him away when all I want to do is pull him close.

Twenty-Nine

CHLOE

Tonight we’re playing away at Douglas Heights. Obnoxious students heckle us from the front two rows of the aluminum bleachers as my team and I jog across the field and back toward our bench. The field lights flick on, and fluorescent beams drench the grass.

“Ignore them,” Teagan says.

Blatantly disregarding this instruction, Kendry blows a kiss to the group of guys with red and white paint caked on their faces before turning and sprinting away.

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” I tease, jogging beside her.

“Psychological warfare.” She laughs. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

Fall has officially arrived, the temperature dropping low enough I keep my sweats on during warm-ups. The sky fades from fresh bruise to deep eggplant as I tap close-range shots at Janae in quick succession to wake up her reflexes.

And then it’s time.

Don’t think, just do.

I repeat the words over and over in my mind. It’s my new mantra on the field. Tonight, I find out if all the time I’ve been training with Rhoads has been worth it.

Wind nibbles the exposed skin on the tips of my ears, and I pull my headband down to cover them. It will slip up again, but by then adrenaline and endorphins will block out all irrelevant sensations.

We all take our positions on the field. The ref blows his whistle.

Game on.

Near the end of the first half, a Douglas midfielder dribbles at me. Her white uniform glows under the lights. I bide my time, waiting for my chance. She touches the ball too far, and I shoulder my way in to win it.

The air smells like rain. Though nothing’s fallen yet, heavy clouds loom, threatening.

I glance up, find Piper’s red ponytail bobbing near the midfield circle, and slide her a pass. She points toward the sideline. “Go!”

Bailey’s normally in that spot, but she moved in to cover another midfielder, and the space is wide open.

Don’t think, just do.

I sprint forward just as Piper sends the ball into the space behind the defender, breathing hard as the wind tries to suffocate me. My feet collect the ball, and I dribble forward with measured touches.

The right defender closes in as the rest of her team falls back. I let go of expectation, of the calculations my brain wants to do and instead focus on the way my cleats grip the ground.

I do a scissor move and scan the field for my teammates. There’s Piper in the middle, streaking toward the back post.

She raises her arm. “Ball!”