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“Your wide receiver is an asshole.” She’s trying to look pissed, but the corner of her mouth keeps twitching.

“What’d he do?”

Calliope looks over my shoulder at him. “He stole my flash cards off the table while I was in the bathroom and sent me a picture of himself holding them hostage.”

I turn to chastise King as he reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a thick stack of cards held together with a purple binder clip. “Hostages rarely get returned in pristine condition.”

“That’s called a ransom demand.”

Calliope takes them from him, but there’s no real heat behind the look she gives him. With no reason to stay downstairs now that she has what she came for, I expect her to head back upstairs. Instead, she sets the cards on the bench beside my locker, and the choice catches my attention more than their argument did.

“Mission accomplished,” King says, as if the answer should be obvious, and whatever Calliope was about to throw at him dies before it reaches her mouth.

She looks around instead, taking in Sullivan unlacing his cleats and the guys still filtering in from treatment while King guards the speaker he apparently risked his life to recover. Nobody tells her she should’ve taken a break or reminds her she has plenty of time before the test. King simply stole something important enough to make her chase him downstairs, and now he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Calliope catches the satisfaction on his face at the same time I do. “You’re still an asshole.”

“Yeah, but you’re not upstairs anymore, are you?”

Something in her expression gives before she rolls her eyes, and I have to bite back a smile because King’s right. She knows he’s right, which is probably why she looks at me like I’m the one who betrayed her when she catches me watching.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you want to think you’re madder than you are.”

“I’m extremely mad.”

“Sure, Pea.”

Her glare lasts until I smile, and then hers slips free. “I hate it here.”

“Conference rooms are that way.”

She makes no move toward the door, and the satisfaction I’d been trying not to show gets harder to ignore. I wanted her to walk through that door, and now that she’s here, I don’t want her going back upstairs even though there isn’t anything I need from her.

“Are you planning to finish this?” Calliope reaches over and catches the loose end of tape dangling from my wrist. She pulls once, unwinding another length before I take over. Her fingers brush mine when she lets go, and the contact is gone before I can decide whether she noticed it. “How was practice?”

“Good.” I smile as I work the tape loose. “King finally learned how to run a route.”

“Then I take back what I said about him being an asshole.”

Her smile lingers as her attention drops to my hands, and I slow down instead of finishing with the tape. Having her here like this is something I could get used to too quickly. She teases me while I finish getting changed, her things mixed in beside mine on the bench like they belong there.

I’m still looking at her when a locker slams across the room. The goodbye that follows makes me realize how quiet it’s gotten while I’ve been standing here with Calliope. Most of the guys have left, leaving her against my locker while I deliberately take too long removing the last of the tape from my wrist. I toss it toward the trash and grab a clean shirt from my locker. The song changes while I’m pulling it over my head. I recognize it immediately and look at Calliope as soon as my head clears the shirt.

Calliope is smiling down at her phone, but it starts small, as if she’s trying to keep it to herself, before the corner of her mouth gives her away. “What?”

I nod toward the speaker. “Your song.”

She rolls her eyes, but the chorus starts before she can argue, and the first few words slip silently across her lips before she catches herself.

Three mornings ago, I stood in the doorway and watched her sing this same song while she studied, completely unaware of me until halfway through the chorus. I’d thought about that moment more than once since then, and watching the music get to her again feels different when she knows I’m here. Her shoulders move with the beat, and instead of shutting it down when our eyes meet, she lets me see her enjoying it.

I don’t want to stand here and watch her from the doorway this time. I want to be the reason she keeps smiling.

“Dance with me.”

Calliope’s smile falters as her eyes drop to my outstretched hand, and the few seconds she takes to answer are long enough for me to stop pretending the invitation was nothing. There’s nothing either of us needs right now. I asked because I want her hand in mine, and I want her to say yes badly enough that I feel every second she doesn’t.