There’s a faint blue creeping in over the tree line. Cooler mornings hit hardest before sunrise—cold air sharp in your lungs, fingers going numb under your gloves. I should be locked in, reading their angles, anticipating their movements. But I’m off by just enough to continue to punish myself.
Luca doesn’t say anything until the third miss. Then he crosses his arms and stares me down. “Get your head on, Keller.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, but even I don’t sound convinced.
I’m not fine. I can’t stop thinking about her.
It’s pathetic how far gone I am. Half my brain’s always occupied with what she’d taste like if she’d just let me close enough, and the other half is busy pretending I’m not already in too deep.
I wipe the back of my glove across my forehead. My pulse is steady, but wrong. Too even, too forced, like my body’s faking a calm it doesn’t feel. I’m reacting too slowly, misjudging footwork I’ve drilled a thousand times.
Every part of me feels off balance. The net feels bigger. My timing’s off. Every movement feels wrong in a way that makes me question my muscle memory.
I try to focus on the drills, but my thoughts keep drifting.
To the towel she wore last night. Barely tucked, slipping just enough to make me insane. Water dripped down the fronts of her thighs while she stood there, glaring at me.
To the way she bent over, yanking her mattress around the room, cursing under her breath while I got a front-row seat to the show.
To the little smirk on her face when she beat me. Tossed her final throw, declared herself the winner, and told me to take the couch like she hadn’t just driven me halfway out of my mind.
And yeah, I left.
But not before I memorized every inch of her.
And not before I seriously considered crawling back in there just to see what she'd do if I asked her—no,beggedher—to move over and let me lie down next to her.
I stretch my arms over my head and roll out my shoulders. I miss the next save by a full second.
“Jesus, man,” Colin mutters. “What the fuck? Did you not sleep?”
“Worse,” Luca says under his breath. “He’s thinking about a girl.”
“Aren’t we fucking all?” Colin mutters.
“No,” Luca laughs. “I’m not.”
Colin just gives him ano shit, Sherlocklook and turns back to me.“Get it the fuck together.”
I ignore them and dive for the next ball. I get my fingertips on it this time. Not enough to deflect it, of course.
Fuck.
Practice finally winds down, the sky pale and golden behind the concession stand. The girls will be out soon. I shower fast and towel-dry my hair with the kind of half-effort that leaves it sticking up in all directions. I don’t care.
Because as soon as I step out of the locker room, I know I’ll see her. Coming down the path to the field. Messy bun. Jaw set. Probably already annoyed with me about something.
And I can’t wait.
But she doesn’t come down with the rest of the team.
The girls trickle in—tired faces, duffle bags slung low, water bottles tucked under arms—but no Blake. No flash of blue hair. No glare thrown in my direction.
I hang back near the edge of the walkway, trying not to look like I’m waiting. Luca jogs past me and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not subtle.”
“She’s not here.” My face scrunches.
“Maybe she’s avoiding you.”
