“Erm, yes, this is Danny. He’s the coach from the rival team and an old friend.”
“I see. Fraternizing with the enemy.” Chase says, his tone flat, humorless.
Danny and I both force out awkward laughs, trying to lighten the mood, but Chase’s posture doesn’t budge.
“Well, technically, I’m her ex-boyfriend.” Danny nudges me playfully, oblivious—or reckless. “You know, the one who got away.”
Dear Lord, does Danny have a death wish?
I let out an unhinged snort, half amusement, half panic. With the tension rolling off Chase, I might have to smuggle Danny out of New York under the cover of darkness.
“A long time ago,” I clarify quickly, though it seems like pouring gasoline on a fire. Desperate for an escape, I check my watch and hold it up like a lifeline. “Shouldn’t you be heading to the field, Danny?”
“Ah, yeah. Good point.” He finally picks up on the atmosphere, his smile faltering. “Nice seeing you, Vi. Catch you later.” He throws a polite wave in Chase’s direction before hurrying off, brow furrowed.
I take a dramatic bite of my hot dog, desperate for a switch in conversation. “Mmm. So good.”
Chase settles beside me, his smile tight, his eyes still tracking Danny’s retreating form. “Nice that you’re on such friendly terms with your ex.” He snaps his teeth over his hot dog like he’s imagining it’s Danny’s head.
I roll my eyes. “It was high school. Young love, all that, you know.”
His posture finally relaxes, but his gaze lingers on me. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love before.”
The admission blindsides me like he just dropped a bomb in the middle of our conversation. How can he never have been in love? I suck in a deep breath—wrong move. A dry chunk of bread lodges in my throat, and I start coughing violently.
Oh God. Is this how I go? Choking on a damn hotdog? People being forced to leave flowers for me at the hot dog truck.
Chase reacts instantly, patting my back as I wheeze, his jealousy flipping to concern. “I’ll get you some water.”
I shake my head, eyes watering. “No—” I cough. “I’m good.”
I’m thankful for the distraction when the game finally kicks off.
The game is fast and furious as Gracie’s team slugs it out with the opposition. Chase leans back on his elbows, watching with easy interest. “I used to play,” he says after a while. “A lot of the time, the game ended in fights.”
I glance at him, surprised. “Really? You played soccer?”
He grins. “When I wasn’t getting into trouble. The games were fun, but the wild parties after? Even better.”
I let out a laugh. “So let me get this straight. You were a reckless troublemaker, getting into fights and partying—but you also got into Stanford on a scholarship?”
He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I knuckled down at the right time. Plus, my grandma wasn’t about to let me screw up my life. She kept me in line.”
I file that away, surprised by how much I like the idea of him as a reckless teenager with someone in his corner, pushing him toward more.
Gracie’s team gets possession, and within seconds, she streaks down the field, her foot connecting with the ball in a clean, powerful strike. It soars past the goalie into the net.
I leap up, cheering, fists in the air. Chase watches me with amusement as I sit back down, still buzzing.
Before I can settle, he pulls me between his legs, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. His head drops to my shoulder, his lips brushing just beneath my ear. “You’re sexy when you’re excited.”
“Shut up,” I murmur, but I don’t move. His arms tighten slightly, and I let myself sink into him, the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against my back. The game continues, but for a moment, I don’t care. Because here, with Chase’s breath at my ear and his arms around me, everything feels right.
The final whistle blows, and cheers erupt across the field. Gracie comes bounding over at the end, all smiles with their 3-2 victory.
“Remember, you promised me fried chicken if we won, Vi?”
“Yeah, I didn’t forget. Come on then, let’s get home.” I throw my arm around her shoulder. “Nice goal, by the way.”
