I freeze. June stands in the doorway, wide-eyed, taking in the scene—the hallway, the proximity,him.
Rogue’s hand slips away from my face, but his gaze stays on me, unflinching. My pulse is still racing, my lips still tingling, and all I can think isfuck.
Chapter 25
Minute forty-two.
The Strikers are up by one, and I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him.
It’s ridiculous, really. I’m supposed to be focusing on the camera feeds, the live updates, and the timing of highlight reels. But every time he moves, every time his gloves flash, his shoulders tense, his voice carries over the field, gravity drags me toward him all over again.
Thank God for June. Without her, I wouldn’t even know where to start today.
She’s beside me, cool and composed, switching between her tablet and her phone like she was born to multitask. It’s hard to believe this is her very first away game. She’s been handling most of the updates for the team account, giving me the space I clearly needed but was too proud to ask for.
I don’t think I will ever be more grateful for her. If she weren’t here, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep up with everything. My head is still stuck on last night, replaying it on a loop.
After she opened the door, I said goodnight to Rogue and slipped inside, leaving a very confused June in the doorway. I set my backpack down on the bed, kicked off my shoes, peeled off my jacket, and just stood there—heart pounding, lips still tingling.
June just closed the door and looked at me for a long moment, then must’ve decided I didn’t want to talk. She gave me space—no questions, no comments—and I love her for that.
This morning, I woke up to a text from him.
Rogue:
Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Having a wall between us is bloody torture.
The message made my stomach flip. I stared at it for way too long before I could even breathe, cheeks burning. With just a text, the butterflies from last night came back in full force. His lips, his voice, the way he saidI was his…
The referee’s whistle slices through my thoughts, signaling halftime. I blink, bringing my attention back to the field. The Strikers make their way toward the tunnel. Cameras flash. Fans cheer, then his gaze finds mine.
It’s just a second, maybe two, but it’s enough to knock the air out of me. I forget to breathe.
He doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
Beside me, June is finishing a post, fingers flying over her screen. Then, without even glancing up, she says under her breath, “Man, you are done for.”
I blink out of my daze. “What?”
June smirks, still working. “You heard me. I’m terrible at relationships, but I’ve got a sixth sense about other people’s. I saw it the day we met, but damn, what happened yesterday that’s got you looking likethis?”
Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it. I could deny it, pretend she’s imagining things, but she saw us. She saw him. His hand on my face, his body so close there was no space left between us. And the worst part? He didn’t even flinch when she opened the door. He just kept looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
June laughs. “Don’t worry, if you’re keeping this a secret, no one’s finding out through me. Sister code.”
She raises her pinky.
I smile, hook mine around hers, and squeeze. “Thank you. I don’t even know what this is yet, so I appreciate you keeping it to yourself.”
“You really like him, huh?” she asks, voice softer now.
I nod before I can talk myself out of it.
“Well,” she says, eyes flicking toward the field, “he definitely likes you. The man’s protecting the net while keeping his eyes on you. He’s like—bionic or something.”
That makes me laugh for the first time all game. And just like that, the world shifts back into focus—my camera feed, the noise, the fans, the work.
I finally tear my eyes away from him and force myself back to the job I’m here to do, queuing up the next replay and reminding myself why I’m here.
