“I know you like pink,” she shrugged with a sweet smile.
And God, did I love pink. Especially on her. She was like a freaking real-life Barbie doll. Everyone's dream and my teammates' little sister. And here I was lusting over her like a lovesick fuck.
I really was losing my game.
“So, why'd you call?” Rosie asked, bouncing on the balls of her foot, and she dropped her matching pink bag on the grass.
I swallowed hard and pulled my headphones out of my ears. I dropped them in my pocket. “I want to try to sprint.”
There was a beat of silence after my confession, and Rose didn't laugh or scoff. Her unchanging smile nodded, and her eyes travelled across the dimly lit soccer field.
“It should be fine,” she told me, her eyes finding mine.
She didn't ask why I was attempting to do something we did in practice every day. She didn't pry to see what I was feelingand try to dig deep into the emotional damage I suffered. She simply accepted me and supported me.
It was something no one else did for me. Just like during my recovery, she was the first one there to bake for me and keep me company.
“Want to do a shorter one or a long one?” Rosie motioned the two directions across the soccer field, and I had the sudden urge to wrap her into my arms and kiss her. That's how grateful I was.
“Short first?” I asked, my voice breaking from the nerves.
“I can run with you,” she teased me with a small smile. For someone who claimed sucked at flirting, she was doing this pretty naturally.
“Okay,” I nodded, still unsure.
A warm hand wrapped around my shoulder, and I found myself eye to eye with Rosalie. “Think of it as a game,” she suggested as her eyes bore deep into mine. “We race across the field, and the loser buys coffee.”
“All this for a coffee?” I asked, like she was making me swim with sharks, even though this was all my idea. I was so pathetic.
I raked my hand through my messy hair and wondered where the cool, carefree guy I once used to be.
“For a week,” Rosie grinned. “And breakfast. Lunch and dinner.”
My eyes narrowed on her as her comment snapped me out of self-loathing. “You seem pretty confident you can beat me.”
“Well,” she shrugged, an innocent look on her face. “Three months ago, you could barely walk, and you complain endlessly during Pilates class, so I have a chance.”
“Pilates was supposed to be easy. It's for dancers, not athletes.”
“Oh, you did not just say that.” Her blue eyes turned the color of a thundering sky, and she stepped away from me. “For your information, dancers are athletes. We just have betterbalance and don't fall on our asses every time someone remotely touches us.”
I felt a grin pull on my lips. “Whatever you say.”
I knew she was right, but I just loved teasing her and riling her up. She was cute when she got angry.
“It's on,” she turned towards the field, not even giving me a chance to mentally prepare. “We go on three…”
My heart rate picked up, and I felt its drumming in my ear, muffling Rosie's voice.
I saw her lips move from the words of one and two, but I didn't hear a single thing until she shouted 'three' and launched herself into a sprint.
Muscle memory took over my indecisive and frozen brain, and I found myself chasing after her. My legs knew what they needed to do. I felt the slight burn in my thighs from how hard I was pushing myself, but thankfully, no discomfort in my knee.
Rose came into view as I got closer and closer to her, and I wrapped my arms around her middle and lifted her off even before we made it across.
“Got you.”
Her chest heaved from the effort, and she leaned her head back against my shoulder, looking up at me. Her sweet scent wrapped around me. “You were supposed to make it across.”
