“Yes,” she said, voice sharp. “I’m sorry I had to drag you out of there, but if you keep acting like a kid then I’ll have to treat you like one.”
I exhaled slowly. “This is exhausting. I never wanted any of it. I told Coach McAvoy–”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, voice clipped. “Move.”
I followed, kicking at pride I didn’t want to lose. The city lights blurred around us. Every step reminded me of her control, her audacity, the way she made me want to argue and obey at the same time.
“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, without even looking at me.
I swore under my breath again, noting every detail I didn’t want to. How her hair swayed, the sharp rhythm of her heels, that faint trace of perfume I could have sworn was teasing me. And I hated that I was noticing it.
By the time we reached the hotel, the club forgotten, I was spent. Not physically, but mentally, from the constant tug-of-war between pride, frustration, and the faint, infuriating recognition that Holly—Holly!—had won. Again.
7
Holly
I leaned against the frame of the locker room doorway, tablet in hand, trying to focus. The team was already inside, and their pre-game laughter and chatter filtered through the door. Somewhere in the mix were murmurs I didn’t need to hear but couldn’t help catching.
“Babysitter’s here and waiting,” Mason said with a laugh. “Can’t wait to see Hunter’s face when he gets here.”
I didn’t look up. Didn’t respond. My job was to make sure Hunter didn’t walk into the game carrying last night’s shit-show on his shoulders and more importantly, that the press didn’t either.
Tucker snorted. “Seriously, man, is she going to be following him around now? Everywhere?”
“Guys, stop,” Shawn said. “She’s just doing her job.”
I ignored them, fingers flying across the tablet. Josie’s posts were the first order of business: a half dozen questionable tags, clips of Hunter from last night, moments that would make him look like he’d traded his pads for a club coat. I deleted, untagged, swapped captions. Nothing scandalous. Nothing that could be twisted by reporters looking for drama. I worked quickly, methodically, blocking every potential misstep before it could reach anyone’s feed.
“Seriously?” Hunter stopped right in front of me, halfway into the locker room, half-out. Irritation flashed across his face, deepening once he noticed the socials on my tablet.
“I’m just–”
“Doing your job, yeah, I know.” His jaw clenched, and he glanced inside to check that the others weren’t looking. They were, but quickly got busy doing everything else when his head snapped round.
“Idiots,” I mumbled under my breath, and squared my shoulders. “Ready for the game?”
“You humiliate me in front of my team and then want to carry on with small talk like nothing happened?”
This was the dance we did. I’d push, he’d resist, we’d both get frustrated, then repeat it ad nauseum. I always thought I was the champion of being stubborn, but this goalie was grasping at my gold medal with each passing day.
“Getting caught up in a fight with the team you’re supposed to play today would’ve been more embarrassing,” I said, sticking out my chin. “Harder to explain. Which is why I spent most of last night and all of this morning deleting whatever I could find.”
“You really don’t give up, do you?” he asked, exhaling sharply.
“I don’t,” I said. “And the sooner you get used to it, the better for both of us.”
His mouth twitched as if he wanted to argue, but the team’s laughter and chatter drew his attention. The merriment died down soon after, when Coach McAvoy walked in from his office.
“Great,” Hunter muttered, finally letting his shoulders drop, “now he’s gonna lay into us about last night too.”
I hung around in the doorway, watching as he took his seat next to Theo. All of them braced for the inevitable. The room stilled instantly, the team snapping to attention with that practiced blend of respect and anticipation. Murmurs died down, helmets were set aside, and I allowed myself to take a step back, letting them all fall under thecoach’s gaze.
“Alright, everyone, circle up!” The coach centered himself in the room, and studied his clipboard. “I want to go over some of the plays for today.”
He didn’t start with a lecture. Didn’t scold them for sneaking out. Didn’t even hint that he knew what went down. He went straight into the pre-game talk of strategy, positioning, energy, focus.
