Just taillights disappearing into the street.
I was already missing her.
Already planning how to make her stay next time.
I stood there long after her car disappeared, hands shoved in my pockets, jaw tight. I was so done—done pretending this was casual, done playing it cool, done acting like she hadn’t gotten under my skin in the worst, most impossible way.
Maybe Indiana was what I needed.
A few days away, a different city, a hard reset. Focus on Saturday’s match. Focus on anything other than the woman who kissed me like it meant everything and left like it meant nothing.
Chapter 19
Daphne
It had been three days until the Indiana game—and that damn kiss was still trending.
I was slouched on my couch in a pair of sweats that had definitely seen better days, my hair in a lopsided bun, mascara smudged under one eye from sleeping on the throw pillow like it was a lifeline. The TV droned in the background, one of those recap shows that aired between actual sports coverage and speculative fanfiction.
I wasn’t really watching—until I was.
Until the graphics flashed across the screen in big, dramatic letters:
“Walker + Sommers: Real Deal or Tactical Distraction?”
“Vote in our poll: Are they ENDGAME?”
I let out a strangled groan and hurled a throw pillow at the screen. Not that it helped. The commentators were already digging in, tone too gleeful, like they’d just uncovered a government conspiracy.
“And let’s not forget that moment on the field—look at the way she grabs his face. The tension, the passion… was it real, or was it all part of the plan?”
Then came the worst part.
The supercut.
Like I needed a highlight reel of my personal life to air in HD.
Clips played in rapid succession:
— Our first “date” at the taco place, where I definitely didn’t flirt but might have accidentally laughed too loud.
— That kiss—slow-motion, dramatic, like a damn rom-com.
— Kieren’s smile afterward, soft and stupid and completely disarming.
My stomach flipped. Again.
I hated that it kept doing that. Like it didn’t care I was trying to be rational about all of this. Like it hadn’t gotten the memo that it was just for PR. That it was supposed to mean nothing.
Except it had meant something.
To him. To me. We’d both felt it. That stupid, quiet click of something slipping into place.
And now the world had latched onto it like a dog with a bone. Social media was a mess. My inbox was a mess. Even my mother had sent a blurry screenshot of the kiss with the caption, “He’s cute. Is this real???”
I didn’t even respond.
Because I didn’t know.
