“Got too famous,” I said. “Or too paranoid. Or maybe I forgot what it felt like to play without expectations.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes it is.”
She kicked the ball harder this time. I caught it clean with my foot and looked up to find her watching me—not with judgment, not with pity. Just… watching.
“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “So this was actually kind of fun.”
“You going to admit this is a real fake date yet?”
“Nope,” she said, already turning back toward the truck. “But I will admit you’re slightly less grumpy when you’re barefoot in a field.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. Just a flicker. Barely there. But real.
The first time she tried to dribble, she tripped over the ball so hard I thought she’d fractured something.
She flopped to the grass like she’d been shot.
“Foul!” she yelled, pointing at me. “That was totally a foul.”
“You tripped over your own foot.”
“You shoved me with your aura.”
I stared down at her. “Is that even a thing?”
“It is when your aura is this aggressively smug.”
She stayed sprawled like she was expecting a ref to appear out of nowhere. I offered a hand. She took it, then pulled me down with her. We hit the ground in a tangle, both laughing.
After a second, I rolled to my back and stared at the clouds overhead. The grass was itchy. Her laugh was loud. Her hair was falling in her eyes as she sat up beside me, still grinning like she hadn’t just wiped out spectacularly.
“You good?” I asked, wiping a blade of grass off my arm.
“Emotionally or physically?”
“Neither,” I said, sitting up. “But you’ve got spunk. That counts for something.”
She gasped. “Was that… encouragement?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
She got to her feet, brushing dirt off her jeans. “All right, Coach Sunshine. One more round. I’m scoring on you.”
I stood, hands on hips. “Not a chance.”
Challenge blazed in her eyes.
We went again.
She charged the ball like it had personally offended her. I didn’t make it easy, but I didn’t go full defense either. She tripped twice, kicked the ball into my shin once, and at one point spun herself in a full circle before collapsing in giggles.
“You good?” I asked again, wheezing.
“Strategic disorientation,” she said from the ground. “You’ll never see it coming.”
Eventually, I let her score—just once.
