Not to me.
And maybe that was the real problem.
The moment it had stopped being about salvaging my image, about doing what Cameron said would help the team… and started being about her?
I didn’t know how to walk that back.
I reached for my phone again. Against better judgment, I opened one of the videos. The one where she laughed, cheeks pink, eyes all bright. The one where I caught her hand in mine like it was something I’d done a hundred times before.
Like it was natural.
I hated how easy it looked.
I hated how easy it felt.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be easy. Not with someone like her.
But that didn’t stop me from watching the moment again.
And again.
And again.
Even after I’d muted the thread and told myself I didn’t care.
Even after I reminded myself it was just a game.
Because I knew the truth.
The moment I held her hand?
That wasn’t pretend. And I didn’t know what to do with that.
No.
I needed a distraction.
I wasn’t even thinking about her when I turned the TV on.
Just needed background noise. Something to fill the quiet while I made coffee and tried to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened the way it did.
The espresso machine hissed. The beans ground. I shuffled across the kitchen in socks, half-asleep, still sore from practice. Then the anchor’s voice hit me like a cleat to the ribs.
"In unexpected relationship news, West Michigan’s own Kieren Walker was spotted yesterday on what appears to be a romantic outing with sports reporter Daphne Sommers. Could this be the league’s most unexpected couple?"
I froze mid-pour.
No. Absolutely not.
But there it was. My face. Her face. On screen. Right next to each other like we were starring in some lifestyle segment about soccer’s hottest power couples.
“Let’s take a look at what fans are calling the most ‘soft-boy’ moment of the season, shall we?”
First clip: us at the taco shop. She was laughing—head tilted back, lips curled up in that way that made it impossible not to smile with her. I had. Stupidly.
Second: the field. She’d dropped her notebook and bumped into me. I’d said something. She’d shoved me. We both laughed.
Then: the hand-holding. The walk back to the car. My fingers brushing hers. Her hand sliding into mine.
