I let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of my neck. “I mean… yeah. Unless there’s like a cooler, less middle-school word for it. Strongly impressed? Deeply smitten? Completely doomed?”
“You really are bad at this,” she said softly, the tiniest laugh escaping her.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “See? Knew it. Worst confession in the history of confessions.”
But when I risked a glance at her, she wasn’t mocking me. Her eyes were warm, softer than I’d ever seen them. She nudged my arm with her shoulder. “It wasn’t… bad.”
“You literally just said—”
“I meant the delivery,” she interrupted, her voice lighter now. “But the words…” Her gaze lingered, holding mine just a moment too long before she looked away. “The words weren’t bad at all.”
I gave a half-shrug, trying to cover how my chest was on fire. “So… not terrible, then?”
Her lips curved again, a whisper of a smile. “Not terrible,” she echoed.
I blew out a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay, but, be honest. Is this the part where you politely turn me down? Or, I don’t know, hit me with the friendzone special?”
Her brows lifted, amused. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“I mean, you could at least cushion the blow. A gentle ‘sorry, mate’ or, like, a voucher for free coffee.” I said, too quickly, which made her laugh.
She shook her head, smiling at me in that maddening way. Then her tone softened. “Alex… I’m just here trying to fix my form. That’s all I’ve got space for right now, it’s tennis. It’s where all my focus has to be.”
I caught the flicker in her eyes, the hesitation, the slight tightness in her jaw and for a split second, I saw it: confusion, maybe even fear, tangled up with something she didn’t dare say.
“I’ve worked too hard to get here after everything I’ve been through. And the truth is, I don’t have the luxury of letting my focus waver. I can’t afford distractions… not even the ones that feel good.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the rippling water.
Her words weren’t sharp, though they were wrapped in care, almost protective. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I don’t want you to think I don’t see that. I do. But right now, all I can give everything I am, is going into tennis. I’m not in the place to give anything more, not properly, not the way you’d deserve.”
Her words should’ve stung, but they didn’t, not entirely. Because she didn’t move away. Because her shoulder was still warm against mine.
I let out a slow breath and nodded. “Yeah. I get it. You don’t have to explain it. You’ve got bigger things on the line, and I’d hate to be the reason you lost sight of that.”
Her mouth twitched at that, and the tiny smile gave me enough courage to keep going. “For what it’s worth, I really am rooting for you. Always have been. And hey, if that means my role is just sitting on the bench and being your personal cheerleader, I’ll take it.”
She huffed a laugh. “Of course, my personal bench cheerleader.”
I spread my hands dramatically. “Pom-poms, glitter, the works. I’d rock it, don’t even try to deny it.”
That finally got her to laugh, properly this time, the sound echoing in the quiet poolside. And for me, that was enough.
“Come on. It’s already late at night and you need to shower and change, you’ll catch cold sitting around like that.” She pushed herself up from the bench, brushing invisible water droplets from her arms.
I stood too, towel still draped around my shoulders, she gave me the faintest smile before turning away, her footsteps echoing across the tiles.
I just stood there, watching her go, feeling like I’d both won and lost something all at once.
Inside, my chest was a mess, equal parts nerves, hope, and the sharp edge of knowing she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But still… she hadn’t pulled away. She hadn’t shut me out.
So if all I could be right now was the idiot on the bench cheering her on, then fine. I’d do it gladly. Because the truth was, I’d been watching Olivia Smythe from the sidelines long before she ever noticed me. And maybe, one day she’d look back and finally see me too.
CHAPTER 19
ALEXANDRA
I’d been… surprisingly okay lately. No dramatic meltdowns, no moping in the locker room, just full-on grind mode. Swim-bike-run, repeat. The kind of training where your body aches in places you didn’t know existed, but you still crawl out of bed at dawn.
Okay, maybe notjustthat. Because every so often, mid-lap or mid-sprint, I’d catch myself sneaking a glance across the academy courts. And there she’d be. Doing her Olivia thing, looking unfairly good while serving rockets and making footwork drills look like ballet. She was all focus, all fire, and meanwhile I was over here trying not to trip over my own shoelaces.
