Suddenly I see it—the phones, the captions, Theo clocking it, Isabelle pleased. The performance snapping into focus like an excuse I can hide behind.
That’s what this is. Optics. Strategy. Progress.
Except it isn’t. Not really.
I want to see her in my number. Want to pretend, just for tonight, that she’s mine and the rest of the world knows it.
The bet twists in my gut.
She unfolds the jersey. “This feels like a lot.”
“It’s just a jersey.”
She nods like I asked to borrow a pen. I almost laugh, forcing my voice steady. “You want Theo to notice you? This’ll do it.”
She nods, uncertain. “Okay. Where do I go?”
“Second section, behind the bench.”
Mason and Riley appear, half in gear. They pull up short when they see her.
“Hey,” Mason says, smile careful. “Glad you found us.”
Riley nods. “Good luck with the crowd.”
They move on too quickly. Tension trails behind them.
“Are they okay?” Wren asks.
“Pre-game nerves.” The lie slides out.
Then Reed shows up.
Full gear, mouthguard dangling loose. He slows when he sees her, eyes tracking in a way that makes my spine go rigid.
“Well,” he says, dragging it out. “The famous tutor.” His gaze flicks to the jersey, then back to her. “Moving fast, O’Connor. Guess the rumors were true.”
Wren straightens. “Hi.”
“Careful,” Reed says lightly. “Around here, jerseys mean things.”
I step between them before I register the decision.
“Walk away,” I say, my voice tight.
Reed’s smile falters for half a second before he recovers. “Relax, golden boy.”
“Now,” I add.
The air tightens. For a beat, I think he’s going to test it.
Then he shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
He turns toward the tunnel, smirk back in place, but he doesn’t look at her again.
When he’s gone, Wren exhales. “Did I…do something wrong?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He did.”
