I just… stared.
Her cheeks were puffed, pink and round from sleep. Eyes glassy, lashes clumped together at the corners, lips still parted as if she hadn’t quite remembered how to close them.
If she made one more confused little blink, I was going to lose my damn mind.
“Morning,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Her head whipped away so fast I almost laughed. She was scrambling for her candy bag, for her phone, for anything that could distract her from the fact that she’d just slept on me for two straight hours.
I leaned back, stretching my arm along the seat behind her just to give her space, or maybe just to see her squirm.
Didn’t matter.
She refused to look at me.
“You drool,” I said quietly, just to watch her head whip back.
Her eyes widened, mouth open, and then she realised I was lying, and the smallest glare appeared, one she didn’t even mean to give me.
God, even her glare was soft.
The coach yelled for me and her to get off. I grabbed my bag and stood, looking down at her, still half-frozen, standing there with her puffed cheek like a cute little hamster.
“Come on,” I said, jerking my chin toward the aisle.
She spun on her heel and quickly strode forward as if getting as far away from me was her number one mission.
It was adorable.
This is going to be a good game. I can feel it.
Maybe I’ll even get another sneaky thumbs up from her again.
I hope. It’s my trophy.
—
The field still smelled like sweat and wet grass.
The stadium lights were fading out one by one, and most of the crowd had already spilt out to the parking lot.
We’d won. Again.
The locker room was chaos: slaps on the back, shouts, music, someone yelling about beers later, and I didn’t care. I just needed air.
When I stepped outside, the noise dulled to a hum.
She was there.
Sitting on the bottom bleacher, legs pulled close, notebook open in her lap even though she wasn’t writing. Just staring out at the empty field like she could still see the game playing behind her eyes.
Her hair moved with the wind, loose and soft, and the lights from the scoreboard washed her in this stupid golden glow that made my chest hurt.
I was halfway walking towards her when someone called out behind me.
“Yo, Lockhart!”
I turned. One of the guys jogged over, a grin already plastered across his face. He had his phone out, screen bright. “Man, you didn’t check the chat?”
