I bite my lip and nod, unable to speak.
“Did you already sign the contract?” Gabriel asks.
I meet his gaze, trying to read him, but his expression is carefully blank. This isn’t my fuckbuddy Gabriel, this is Coach Matthews.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I leave in a week.”
He nods once, looking down as he gathers his thoughts.
“Alright, team. The meeting's over. Practice is in three hours.”
He leaves the room without another look my way. I want to follow, to explain, but I’m immediately surrounded by teammates asking questions about the sponsor, about Hawaii, and about why I’d leave. I promise to explain at the team outing tonight, and slip away to find Gabriel.
It takes twenty minutes for me to realize he isn’t inside. I finally spot him on the beach, sitting near the shore, arms draped loosely around his knees as he stares out at the waves. I walk over, rehearsing what I’ll say, and when I reach him, I sit down.
“I just got you back, Z,” he says quietly. The sadness in his voice hits me hard.
My heart tightens in my chest, guilt clawing at me. “You’re not losing me,” I tell him. “Not really. I’ll only be a short flight away.”
“Hawaii isn’t a short flight,” he mutters, and I almost laugh at the childishness in his tone.
“I’m sure your pilot can speed you over,” I tease, nudging his shoulder.
He turns toward me. “I selfishly want to tell you not to go. You re-signed your team contract two years ago for five years.”
My heart pounds as I stare back at him, realizing I might have just fucked myself over.
“But, I won’t,” he continues. “If this is what you want, I’m not stopping you.”
I exhale in relief. “Thank you,” I whisper, resting my head atop my hands as I stare at him.
“But I’m still your coach,” he adds, eyes returning to the ocean. “I’ll fly in to check your training and I’ll be at every competition.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. “Do I get a say?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Okay, Coach,” I say, my smile breaking free.
TWENTY-FOUR
ZALEA | AMALFI COAST
“You wantto rent one of these?” I ask, eyeing the bright red Vespa parked in front of us.
The last time I rode one was with Paolo. He knew exactly what he was doing, but I still tensed up at every turn. I’ve always preferred four wheels over two.
“Why not? It’s a rite of passage when you’re visiting Italy,” Gabriel says, handing a wad of Euros to the middle-aged man renting it out.
“Do you even know how to drive this thing?” I ask, snapping the helmet on. “Don’t you need a special license or something?”
“Relax, baby.” He presses a kiss to the crease between my brows. “We’ll be fine.”
He swings onto the seat and pats the space behind him. With a deep sigh, and a quick prayer, I climb on, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. I keep my legs pressed together to one side, the way I’ve seen Italian women do in movies.
He takes off, jerky at first, and I stiffen instinctively. But within a minute, he smooths out, and we’re gliding along the coastal road.
The view of the sea and sunlight skipping across the water opens up beside us and I rest my cheek against his back and letmyself breathe. Being here with Gabriel feels like something I used to daydream about.
