“Why are you smiling like that? It’s creepy,” Parker said, before following my line of sight and squinting toward the lot. “That her?” he asked under his breath.
“Yeah,” I said, still staring.
He gave a low whistle, then cocked his head. “I wonder if I can get Casey to sit out there with her,” he mused. “I always play better when she’s watching.”
Jace popped up beside us, helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes bright with mischief. “If we’re starting a spectator club, count Riley and Natalie in, too,” he said. “They can get their girl time out there in the car—bond over snacks, matching blankets, whatever—and then Riley will have no reason not to spend all her free time with me afterward.”
Parker barked out a laugh and then nodded. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
“I know. It’s my big brain,” Jace said. “It can be quality time for them and uninterrupted worship for us. Everybody wins.”
As I turned back toward the field, my gaze caught on Garrett’s across the line.
He was standing near the watercoolers, towel slung around his neck, following my line of sight out to the parking lot. His expression shifted—recognition, guilt, maybe both—and our eyes met.
I dragged my thumb slowly across my throat.
His brows shot up. Then he let out a snort, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe me. A second later, he lifted one hand and gave me a lazy thumbs-up.
I nodded at him. Garrett and I were buddies…just as long as he didn’t forget.
When practice finally ended, the sky had already shifted to that washed-out winter gray, the kind that looked like it couldn’t decide between rain or snow. My breath came out in clouds as I jogged off the field, helmet under my arm, cleats crunching over the frost-stiff grass.
Her car was still there, and I didn’t hesitate.
Ophelia’s head was down, eyes fixed on her phone. Her mouth was slightly open, pink from the cold, a little smile curving there like she was seeing something she shouldn’t love as much as she did.
When I got close enough, I realized what it was—an interview I’d done yesterday after practice. My voice came faintly through the cracked window, talking about playoffs, team chemistry, or whatever generic thing I’d said to keep the press happy.
I rapped my knuckles lightly against the glass.
She jumped, letting out a tiny squeak that hit me right in the chest. Her phone slipped, and she scrambled to pause the video as her wide eyes found mine.
I grinned, already reaching for the door handle.
“Hi, pretty baby,” I said softly, pulling the door open before she could decide whether to hide or breathe.
“Matty,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing pinker than from the cold.
I didn’t wait for her to climb out. I just reached in, caught her by the waist, and tugged her against me until she was standing between my legs, pressed close enough to feel my heartbeat under her hands.
“I missed you,” she murmured in a muffled voice against my chest.
I bent, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve been watching me this whole time.”
“I’ve realized it’s not the same,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes glassy and unguarded.
My mouth curved. “No,” I said softly. “It’s not.”
We stayed like that, her breath warm against my throat, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. For a second, the world went quiet. Just the two of us and the faint hum of traffic out on the street.
“Matty!”
I turned, jaw tightening automatically, but it was just Rachel—the team’s media relations head—waving from across the lot, clipboard tucked under one arm. She had a serious look on her face.
“Hey, Adler!” she called. “I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”
“Just a minute!” I called back, forcing a polite smile.
