She slows. Not a full stop, but a stutter.
I try and fail to put the past few weeks into words. It’s bizarre—to realize I met her a month ago. Now, if I had to pick a person to get everything they wanted, I’d pick her.
So, I tell her that. “I hope you get everything you want.”
“You too, Otto.” She fumbles with the door handle for a second, adding a “Bye” and shutting the bathroom door without glancing back.
I blow out a long breath, staring at the closed door. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay. There’s nothing else to say—at least not right now—and I’m running dangerously close to being late for a team meeting.
I glance around her room one final time—maybe forthefinal time—and then head into the hallway. I’m careful to close the door quietly behind me, listening to it lock before starting toward the nearest exit.
I’m almost to the stairwell when I hear, “Otto?”
I turn. Saylor is walking this way with another woman dressed in Team USA apparel. She tilts her head, studying me quizzically.
“Hey.” I swallow hard, shoving all the emotion deep down and managing a smile.
“What are you—” Saylor glances behind me. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was looking for you.”
“Me?” Her curious expression turns concerned. “Is Beck?—”
“He is fine,” I assure her. “Just wanted to wish you luck tomorrow.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She walks closer, rising up on her tiptoes and giving me a quick hug. When she steps back, she looks worried again. “You sure you’re good?”
“I am great.” I flash her a grin, relieved when it comes easier. “See you later.”
I spin and keep walking. As soon as I’m alone, my smile disappears.
27
CLAIRE
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as I hustle toward the parking lot at the fastest speed I can deem a “reasonable” pace.
Otto knows I’m avoiding him. I know I’m avoiding him. We both know why.
Coach Taylor does not know I’m avoiding Otto. Or why.
And if admitting to my head coach that I had a summer fling with our new assistant coach six years ago would be embarrassing, telling her that I got drunk and showed up at his hotel room door last weekend was absolutely not an option. When Coach Taylor stopped me after practice on Monday to highlight how well I played against LA and to ask if working with Otto was helpful, I nodded.
So, here we are again.
I’ve avoided looking at him ever since I met the team in the lobby, hungover. I’ve been waiting for him to bring that night up. At the very least to ask for his shirt back.
But he hasn’t. He left when I asked him to, and he hasn’t treated me differently from any other Siege player since, and it’s exactly what I wanted and also driving me insane.
“I liked the clearing crosses drill,” I finally say. “We should run it with Kate and Amanda.”
Otto nods. “I will mention it to Eliza.”
We continue walking. Our cars are the only two parked in the lot—my old sedan and his shiny SUV. The team lifted this morning, but we technically had this afternoon off.
“Nice day,” I comment.
It officially feels like spring. It’s a perfect day really, sunny and warm and bright.
