Emotions surge through me.
We’re going public. Orlando wants to be mine.
This could be real. Not a secret, not a risk, and not a mistake.
Real.
The gears in my head turn. “Marshall and Patel will think we hid it during negotiations if I don’t tell them before signing,” I say, the reality catching up with me.
“Good point,” Mel agrees.
I take another gulp of coffee, and my brain chugs along. “It would be ideal to include Orlando in the conversation before we move ahead, but he’s at the retreat. I’ll make the calls today.”
“That’s covering the bases,” Mel says. “But you’re going to need a grand slam to bring this home, Troy. We need a flashy moment to get the general public cheering you and Orlando on. The momentum of that will keep the clients happy.”
As reality sets in, I look back on last night and wince.
Orlando told me that he’s falling for me, and I pivoted to business.
Shit. No wonder he was mad. Because right now, there’s nothing I want to do more than to tell him that I’m in. That I want him to be mine, too, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.
And if he responded by talking about anything other than the fact that he wants me, I’d lose my damn mind.
“We need everyone to like us,” I say. “You’ve got some ideas for that, too?”
“Only ones that will embarrass you. But that’s for after the phone calls. You need coaching?”
I shake my head. “No. I can handle this.” Every minute is going to suck, but I can grit my teeth and bear it. “And thanks for making a plan, Mel.”
She shrugs. “You look at him like you look at a chili dog. I knew something like this was coming.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
ORLANDO
“It’s not every year we’re going to host a cup game here in Philly,” Zeke says, broadcasting his baritone voice out for the team, everyone gathered around him in our hoodies and shorts. “But tomorrow, we’ll have our home crowd behind us, our biggest rivals across the field, and one last chance to earn a spot at CONCACAF.” He clenches his hand into a fist, casting his eyes over the team. “Tomorrow, we’re going to win,” he says.
The whole team cheers. Kevyn throws his arm over my shoulder, and we all gather close. The excitement surges through me, and I make sure to savor it, keep it close so I don’t slip.
It’s the last night of the retreat. We’ve all been working hard, and my team has welcomed me back into the starting lineup. Just like Troy said, the Force has gotten stronger since my injury, but that’s only making my game better, too.
Whenever I relax my competitive focus, though, doubts circle me.
I told Troy that I want him to be my boyfriend, and that still wasn’t enough to break through. He kept his walls up, professional concerns first, and it’s making me second-guess everything.
Maybe Troy doesn’t want me like I want him. Maybe I’m falling in love with him, and he doesn’t feel the same toward me. But I can’t let that shake me. The team kept winning without me, and Troy might not be my man, but I’m strong enough to keep going. I can still win.
Not because I’m the best ever, irreplaceable. But because I’ve put the blood, sweat, and tears into this game, giving it my all.
The last hour of training is all talk from the coaches, and they don’t let up until the sun is setting, reviewing strategy. We hit the sauna and ice, and I head back to the hotels with the rest of the team. Kevyn and I are bunking together, and we take turns showering, then both collapse on our beds in sweats and t-shirts.
“Man, you look like I feel,” Kevyn says.
I sit up to look at him. He’s beat, which we all are after training, but Kevyn looks uniquely miserable.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He sighs. “Nothing. It’s just that Stace is heading into finals. I haven’t been able to see her in over a week.”
