Page 60 of Lucky Shot

“Come on. I’ve seen the videos online of you looking at her. Rush’s told me how you bet a whole freaking month to be there—”

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that you’re not fighting.”

“Kind of hard to fight when Major League Soccer and the Mayhem have me by the balls, isn’t it?”

“You only fight when you know I’m right. And if you wanted out of the obligation, all you’d have to say is that it’s making your game suffer. End of story. You know that. I know that. But no one hears you saying that.” She lifts her eyebrows and holds my stare. “She’s gorgeous. I’ll give you that.”

“And she doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Her smile is a flash. I just fell into her trap. “It’s okay to like her, Hardy.”

I stare at my teammates spread across the patio, talking in pockets. And for some reason, I step into the conversation when I don’t expect to. “It’s easy to like her, Lennox. She’s a good person.”

Isn’t that what scared me about liking her? That she’s real and good? How dare I consider messing that up since I’m anything but that?

“So are you.”

I snort. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m being serious.”

“And I’ll be done with the camp in a month.”

“Your point? It’s not like you can’t still see her. There are such things as cars and freeways.”

“Cute. I just . . . she doesn’t deserve to deal with everything that comes with me.”

“You mean everything she’s already dealing with? The spotlight? The press? That everything?”

“Yeah. It’s just a whole different level than anyone is used to.”

“Isn’t that for her to decide?”

“It’s not as black and white as that. It’s . . .” What is it, Hardy? Is it because she’s gorgeous and doesn’t take your shit? Or is it because you’ve watched her stand beside the kids who are left behind? The ones who no one else fights for that makes you attracted to her? Or maybe it’s that she somewhat gets your world, your sport, and how much that just might mean to you?

“It’s confusing, isn’t it?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts . . . and my serious mommy issues.

“Nah. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She rubs her lips together. Her eyes don’t reflect what her words say.

“She’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

Her smile is bittersweet. “And I wasn’t Rush’s when we first met and look how that ended up? Chemistry is chemistry. You can’t deny that and the videos circulating of the two of you on the field show there’s definite chemistry there.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me not to believe everything that’s online?”

Her smile is genuine, and she laughs. “You’ve got me there. I’m going to say this and then I’ll let you go back to your teammates. I’ve seen women come and go out of your life for the better part of seven years. You have no problem with commitment to any of them, but you commit to the wrong types—women who want the spotlight with you and who crave the attention you attract.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Gina French? Lilah Turney? Greta Halsey? I can keep going all day,” she says of the women I’ve dated in the past. I level her with a look. “What’s so wrong with seeing what it’s like with someone who is real and who has a life in a sport you love but in a different capacity? One who doesn’t care about the flashing lights around you?”

“It’s not that—”

She rises from her seat and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Then what is it? She doesn’t like you back?” She snorts. “With your charm? Everybody loves Alexander Hardy. If they don’t, you’re not trying hard enough.”