Page 35 of Enchanted to Meet You

“Just play well,” I mumbled, pulling my arm back out of reach. “I didn’t suffer through a car ride with Kelcey just to watch you lose.”

“I don’t lose,” he said, turning back toward the pitch with a wicked grin. “Watch me.”

The game was brutal. Crofton was playing against Oakridge, a physical, high-pressing team known for playing dirty, and the referee was letting almost everything slide.

I sat in the front row of the bleachers with Kelcey, trying to keep my head down in case anyone recognized me—though why anyone would, I had no idea.

Rhys played with the terrifying intensity I’d come to expect from both him and Sebastian, though it was weird to be watching him play a team other than Parkhurst. On the ball, he was impossible to catch—switching directions in the blink of an eye, dropping his shoulder, and leaving defenders scrambling in the dirt. But off the ball, he was aggressive. Every time Oakridge tried to build an attack, Rhys was there, tracking back, sliding into tackles, and physically imposing himself on the game.

At the thirty-minute mark, the Oakridge center-back shoved Rhys hard from behind during a corner kick, sending him crashing onto the turf. The referee blew his whistle, but didn’t issue a card.

I stood up before I could stop myself, my hands gripping the cold metal railing in front of me. “Hey! That was a foul! Are you blind?”

Kelcey shot me a cold, evaluating look, but I ignored her, my eyes fixed entirely on Rhys as he pushed himself up off the grass. He wiped a streak of mud off his chin, caught my eye in the crowd, and gave me a subtle, knowing nod.

Two minutes later, Rhys got his revenge, intercepting a pass and executing a move so smooth, the goalie didn’t even seem to notice what was happening until it was too late.

The stadium went wild. The pep band blasted a chaotic song, students were jumping up and down, and the team swarmed Rhys near the corner. When the pile-up cleared, Rhys broke away from his teammates and jogged toward the bleachers. He didn’t look at the student section cheering his name. He looked straight at me, raised two fingers to his chest, and tapped his jersey right over his heart, pointing straight in my direction.

“Oh, please,” Kelcey muttered under her breath, crossing her legs with a sharp snap. “So dramatic.”

My face was burning hot, but my chest felt absurdly light. I sat back down, trying to control the stupid smile threatening to pull at my lips. He wasn’t really doing it for me, I knew that. He was doing it for the sake of Kelcey noticing him.

By the time the final whistle blew, Crofton had won 3-1, with Rhys scoring two of the three goals. It was the first time in my life I’d cheered for them. The team paraded off the field to a standing ovation, disappearing into the locker rooms to change, while the rest of the crowd slowly filtered out toward the parking lot.

Landon came out quickly, finding us right away, then the four of us hung around near the stadium gates waiting for Rhys. The air had turned bitter cold, the wind cutting through my oversized sweater, and I shivered, tucking my hands deep into my pockets.

“You cold, Ainsley?” Landon asked, glancing down at my bare legs.

“I’m fine,” I lied through chattering teeth.

“Here,” a voice said from behind me.

I turned just as a heavy, maroon Crofton athletic jacket was draped over my shoulders. It was lined with soft fleece and smelled overwhelmingly like Rhys— fresh laundry, cut grass, and faint sweat.

Rhys stepped up beside me, his hair still wet from the post-game shower, wearing a clean grey hoodie and track pants. He reached out and zipped the jacket up to my chin himself, his knuckles brushing against my throat.

“Good game,” I told him.

“Told you I don’t lose.” He turned to Justin and Landon, clapping them on the shoulders. “Where are we going?”

“Gold Plate Diner,” Justin said, looping an arm around Kelcey’s waist. “Everyone’s heading there.” My eyes tracked Justin’s arm around Kelcey and I was once again amazed to find that I felt nothing over it. Not an ounce of jealousy. Kelcey flicked her gaze to Rhys, though, like she was checking to see if he was looking. But he wasn’t. When I looked up at him, I found him smiling down at me.

“Great,” Rhys said, his hand dropping casually to the small of my back, guiding me toward the parking lot. “Let me drive Ainsley. She looks like she’s about to freeze to death.”

Kelcey glanced between us, her expression unreadable in the dim light of the parking lot, before turning and walking off with Justin. Rhys led me to his SUV, and even though driving with him shouldn’t be something I viewed as a pleasant activity, I was so relieved not to be driving anywhere else with Kelcey that I actually felt comfortable as I sank into the leather seat.

Rhys immediately cranked the heater without asking, turning the vents in my direction so the warm air would blast on me. I refused to show him just how much it helped. He didn’t seem to care. He kept one hand lazy on the top of the steering wheel, his knuckles still raw and red from the soccer game. Every time he shifted gears, his forearm brushed against the heavy fabric of the oversized Crofton varsity jacket I still had on. (Was I meant to keep it on all night? Was that what girlfriends did?)

By the time we walked through the diner’s heavy glass doors, the place was already a war zone of high school royalty. Half the varsity soccer team was crammed into the back corner, their raised voices competing with the hum of the flickering neon signs and the greasy sizzle of the flat-top grill. The air smelled of burnt coffee, fryer oil, and cheap peppermint air freshener.

“Montgomery’s here!” Landon bellowed from a middle booth, waving a French fry dripping in gravy like a baton. “Bring the hero some water, he’s gotta stay hydrated for his post-game interview!”

A chorus of whistles and table-thumping erupted. I instinctively shrank back, my shoulders hitching, but Rhys’s heavy arm slid over my back, trapping me firmly against his side. His thumb hooked casually into the fleece collar of the jacket, pulling me flush against him as he steered us through the narrow aisle. The heat radiating off him was borderline suffocating, but I forced myself not to pull away.

“Knock it off, Landon.” Rhys slid into the high-backed vinyl booth and dragging me down right beside him.

The booth was horribly tight. To fit everyone, Rhys had to sit pressed against me, his outer thigh a solid, warm line mapped directly against mine. Across the laminate table, Justin had his arm slung lazily over the back of Kelcey’s seat. Kelcey sat with her legs crossed, her manicured nails tapping a fast, hypnotic rhythm against her glass.