Page 66 of Made Better Together

Feetlix has come to us with more particulars of their proposal. Please see the attached and feel free to reach out to any of us to discuss further.

Best,

Connor

Or the one that landed in my inbox today:

Dear Eden,

I confirmed with the Soccer City magazine that next Tuesday at four would be a good time for your interview. I will forward an appointment with the Zoom ID by separate email.

Please do not hesitate to reach out with any questions.

Regards,

Connor

Sheesh. Clinical and robotic—thanks, Connor.

Four emails arrive like that in total. I’m not sure what to think. Is this because Milo and Grace are cc’d on these emails? I would not expect anything like our DMs over the summer, but a little human touch in the tone would be nice.

One person who does bring that energy? Grace, when she emails me the details about their suite for the game.

Hi Eden!

We’re so excited to host you and your family in the suite on Sunday! I’m giving the gate attendants and VIP team all your details—of course, they know you guys anyway :) We’re usually there about thirty minutes early.

See you then!

Grace

That’s more like it. At least one Battle knows how to communicate like a friend.

I had dinner at Dad’s house a few days ago, and not surprisingly, Tina’s excited to be included in the Samuels group for the game. Nat is looking forward to seeing Emma again, too.

Did Dad give me a look when I mentioned Grace and Connor had invited us? Yes. But he didn’t push the topic of the youngest Battle.

I read the Soccer City email again, and my brain swims with thoughts of a certain tall blond man, even though I need to finish my Art History reading.

Cold as ice in his dang emails, a slow-burn fire in his eyes when we’re together. Put them together, and it’s cause for mass confusion.

Confusion that’s making my already-cramped room feel extra claustrophobic. I’m going to keep being distracted by thoughts of Connor here.

I should go to the library instead. Change of scenery and all that…

Without dwelling on the decision further, I organize my book bag and head out. It’s about a seven-minute walk from the dorms, but I do it in five with all the nervous energy that’s built up.

“Hey there,” I hear as I reach the door of the library.

Twisting in the direction of the voice, I see Jake with his backpack thrown over his right shoulder.

“Funny seeing you here,” I tease lightly. “I’m about to knock out the rest of Art History.”

“Funny that—same.” He winks as I hold the door for him. “Come join me.”

I nod, and he leads me to an empty study room in the back of the first floor.

“This is the second time you’ve been library-bound when we’ve talked. Is it your go-to for doing homework?” I ask as we unpack our bags on the table.