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“I do.” I lean back, crossing my arms. “I watched his tape. He’s raw, but he’s got instinct. He plays like he’s got something to prove, and I like that.”

Brandt considers that, then nods. “If he can handle the pressure at this level, he could be exactly what we need.”

“He’ll be here next week. We’ll see what he’s made of.”

Another nod. “Good.”

For the next half hour, we work through adjustments—small tweaks to the game plan, things to drill into the guys before our next match. When we’re done, I stand, rolling my shoulders as Brandt shuts down the film.

“Overall,” he says, glancing at me as I head toward the door, “not a bad game.”

I smirk. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”

His chuckle follows me out of the room.

I step into the hallway, nodding to a few players as I pass, and check my watch. The day is moving fast. Too fast.

And I still haven’t checked in with Anastasia.

I pull out my phone, staring at the screen for half a second before shaking my head at myself.

We said we wouldn’t overthink this.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see her again.

I tap out a quick text before I can talk myself out of it.

You free tonight?

I slip my phone back into my pocket and head toward my office. It barely vibrates before I pull it out again, the response already there.

Can’t. I have plans.

I stare at the message for a beat longer than I should.

Plans.

It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t own her time. But something about the shortness of her reply sits uneasily in my chest.

I run my tongue over my teeth, debating whether or not to ask.

Screw it.

Work or personal?

There’s a pause before her reply comes through.

Personal.

I exhale slowly, flexing my grip around my phone before tapping out my response.

Have fun.

I pocket my phone and roll my shoulders, shaking off the ridiculous tightness in my chest.

I have more important things to focus on.

Like keeping this team on track.