“On defense, number nine, Bastian Ramirez.”
The girls continued to clap and cheer as he brought out some kids from the youth league to midfield with him.
“Also on defense, number seventy-seven, Vinny Nelson.”
Em still clapped, though she knew her brother and “The Box” didn’t have a great relationship. He was still part of the team, and she was going to support him.
“At midfield, number seven, Grant Vaughn.”
He jogged onto the field in his green jersey. After stalking him online for the last week, she was surprised at how much more attractive he was in person. When he smiled up at the stands, her clapping hands stilled. When his eyes found hers, her breath caught in her chest.
As if he knew the effect he had on her, Grant’s smile grew wider.
She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from smiling back, but Grant’s gaze didn’t move from Em. Not when the announcer called Silas and Cardosa out onto the field, not when a local singer sang the National Anthem, and not when both Miriam and Frida elbowed her in the ribs from either side.
The only thing that pulled Grant’s attention from Em was the start of the game. He jerked his chin up at her just before he broke their eye contact and jogged over to his spot on the field.
Without him staring at her, Em felt like she could finally take a deep breath—though it was shaky as she released it.
“Oh, my goodness.” Frida leaned in close. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Em’s head jerked toward her best friend. “What do you mean?”
A sly grin touched Frida’s lips. “That’s not some silly little crush. You two were peering into each other’s souls.”
Em pushed Frida away from her. “Shut up.”
“She’s not wrong,” Miriam said.
Em closed her eyes and groaned. Great, did everyone have an opinion on what just happened? “It was just a look.”
“A meaningful one,” Frida said.
Miriam nodded. “An intense one.”
“A sensu—ow.” Frida rubbed her arm, the arm that Em had punched. “I was just going to say—”
“I know what you were going to say, and I didn’t come to watch the game tonight only to have you two team up against me.”
“No, you came to watch Grant.” Frida’s voice was sing-songy as she said the midfielder’s name.
Em’s cheeks burned, and she wanted to sink down into her seat and hide from them both. She also knew that she’d be adding fuel to the fire if she did, so she straightened her back and turned her attention to the field.
The players from both teams waited for the referee to blow his whistle and start the game. They bounced on their toes to keep their muscles warm. Finn was lifting his knees and arms to keep everything loose.
When the whistle sounded, there was a flurry of movement in front of her. The Orcas had possession and drove the ball down the field toward the Storm’s goal. Finn yelled at Vinny and Bastian to clear the ball out of there.
It was difficult to hear the words, even from her front-row seat, but his tone made it obvious that he wasn’t happy that the ball was so close to him so early in the game.
The striker for Washington’s team took a shot on goal. Finn jumped to the left to block the ball, barely getting up in time for the visiting team to take another shot. When the ball went flying at goal, Finn cleared it out to midfield.
The rest of the Storm players ran toward the other goal, and Cardosa got possession. He ran it upfield toward the Orca’s keeper. He took the shot. Blocked.
“I forgot how fun these games are,” Frida said. Her gaze was on the field, and she was leaning against the boards as the players ran by right in front of them.
So had Em before attending the previous week’s game. She hated that she’d missed so many this season, and had already promised her brother that she’d make every effort to come to the rest of the home games to watch him play.
If that meant she got to watch Grant at the same time, there was no harm in that, was there?
Em had always been able to appreciate the way the guys played—Silas’ shot record, Bastian’s ability to stop the other team’s forwards.
Now, she was impressed by Grant’s energy. As the midfielder, he easily moved between the offensive and defensive roles. He knew when to shift the way he played and wasn’t afraid of passing the ball to his teammates.
Em leaned against the boards as the players fought to get possession. Even though he didn’t have the ball, her gaze went back to Grant. To her surprise, he was looking back at her. Even more surprising, Em liked that he was looking at her.
Yeah, she might be in trouble when it came to that boy, but at least she was going to enjoy it.
Grant
Grant missed the ball that Silas passed to him.
He’d been too busy looking over at Em—who looked absolutely gorgeous in her Storm jersey—and hadn’t realized that the forward was kicking it back to him. A player from the other team got to the ball first and drove it down toward Finn.
Grant ran with the rest of the players behind the opposing team’s player, but they weren’t fast enough. When the forward took a shot, it went past Finn and into the net.
“Goal for Washington.” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, though it lacked enthusiasm and fell flat. The Storm was now losing to the other team by one point.
Grant wanted to kick himself for not paying attention. He let his team down, and even though Finn was the one who let the ball slip past, they’d made it difficult for their keeper by not being there to help guard
