“What?”
He tilts his head, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Where the hell are you today?”
“Here,” I say easily, rolling my shoulders.
“Bullshit," Luca snorts."You’ve been spacing out all morning.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still caught up on thegiornalista.”
I almost choke.
“No.”
“Dio,you are!” he cackles. “This isgold.”
“Shut up.”
“Iknewsomething was up,” he continues, jogging beside me as we take position again. “You’re usually out of those places in a flash, and suddenly you’re lingering around, making eyes across the room at her? Youneverlinger.”
“I was being polite,” I say, deadpan. “And I wasn’t making eyes at anyone.”
“You don’t do polite. And I sawyoureyes, withmyeyes. Unless you were looking at Chapman…”
I scowl.
“I hate you.”
“No,” Luca grins. “You hate that she called you out.”
“She didn’t call me out.”
“Oh? Then what was her asking if your ‘earning your place’speech applied to journalists too, then?” Luca waggles his eyebrows. “Sounded like a call-out to me.”
I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck.
“I don’t know why she got so offended.”
“Women, eh?” Luca huffs out a laugh. “I’m telling you, she thought you were talking abouther.”
“Ridiculous,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I wasn’t eventhinkingabout her.”
“Yeah, but you are now.”
I glare at him. “That’s not the point.”
“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “Then whatisthe point?”
I hesitate.
Honestly… I’m not sure.
All I know is that she waspissed.
And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
I didn’t say anything unfair. Or untrue.
Footballisn’tjust about talent. It’s about instinct. It’s about proving yourself - and that applies toeveryone.