Page 63 of Relationship Goals

My teammates only know me for the demanding asshole I am on the field.

My opponents know me as the guy who likes to fight, who plays dirty.

I’m the bad guy.

And I’ll be the bad guy again with her.

“If you like her, you should try,” Gold tells me earnestly, interrupting that nasty voice in my head.

“And if she breaks up with me and I still can’t go up and play for Seattle FC?” I stop pacing, crossing my arms over my shoulders. “What then? My mom just gets sicker and sicker, and I have to fly up on the rare weekends we don’t have games?”

“Shit.” Gold rakes a hand through his blond hair, frowning. “I don’t know, man.”

I slam a hand into a locker, suddenly furious again.

“You could just take it slow with her,” Gold suggests. “See what happens, let it run its course. If you really do like her, then what’s the harm in that?”

I stop, staring at him. “That’s…actually good advice.”

Gold grins at me, all-American perfect straight white teeth. “Don’t act so surprised.”

I tap out a message to Abigail, feeling slightly more balanced.

Luke:Do you want to come over tonight? We can go back to my place

Abigail:Okay! If you don’t mind dropping me off at Pilates tomorrow morning early. Just 8 a.m. though. Nothing too too early.

Luke:I can do that

Icando that, and I can take things slow with Abigail, and I will do what I need to do to take care of the ones I love.

I take a deep breath, shove my phone into my pocket, and head out the locker room door, Gold on my heels.

Just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Chapter Sixteen

Abigail

I’m one beerand a glass of wine in, but the warm and fuzzy feelings have less to do with alcohol and more to do with the fact that Luke Wolfe is sitting next to me. He drives the same way he does everything: with an intense focus that I never in my life would think was so hot.

He’s slightly distant tonight, but I don’t mind.

I’m talkative enough for both of us, especially now that we’re out of view of prying eyes and the lenses of the paparazzi.

“It was amazing,” I finally say, breaking the easy silence. “Watching you play, I mean.”

He doesn’t answer, not even a grunt, and for the first time, I wonder if the silence is as easy as I assumed.

The sharp angles of his face flash in stark relief as headlights of passing cars splash over him. A muscle twitches in his temple, and still, there’s no response.

“I’m glad I had your jersey to wear,” I offer up. Maybe he’s just in a weird headspace after his game. I know sometimes it takes me a while to switch gears after a really intense scene or day of shooting.

Or maybe I should have him drop me off at my house.

I bite my lip, uncertain with him for the first time since we met only a few days ago.

His big hand moves from where it rests on the top of the steering wheel, and he folds it over mine, squeezing it gently.

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