Dangerous Play

36 » the spirit of competition

"You're so cheesy," I grumbled, ignoring the way my heart skipped a beat. Every time I looked at him, I was amazed at how quickly and deeply I had fallen for this incredibly handsome, talented, genuine boy. And the fact that he liked me back, which was nothing short of a miracle.

Kieran grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the TV on. He flipped through the channels until the familiar sight of a green field with white lines appeared. "Oh, look! Real Madrid is playing right now." On screen, the white-clad figures were passing the ball in a dizzying rhythm around their opponents.

"Let's watch your future teammates," I said, half-joking. "Is it weird to think that you'll be one of those figures next year?"

"Honestly, a little bit," he admitted. "I'm going to have to work on controlling my facial expressions during close-ups. I don't want to become a reaction meme."

I laughed. "But think of how funny it would be!"

He narrowed his eyes at me playfully. "Great, so I know exactly who to blame if a picture of me goes viral."

"I would never!" I protested. "Finn definitely would, though."

"Good point." The two of us settled into the couch to watch the game, which ended with a Real Madrid victory. I hoped that was a good sign for our tournament later—we certainly could use some of the Madrid winning spirit.

Finally, it was time to get ready for the game. I left Kieran in the kitchen chatting with my parents and Finn as I went upstairs to change into my uniform. Putting on the navy uniform was bittersweet. I'd spent most of my club career in these colors, and although I had half a year left of club soccer, it just reminded me how quickly things would be changing. I was excited to play in college, but also nervous to join a new team where most of the players already knew each other. And each game here was one closer to the last time I'd play with these girls, who I'd grown up with over the last few years.

That was a little too depressing to think about, so I shook those thoughts out of my head. I'd be damned if I let myself get distracted during this game. Not when the chance to win another trophy with this team was at hand.

Half an hour later, Kieran and I strolled across the field where our game would be taking place. The grass was spongy underfoot, still slippery in some areas from the torrential rains earlier this weekend. I made a mental note of the worst spots, which were concentrated by the penalty areas in front of either goal.

Despite my best efforts, I was still so early that no one else was here—not even Coach Walker. My parents and Finn were coming later, closer to the actual kick-off time for the game, but Kieran had insisted on coming with me. Although there was no one on our field, all around us were the sounds of other games on other fields: shouting, whistles, and of course the sound of cleats hitting soccer balls.

When we reached the players' sideline, Kieran nodded at the ball in my hands. "May I?"

I tossed it to him and plopped my bag down on the grass. He started doing kick-ups as I laced up my cleats. The ball bounced from his feet up to his thighs, chest, head—there wasn't a limb that he couldn't control it with. It was like the ball was magnetically attracted to him.

"Show-off," I muttered, dusting myself off as I got to my feet. Without a word, he chipped the ball in my direction. I trapped it neatly with my chest, flicking it back toward his smiling face. "That was rude."

"Says the girl who just tried to hit me in the face," he grumbled. "That's not a very nice thing to do to your boyfriend. Or tu novio, I should say."

I bit back a smile at the word boyfriend. Technically we'd been saying that for months during our little charade, but it felt different hearing him mean it for real.