If I wasn’t so busy following a rabbit hole of inappropriate thoughts, I might have seen it coming.

“Saylor?” He addresses me directly, and it catches me off guard. I was expecting him to limit our interaction today.

“What?” I ask, in a tone I wouldn’t usually use with a coach. Glorified or not.

Does Beck answer? No. He strolls toward the penalty box. I sigh and follow him.

“You clear on it?” Beck asks me quietly when I catch up.

“Insulted you have to ask,” I respond. And am completely unprepared for the devastating grin Beck flashes me.

“Good.”

We split off. I sprint through the first two grids, Beck plays me a flighted ball, and I send it into the goal. He doesn’t congratulate me, just nods.

Like it’s exactly what he expected.

Somehow, that’s better.

Everyone else works their way through the drill, with varying levels of success. Beck corrects every error. Not harshly, but absent of any sympathy. He doesn’t flirt with anyone.

A loud horn sounds across the field, signaling the end of the clinics and the break for lunch.

“Thank God,” Cressida announces beside me. “I’m starving. Who thought those little boxes of cereal were breakfast? Give me some waffles and bacon.”

“It’s a soccer camp, not a vacation,” I reply, laughing, although I’m just as hungry.

“Why can’t it be both?” Cressida challenges.

I’m following Anne off the field when Beck speaks. “Saylor?”

I pause.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Go ahead,” I tell Cressida, who’s stopped beside me.

I spin around slowly to watch him approach. He halts closer to me than I expect.

We stare at each other.

“Look, about last night—” Beck starts.

I take offensive action. “This isn’t happening anymore,” I tell Beck, gesturing between us. “Last night was a mistake. We had fun before. Now we’re finished. If you want to get laid, go hit up Mackenzie Howard. Or one of the other couple hundred girls here.”

“I tried to,” Beck tells me. I feel my face blanch in shock in response to his blunt reply, and he lets out a low laugh. “Not here. Back home, once you left. I tried to go back to—”

“Fucking every hot girl who hit on you?” I supplement.

Beck rolls his eyes. “I want you, Saylor. Just you.”

I stare at him, totally shocked. “Be serious, Beck.”

“I am.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means I want to date you. Be in a relationship. Whatever you want to call it. I want you, Saylor.”

I’m even more stunned. Beck expecting to hook up after the signals I sent last night? Expected. Telling me he wants a relationship? Un-fucking-expected. To put it mildly.

“I’m just a girl you used to sleep with. One of many.”