Owen was skirting between the two of us, rolling his shoulder up and tugging on his neck. “At the fork, you go left.”

Hadley yelled from behind the kitchen window, “That’s right.”

Reese started laughing.

I yelled back, “You can’t see, but I’m flicking you off, Hadley.”

“I’m twerking back at you.”

“Yo!” A shout from behind us.

Reese and I both turned. The coach was there, a slight glare on his face. He was holding the door open, one foot inside. “What’s the holdup?”

Reese turned around, stepping into me again. “Direction Girl needed to get directions.”

“What?” His eyebrows shot up.

“No. I mean,” I coughed and started forward, “there’s a fork. I needed to remember which way to go. It’s confusing sometimes.”

Reese was close behind me. “She’s right.”

He was fucking with me.

The coach pushed the door open, stepping back and giving us space so both of us could pass him by. As I stepped outside, I moved to the side, giving Reese a good side-eye. “We go left.”

His mouth twitched, but he ran a hand over it, hiding his expression. “You sure about that?”

My God. I had to think about it.

As he was looking down at me like that, like we were having our own secret, I almost faltered in my step. He was mesmerizing. “I…yes. I’m right.” I blanched.

Reese started laughing.

I wasn’t ready.

He’d been pissed the first night, confused after that, and guarded yesterday. This Reese was electrifying. I’d seen it earlier in their practice and had been half-swooning, but standing so close to him, having him giving me this attention—a jolt went through my entire body as the sound of his laugh washed over me. It took a moment to regroup.

“Yes. I’m right. It’s left.”

The coach sighed, moving ahead of us. “Just don’t get us lost. We are on a time table here.”

Then we were getting on, and a lot of eyes were focused on us.

I gulped.

One head coach. Four assistant coaches. Two trainers. A few other extra staff and nineteen players were waiting for us. Only half were watching, but it didn’t diminish the effect of being the center of their attention.

Reese started to take one of the open seats in the front, until their head coach grunted. “In the back, Forster.”

He paused, mid-swing into the chair. “What?”

His coach was looking over some papers, jerked his hand toward the back. “Passing along the message. Cartion said you had to go back there.” He looked up, his eyes all business. “I don’t know why.” Then the other coach was sitting behind me, and he focused on me. “You’re the staff?”

Staff. I dipped my head down. “That’s me.”

Reese’s grin was slow. “She needed to ask for directions.”