Page 49 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

“What I do find funny, though, is that I saw a spinifex mouse hopping around when I was in the tent. Spinifex is only found in Australia.”

“Now that’s a big irony.”

“More like the universe mocking us.”

A brief pause ensues.

“Coach McLauren would be so worried,” she says.

“Sure, he will, but not before getting unbelievably mad at me first. I am sure he’s still mad at me—for now, at least.”

She scoffs. We stare into the ocean, and the tension that dissipated earlier comes back, only this time it’s of a different nature—born from agreeableness rather than the opposite.

A moment’s silence passes. Then, she brings out a small pocket notebook from under her phone. “I found this in my bag. You know, journaling helps in desperate situations like this. One page per day to record your experiences for when you get back home.”

“Hmmm, a journal, huh? I thought that’s only for recording the most important things in one’s life. Had no idea you could use it every day.”

“It’s entirely up to the user. Do you use yours for the most important events of your life?”

I muse for a while, reminiscing about how I used to keep something similar to a journal during my formative years, which were also the years I began building my career.

Strength column, weakness column, “tips for improvement” column, “new skills acquired” column.

That’s all there was to it. And I recall it really helped me then.

“Well, I guess I do. I mean, I write about things I will never forget. But it’s not really a habit.”

A seagull cries in the distance, and that’s when she decides to ruin the moment.

“Did you write about the time we spent together in your study? Or would you say you forgot that already?”

My heart skips a beat, and I turn sharply to look at her. She doesn’t shy away; she meets my full gaze.

The fuck does she want? Clearly not an answer to that question, or does she?

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-One

Rachel

Not even the lines of discomfort carved on his face or his unsure stammers made me regret bringing up my night together with Vaughn—at that moment, at least.

Now? I am not sure if I regret it either. But I sure feel disappointed, hurt, and stupid.

Jeez!

On second thought, I regret it a bit. I should have known the man wanted nothing to do with that conversation from when he drove me back home after dinner with his mom and siblings. But would you blame me? He seems different in a good way—more caring, more cheerful. The atmosphere is serene, beautiful, and perhaps even romantic?

I should have known.

But here I am, sitting miserably alone facing the ocean, my butt hurting from the hot sand beneath it, still hurt and disappointed by his reaction to my remark despite it being like two hours ago.

“Did you write about our time together in your study? Or would you say you forgot that already?”

Stupid. So stupid.

I got too comfortable, and a crumpled facial expression and a snicker were what I got in response.

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