Page 53 of Winning Brynn

He's there.

He's right fucking there.

I can feel the whisper of his breath against my lips, so close, so goddamn close, and this is it: I'm going to let Leo Sullivan kiss me, even though he's kind of an asshole, and he talks weird, and my brother will literally skin him alive for touching me. But I'm not thinking about any of that. I'm only thinking about him.

And that's when Salem's cry pierces into the room like the sharpest blade, slicing through the haze of the moment.

Holy shit.

Leo was about to kiss me, and I was going to let him.

With flaming cheeks, I bolt upright, narrowly avoiding slamming our heads together in my haste. "I'll, um…I'll settle her."

He stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She's my kid, Brynn. I'll—"

"No!" I shout then lower my voice. "No, please, let me. I want to. I need—"

"Yeah, I get it." I guess neither of us is in the mood to let each other finish their sentences right now. "Give me a shout if you need me, yeah?"

I nod, though I have no intention of doing that.

I'll sleep in Salem's crib with her tonight if it means I don't have to face Leo again this evening.

"Will do," I sing at him over my shoulder, my forced smile somewhat manic.

And as I creep into Salem's room, lift her into my arms, and rock her back to sleep, I can't work out if the achy feeling in my heart is shame at having almost kissed my nemesis...or soul-crushing disappointment.

Text thread between Brynn and Isabella

Isabella:I miss you, girl.

Brynn:Get your ass on a plane and come visit.

Isabella:I don’t know… I haven't been back to the States for over a year.

Brynn:Even more reason to come.

Brynn:Come on, Issy, I'll take you to a bar that lets pretty girls drink for free...

Isabella:Tell me more.

Brynn:They do a great Mai Tai and always go heavy on the rum.

Brynn:And the bartender is HOT.

Isabella:Booked my flight.

Isabella:I'll see you in three weeks.

Chapter Seventeen

Leo

The February sun beatsdown on the Seattle Striker's home turf as I run warm-up drills with the team before our first official match of the season. Though it's only, like, two degrees Celsius—Fahrenheit still doesn't make sense to me, despite living in this country for half a decade—I'm already sweating buckets.

The air crackles with anxious excitement, all of us feeling the pressure to perform today. Not only because of Coach Carter's expectations but also those of the fans. We came out on top last season, and it won't go down well with anyone if we fail to defend our title.

That said, soccer fans in the US are significantly more chill than those back in the UK, where a person's favorite team is seen more as a religion. Seriously. You should see what happened at the 2020 Euros finals. People went fucking crazy. Borderline psychotic, actually.

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