Page 5 of Relationship Goals

My eyebrows rise, and when he smiles at me, slow and wicked, I swear to god, my heartbeat quickens. Now my palms are sweaty for an entirely different reason. I start to fan myself, but drop my hand halfway up.

It hangs limply at my side. Right. This isn’t awkward at all.

“Luke Wolfe,” my mouth says.

I recognize him—he’s probably the only player on the team I would. He’s famous. Famous for being an utter asshole, but at least I know who he is.

John and Charles wear matching expressions of surprise.

I stand up, smiling at Luke, and extend my hand.

He stares at it, grunts, then addresses Charles. “What the fuck’s she doing here?”

“She’s here to learn more about soccer and the team,” Charles says. “Remember?”

“I remember.” Luke Wolfe doesn’t take my hand, and all too aware of it, I set it on my hip just to give the poor abandoned appendage something to do.

“And you remember what we discussed yesterday?” John asks him sharply.

“What did you discuss?” I ask, a thin smile stretching across my face. I don’t mind confrontation—I’ll stand up for myself—but I do not like this power struggle playing out in front of me.

“None of your business,” Luke tells me.

I blink but recover quickly.

“Luke—” John starts.

I snort, interrupting whatever he was about to say. “Well, you certainly live up to your reputation,” I tell Luke cheerily. “Good for you. On brand. You’ll have to give me some pointers. I’m always looking for ways to strengthen my image.”

His icy blue eyes scan me from head to toe, and I just grin at him.

“For starters, don’t trust a word out of these fuckers’ mouths,” he finally answers.

Charles barks a laugh, but Luke scowls at him. “You told me you needed to see me?”

“That’s right,” John tells him, and there’s a pointed quality to it, like Luke is being stupid. “We thought it would be best if you could show her around the facility, since you’re one of our star players.” The last sentence drips with acid, and the vitriol takes me by surprise.

John really doesn’t like Luke Wolfe. As for Luke Wolfe, he’s staring at me like watching me squirm would make his day.

I might like to see silver linings when they’re actually just gray, but I’m not an idiot. Luke might not like the idea of giving me a tour, but there’s nothing he can do about it. I’ll just kill him with kindness.

“What a great idea,” I gush, fluttering my eyelashes. All three men give me a look, and I get the impression I’ve slightly overplayed my hand. What else is new? “Mr. Wolfe, I’d love to get a tour.”

He says something under his breath, and it takes me a full second to realize he’s grunted his first name at me.

“Luke,” I repeat.

He doesn’t even move, just keeps staring at me.

Do I have something in my teeth? My hair? My nose wrinkles.

“Come on, then, I don’t have all day,” he barks.

I laugh because, man, it’s been a minute since someone has been so freaking rude to my face. Not the snide, typical LA passive-aggressive shit—I get that a lot—but straight-up rude?

It’s…weirdly refreshing.

“We’ll send a packet of franchise information over, along with the NDA and a list of potential meetings for you to attend as well as our practice and home game schedule. We also had a package of merchandise prepped for you.”

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