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His face is soft and comforting. “Hey, I’m not judging anything, Kendra. You do what you want, but I’m just saying, be careful. Plus, if closure is what you want with Tyler, then if I were you, I’d be getting his stuff back to him ASAP. That way, he doesn’t have any reason to contact you.”

I offer Jack a small smile, appreciating everything he is doing for me while somehow regretting I never got to know him better in college. “All I want to do is concentrate on playing soccer, getting to the World Cup this summer, and finding a place I can call home.”

A bigger smile pops Jack’s dimple. “Football.”

“What?” I reply.

“Football,” he repeats. “It’s the second time you’ve called it soccer since you started living with me.” He leans toward me, his smile turning cocky. “I don’t have many house rules, Kendra, but this is one. Whenever we talk about the sport where you physically control the ball with your foot, we refer to it as football.”

I narrow my eyes at him playfully, all the previous tension in my shoulders vanishing in an instant. “Hard pass, Morgan.”

CHAPTER TEN

JACK

One thing I’ve never struggled with is sleep—something Jon used to comment on when I would pass out on the uncomfortable and noisy team bus. Give me any kind of surface, flat or otherwise, and I’ll be drifting off in no time.

The exception to the rule? Apparently, that’s when Kendra Hart is climbing into bed just on the other side of my bedroom wall.

Lying awake until the early hours, thinking over my new reality, was a unique kind of torture—a cocktail of fantasy and panic, topped off with awhat the fuck am I doinggarnish.

The team plane leaves for Colorado in three hours, and last night, I got even less than that in sleep.

Since I spent all of yesterday morning cleaning my apartment and packing for this away series, it takes me next to no time to get up, grab a shower, get dressed, and gather my bags.

It’s just after five in the morning when I quietly step out of my bedroom. I do not expect the dim light that creeps down the hallway from the silent living area.

Did I leave a light on last night after Kendra went to bed?

The answer to that question? No, and also,fuck.

Like she can sense the presence of my eyes burning into her Lycra-covered ass, Kendra stands from a weird pose and spins around to face me, AirPods tucked into her ears, the TV lit behind her.

“Jack,” she says, pulling out her earbuds. She reaches across and pauses the program, which I can now see was some kind of Pilates class.

With my case in one hand, I lift my other and motion to the screen, but instead, it looks like I’m staring at the skimpy blue crop top she’s wearing.

Words try—and fail—to leave my mouth as continue pointing at her tits.

“Er you, um, you do Pilates?” I ask.

She turns to the TV and then back at me, a shine coating the skin on her chest and forehead.

Jesus.

“Badly, but yes. I try and get a session in at least three times a week.”

I remain still until my brain finally kicks into gear and I drop my hand.

“Heading out then?” she asks.

“Yeah, I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

She picks up her water bottle from the coffee table and shakes her head on a sip. “No. I havesoccerpractice”—she pauses and raises a challenging brow at me—“later this morning, but I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get my stretching in now rather than stare at the walls.”

I nod. “You didn’t sleep well?”

She sets her bottle back on the table and then looks down at the blue yoga mat beneath her feet—which, to be honest, has seen better days. “No. Normally, I do, but I don’t know. Maybe it was just a first night in a strange place … I mean, not that the bed isn’t comfortable or you haven’t been welcoming.”