Page 38 of Relationship Goals

That loosens the tightness around his eyes a little, his whole face softening.

“I would very much like to see you again,” he finally grits out.

“Good,” I tell him. “Because I would like that, too. Now get out before you change your mind. Pilates waits for no man.”

He grunts, but it’s an amused sound, and delight bubbles in my chest at the way he reluctantly grins and shakes his head at me.

It takes no time at all to walk him to the door, and for a split second I think he might kiss me again—but he doesn’t.

“Night,” he says, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“Good night, Luke,” I say.

He pauses with his hand on his car handle. “I like that.”

“What?” I ask, leaning against my doorframe.

“When you say my name.”

With that, he gets into his car, all athletic grace, and he’s gone in the blink of an eye.

Leaving me alone with the taste of his mouth on my lips and the thought that I like the so-called bad boy of soccer much,muchmore than I thought I would.

Chapter Nine

Luke

We’re on themain practice fields today at the Aces complex, and from the way I’m performing, you’d think I’d never been on them before. I’m completely distracted all through the morning’s drills and tactical skills training.

The guys don’t care—they never expect conversation from me on the field. The golden LA sun pales in comparison to the radiant smile of a woman I can’t get out of my mind.

Warm-up only succeeds in me pondering how flexible Abigail is, how good she must look in the tight little pants I know a lot of women like to wear to Pilates. It’s not until Tristan says something I half hear that I realize the rest of the team is talking about me.

One of the coaches blows a whistle, the familiar screech halting drills and signaling a short water break.

Marino elbows Gold in the ribs and jerks his chin at me, causing some of the other guys to start laughing.

“What the fuck are you saying?” I finally bark out.

“I just said you looked good last night,” Marino tells me with his typical cocky grin.

“Fuck you,” I tell him. I grab a water, staring him down.

He clutches his hands to his chest. “Sticks and rocks, Wolfe.”

“Stones.” Gold laughs. “How was the date?” He raises his browsat me. I don’t know how he manages it, but he looks like if California were a person.

“None of your fucking business,” I growl, swigging from the water bottle. My calves ache, and I stretch one out while still giving Marino the death stare, daring him to say shit to me.

“You made it all of our business when you got the LA Aces back in the headlines, you dick,” Marino tells me, but there’s no heat in his words.

“You actually like her,” Tristan Gold says. He frowns at me, tugging his fluorescent orange keeper gloves on his hands.

“It was one fucking kiss,” I growl.

“Yeah, one kiss that the notoriously mean fucker named Luke Wolfe gave in front of an ass-bus of paparazzi,” Marino says in his thick Italian accent, pinching his thumb against his fingers and shaking it.

“Ass-bus?” Tristan asks with a laugh. “What?”