Page 99 of Relationship Goals

The camera zooms in on his face, and I cover my face with my hands.

“He’s hurt, oh god, he’s hurt.” I sink onto the couch, still watching through my fingers. “Why didn’t they call a foul? How was that not a foul?” I ask.

“They didn’t call it because the foul was to the Aces’ advantage.”

I can’t even figure out what that means.

Michelle laughs. “Don’t worry, this is confusing to almost everyone, almost as much as offsides.”

I groan because, god, offsides literally is the most confusing thing. And apparently one team can trap the other into being offsides? And that’s just part of soccer?

Talk about goalposts moving.

Or offsides moving. I frown, even more confused. Poor Michelle has explained offsides to me at least a dozen times now. We even went and got a whiteboard so she could draw it out for me.

I’m not sure it took.

“Basically them being fouled didn’t hurt the team who was fouled, and it actually helped move the ball down the field for the Aces.”

“Oh god, that’s right, duh, that’s the advantage rule, right?”

She beams at me. “Yes!”

“That’s what the film is called. The film I’m starring in.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s the least I could remember, huh?”

Michelle laughs. “You’re doing great, Ms. Perfectionist, okay? You’ve learned a ton, and you’re going to nail the role.”

I glance back up at the game, still worried about Luke. The camera has already panned away from where he writhed on the ground, and I swear, my whole heart is in my throat as the other players pass the ball down the field, moving so quick I can hardly keep track of it.

“Is he okay? Do you think he’s okay?” I ask Michelle, suddenly frantic with worry.

“Probably. They would have stopped play if he were really hurt. Besides, soccer players are some of the biggest drama queens in the world.” She looks up at me, cringing. “Sorry.”

“I’ve made a career out of drama queening,” I manage, but I can’t quite get over how awful Luke looked in that last shot, holding his shin like he’d broken it completely. “You really think he was…faking it?”

Michelle blows out a breath, her lips buzzing slightly. “The Wolf? Yeah. If he thought it would give him an advantage in the game, I think he would fake a literal brain injury. I think he would fake anything to win.”

“Luke Wolfe, the guy I’m dating, would not do that.” It’s emphatic. Almost aggressively so, but I can’t help thinking back to the mini breakdown he had in his kitchen.

Her expression turns incredulous, and then the announcers are celebrating, the shot panning wide to the crowd, then back to the celebrating players.

The Aces just scored the first goal of the game, and within the first five minutes of play, no less.

As for Luke, he’s up and running to his hugging teammates, without even a hint of a limp, his face as happy as I’ve seen it.

I’m stunned into silence for a beat. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to do that at the last game.”

“It’s not a big deal. All of them do it sooner or later. It’s just a tactic to turn the tide in their favor.” She frowns at my expression. “It’s why soccer players get so much crap from American football fans. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Luke Wolfe isn’t just soccer. That’s his job, you know? Faking it like that, that’s not all he is.” It’s odd, how my first instinct is to defend him. How I don’t want to see anything but that version of him—the version of him with a heart of gold. I so badly want that to be true that it makes me wonder if I’ve deluded myself completely.

The herbed goat cheese sits on the board I put together, and I smear it on top of a cracker before hefting it into my mouth.

It’s my favorite, but I hardly taste it.

I can’t help but feel like maybe I don’t know Luke Wolfe as well as I thought I did.

Chapter Twenty-seven