Page 8 of The Catch

"Is it certain?" Is all I think to ask.

I swallow through the vise taking hold of my throat. I can't get traded. This team means everything to me.

Now I'm as serious as her. Football is what I'm best at. I could do it elsewhere, too, but I wouldn't find friends like this in another town. Or fans that stayed with me through difficult times, and a beautiful city to make my home.

These are my people. They are the ones who know who I am, even when I can't see it clearly. Finding people to be so effortlessly close to is a miracle, and not one I take for granted.

"I don't think so." Evie puts a hand on my arm. "From what I hear, they're watching you but have not decided. I put some subtle feelers out. I'll tell you everything after training— I almost didn't want to say anything, but Logan thought you'd want to know."

The Strike has never been as strong as this year. We've won every game this season. We're playing as one. Winning the biggest game in the sport for the first time in history is within our reach.

I'm a really good player, but even so I don't really have a say in what happens in the front office. All we hear gets filtered through friends like Evie, our agents, and the general rumor mill. I don't know where this thought of a trade is coming from, but one thing is sure. This is awful news.

I sigh. "He was right. Thanks, Evie. I'll go to your office afterwards." I shake my head. "Any word from Ames?"

"She texted me and said she's doing okay. I'll keep an eye on her for you, too."

"Thank you. You're the best. Talk later."

I give her a quick hug and go back to training, so I can think some more.

This is the year I get what everyone in this industry dreams of. It's when I get to look at my friends at the end of the season and say we managed what seemed impossible three years ago. I'll get to look at my parents and my little sisters and thank them for believing in me all these years.

Getting traded would ruin everything. I can't let all this work go down the drain. I have to up my chances of staying. A ring and something just as big. Going for the MVP isn't out of the question. I knew I was already in the conversation for that.

Having to leave the people I care the most about is my personal nightmare. And just as Ames lands in my condo single for the first time in years, the team's front office has served me a bitter meal.

Chapter 4

Ames

At first, I don't notice that Saint has come home. I'm too busy watching videos of me going viral. When I've memorized the shot someone recorded, I find another one. So far, I've seen three versions from different angles. A few edits.

If nothing else, the rage I see on my face makes me feel better.

Until I find the videos made by Aidan's fans. As a suave Irish musician and all around artist, with his impeccable looks and charismatic presence, he has plenty of those. He's a fixture of the late night show and, when his deep blue eyes stare into the camera, sighs come to life all over the country.

I know, because I used to be one of those fans. When I got the contract catering for the network and I got to meet him, I was absolutely starstruck. When he smiled at me and invited me out, I felt special. When he said he couldn't think of anyone else, I thought my dreams were coming true.

Fuck him.

I get up and, as soon as I'm out of the room, the sweet smell of baking and chocolate greets me.

And fuckme, Saint looks amazing in simple jeans and an embroidered blue hoodie, with tigers and lotus leafs and flowers in silver thread. He bends to the top oven— he has one of those double baking compartment sets— as he pushes a tray of cookies in. Those jeans must be custom-made, because his ass is perfectly round in tight-fit denim.

Ugh. Thoughts like that don't serve me well, especially not when I'm at the mercy of an emotional rollercoaster.

Angry and hurt over Aidan? Makes sense. Suddenly remembering how easy it is to lust over Saint? Reproachable.

A long time ago, Pablo was the typical misguided older brother and warned me off Saint. Pablo insisted that's not what he was trying to do, but what was I supposed to think? My brother reminded me that Saint dates at the same pace that he breathes, and that we would probably not work out. Like I needed the warning at the time. I may need it now that we're living together, but it's an entirely too-premature thought. It's just the shock of having Saint closer than I have in years, and more accessible to my senses than I've been used to.

I push all those notions away and sit at the kitchen island.

He faces me. A hint of worry lines his brow. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry."

He wears his diamond earring tonight as well, and the look is effortlessly sexy.

Tsk, tsk, Ames. You shouldn't think about these things.