The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky, casting a golden haze over the field. The grass was dry in places, patches of dirt scuffed raw by cleats. You adjusted the hem of your jersey, feeling that familiar knot of nerves start to twist in your stomach as Coach Ben called out the partner pairings for drills.

“You’re with Shipman.”

Of course. Shauna Shipman.

You looked up just in time to see her straighten from tying her cleats. She noticed you too her brown eyes locking onto yours across the field. There was something unreadable in her expression, that careful, cool look she always wore like armor. She started walking toward you, calm, composed, like she wasn’t even breaking a sweat in this late-summer heat.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” she said when she reached you, her voice dry, an eyebrow raised like she was already sizing you up.

You forced a smile, trying to play it off. “Could be worse. I hear you only trip your partners half the time.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Only if they talk too much. So you’re already on thin ice.”

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly—but you couldn’t help it. Something about the way she said things made you forget how to act normal. There was a flicker in her eyes then, something just shy of amusement, like she didn’t mind your awkwardness as much as she pretended to.

The two of you started passing the ball back and forth. Simple drills. Basic stuff. But it didn’t feel simple. Every time your steps matched hers, or your fingers brushed when resetting cones, there was this strange, quiet electricity in the air. Like both of you were trying not to acknowledge it and failing.

When a pass rolled too wide and you went jogging after it, Shauna watched with folded arms and a small shake of her head. “So, is that part of your strategy? Keeping me off-balance with your wildly unpredictable aim?”

You grinned. “Only if it’s working.”

She returned the ball with a swift, precise kick that landed perfectly at your feet and maybe a little too perfect, maybe on purpose. “Your chaos keeps things interesting. I’ll give you that.”

The two of you kept playing, working through the drills, but the silence between instructions started to say more than the words ever could. There was no obvious flirting, just awkward glances that lingered a second longer than they should, or moments where neither of you moved, like time had slowed just for the two of you.

You weren’t sure if Shauna felt it too, this subtle tug between you. But then there’d be a look—like the one she gave you after a particularly clean pass, the corners of her mouth twitching up just barely—and it made you wonder if maybe, just maybe… she did.