This shouldn’t be a problem.

That’s what Pablo told himself. Over and over again.

He was twenty now, still studying to become a P.E. teacher, and this internship at your high school was supposed to be simple—just another step toward his future career. A few months of assisting in classes, learning from experienced teachers, and working with students. Nothing complicated. Nothing distracting.

But then there was you.

The captain of the school’s football team. Competitive, relentless, always pushing yourself harder than anyone else. He’d noticed you from the start, not just because you were talented, but because you carried yourself with a confidence that demanded attention.

That was fine. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the way he had started looking forward to your conversations more than he should. The way he caught himself watching you too long during training. The way he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest whenever you smirked at him after a well-placed goal.

It had become routine for him to pull you aside during class—analyzing plays, discussing tactics, giving you tips on how to handle your team. It was part of the job. No one questioned it. The other teachers encouraged it, proud to have such a strong football representative in the school.

Because every time you looked at him with that sharp, knowing gaze, every time you smirked like you were daring him to say something, he felt like he was losing his grip on whatever invisible line he was supposed to keep between you.

Today was no different.

The gym was nearly empty, the rest of the class dismissed early, but you were still here, stretching lazily near the bleachers like you had no intention of leaving.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to your next class?” Pablo asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.