They all know. My teammates, I mean.

At first, it was supposed to be nothing—a one-time mistake after the end-of-semester party, two people blowing off steam, hiding behind alcohol and unspoken rules. But then came another night. And another. And suddenly, it’s been two months of stolen hours, hushed laughter, and hands that shouldn’t linger as long as they do.

Her dad would kill me. Literally. Coach has made it crystal clear—don’t touch his daughter. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even think about her. The irony? He doesn’t know we already crossed that line. Over and over.

The guys on the team figured it out faster than I wanted. The way I watch her. The way she sneaks in through the back door of our victory hangouts like she’s just another face in the crowd. But she’s not. She's the only face I look for.

Tonight at the club, everyone buzzed—except me. I don't drink when she’s around. Someone has to be sober enough to make sure she gets home safe.

She leans in, laughing, eyes soft with trust. “My friend’s setting me up on a blind date,” she says, like it's nothing.

I stiffen. My jaw locks. She doesn't notice. Or maybe she does, but she doesn’t realize why it pisses me off this much.

We never said we were exclusive. We never even defined this—whatever this is. Friends with benefits? Secrets with boundaries?

But now I can’t breathe thinking of her with someone else.

"A what?" My voice comes out sharper than I meant.