It was supposed to be a joke.

Jamie had said it with that cocky smirk he always wore, half-laughing as he nudged you after training.

“Don’t get too attached, yeah? I’m not the settling-down type.”

You’d laughed with him. Shrugged it off. But later—when you were home and alone and replaying the day—it stung. Because you were getting attached. And maybe you’d thought he was too.

So the next morning, you pulled back.

Shorter replies. No more lingering touches. You stopped waiting for him in the hallway after team meetings, stopped laughing at his dumb impressions in the locker room. You figured you’d spare yourself the heartbreak early.

Jamie noticed.

At first, he acted like it didn’t bother him. But it did. You caught the confusion on his face when you brushed him off. Saw the way his smile faltered when you didn’t return it.

A few days later, he cornered you in the boot room, voice low but sharp. “What’s goin’ on with you?”