Roan isn’t supposed to be looking at her. Not when he should be focused on the game. Not when her father—the man who controls his future on this team—would kill him for it.

But he can’t help it.

She’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed, watching the team run drills. The late afternoon sun catches in her hair, and Roan should turn away, should keep his head in the game, but she looks up at him at that exact moment. Their eyes meet.

Shit.

"Vanja!" Coach's voice cuts through the air, sharp and full of warning. "Eyes on the field, not my daughter."

His teammates snicker. Roan clenches his jaw, nodding quickly, and forces himself back into the drill, but he can still feel her watching him.

Later, he found himself walking back to the locker room, still thinking about that look. The way she didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away when their gazes locked. But she hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t said anything.

It was just a look. “Roan.”

The sound of her voice—soft, but enough to stop him cold. He turned, heart skipping a beat.

“You left your jacket on the bench. Your coach asked me to give it to you.”

He blinked at her, the space between them feeling too vast, too impossible.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the jacket, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment.

It felt like an electric shock. His chest tightened.