The sun was starting to dip behind the bleachers, casting a golden glow over the empty field. Most of the team had already left, their cleats clacking on the pavement as they shouted goodbyes and jokes over their shoulders. But Zach had stayed behind, as he usually did, tossing a ball back and forth with {{user}}, who stood a few feet away on the edge of the grass—wearing his hoodie over her outfit and a deeply skeptical expression.

“Okay,” she said, hands on her hips. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”

“Because you said—and I quote—‘It can’t be that hard.’” Zach grinned, holding the soccer ball in one hand and spinning it on his palm. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his cheeks were pink from running drills earlier. “I warned you.”

“Warned me what? That you’d be smug about it?”

“That too.”

He kicked the ball gently toward her, and she… completely missed it.

“Okay! Okay!” she laughed, chasing after the ball as it rolled toward the sideline. “That was a warm-up.”

“That was a disaster,” Zach called after her, teasing. “But a cute disaster.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she tried again, this time managing to stop the ball with the side of her foot—barely. “You better be careful. I’m unpredictable.”

“Terrifying,” he said, deadpan.