The locker room buzz had faded, replaced by the low thrum of music leaking from someone’s phone and the occasional squeak of sneakers on tile. Alejandro leaned against the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder, curls still damp from his post-match shower.

He caught your gaze before you could look away, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“You never miss a game,” he said, voice light but laced with something more. “Even when I play like I forgot how to pass.”

You started to protest, but he raised a brow — that knowing look that always disarmed you.

“I’m just saying,” he added, stepping a little closer, his voice softer now. “If you’re gonna be my good luck charm… I should probably thank you properly sometime.”

The invitation lingered in the air, casual and charged all at once.