Page 125 of Bad Prince

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Just falls into rhythm a step behind me.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Our breathing syncs without effort.

It shouldn’t feel this comforting.

But it does.

After twenty minutes, my legs finally protest loud enough that I slow at the top row.

I bend forward, hands on my thighs, catching my breath.

He hands me a water bottle without a word.

Our fingers brush.

Not electric.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

I take a long drink.

“I met him first,” I say finally.

The words hang in the cold morning air.

Kane nods once.

“I figured that’s where this was going.”

There’s no bitterness in it.

Just understanding.

I sit on the aluminum bench, staring out at the empty field.

“I can’t date him,” I say quietly. “But I can’t date you either.”

He leans back, elbows resting on his knees.

“Coach?”

I nod.

“She doesn’t like this kind of publicity. Season starts this week. First match’s Friday. I can’t be distracted.”

“You’re never distracted on the court.”

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