Page 34 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
“Certain.”
“Never before.”
“And right now?”
“I’m certain I want you.”
And just like that, I forget my name.
Chapter ten
Hype Girl & Hi, Daddy
Eslin
I’m in my office, perched on the edge of my chair, watching Luca Chidubem across from me.
He’s leaning back, long legs sprawled out, that usual cocky grin toned down to something softer today.
For the past couple weeks, we’ve been working on his focus—exercises to help him lock in on the field, keep the outside noise from bleeding into his game. Visualization drills, breath work, mindfulness techniques. And it’s been paying off. Big time.
“So,” I say, notebook in hand. “How did it feel scoring the winning goal last match?”
He flashes a grin. “Felt fucking brilliant.” His British accent wraps around the words, confident and smooth. “Didn’t hear a damn thing once I was on the ball. Could’ve been in a stadium of ghosts for all I knew. Just me and the pitch.”
I smile. “That’s exactly what we’ve been working toward. Keep channeling that. The noise doesn’t exist unless you let it.”
He nods, running a hand through his curls. “Appreciate it, Coach. Feels like I’ve finally got my head straight out there.”
“Relationship issues can impact us in so many ways, Luca. The important thing is to learn how to leave what serves the game on the field, and what doesn’t—off.”
During one of our sessions, he’d admitted it. A woman had him losing his footing. Mentally, emotionally. The kind of distraction that could cost him everything he’d worked for—his focus, his edge, and possibly his shot at the opportunity of a lifetime.
He hadn’t shared much detail, not yet. But enough for me to know this wasn’t just some casual fling. Whoever she was, she’d gotten under his skin.
Now, it’s my job to help him pull that focus back where it belongs. Before it’s too late.
We wrap up, and after he leaves, I settle in to check emails.
One subject line jumps out at me: Back to School Drive – Biddy Mason Charter School.
I click it open—Marlow’s arranged for the team to participate in a community event at a local school. One of her newest projects to strengthen the Strikers’ presence in the community and give their PR a solid boost.
I glance through the details, check the time on my screen, then push up from my chair. On the way out, I grab a protein bar from my drawer and head for the elevator, thumbing the button to take me up to Marlow’s office.
I’ve always hated having to do events outside of work. Never understood the need to be around people all day, only to turn around and find more reasons to hang out with them after hours.
I don’t like people seeingallsides of me. There’s work Eslin—and there’s after-hours Eslin.
And those two? They should never meet. And sure as hell shouldn’t be in mixed company.
Marlow’s at her desk, typing furiously. She looks up when I knock. “Hey! What’s up?”
“I had a quick question,” I say. “For the Back to School event—what should I wear?”
Another reason I hate attending functions outside of work? My love for sneakers and t-shirts. I never know what to wear.
I’m not the girl who gets dressed up every day, counting down the minutes until she can grab the latest pair of heels everyone’s obsessing over.
