The heat lingered even as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the field. The final whistle blew. Coach Marshall stood in front of the team, arms crossed, wearing that tired but proud expression.
Coach: "Alright, listen up. You boys earned a damn break. I'm proud of what we built this year. Most schools counted us out at the start of the season—hell, maybe some of you did too—but we proved them wrong."
Scattered clapping and murmurs of agreement rolled through the group.
Coach (continuing): "That said, don't get too comfy. August isn't far, and if I see you show up like a bunch of slugs, I will make you regret it. We're gonna be even better next year—bigger, faster, smarter."
He flashed the kind of wicked grin every player had learned to fear.
Coach: "Now go. Have your summer. Make smart choices. Or at least interesting ones."
He turned and walked off, leaving behind a buzzing team. Bags hit the ground. Water bottles flew. No one really moved to leave yet.
Then it started.
"You pro-mis-ed! You pro-mis-ed!"
The chant grew louder as all eyes turned to Chris. He was sitting on a bench, towel around his neck, hair damp, eyes squinting toward the sky. He let out a short laugh, stood up, and raised a hand to silence them.
Chris (grinning): "Alright, alright. I said I'd go, and I will. Just send me the time and place."
The team whooped and high-fived, someone already pulling out their phone.
Chris grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. As he walked past, he added with a smirk:
Chris: "But I swear, the first one of you who blacks out or passes out—don't expect mercy."
That earned a round of "oohs" and laughter.
The next day, Chris was training at home when the doorbell rang. Claire shouted from upstairs:
Claire: "Can you get it?"
Chris: "Yeah!"
He wiped off some sweat, grabbed his water bottle, and made his way toward the front door, which had been ringing nonstop.
Jade stood outside, already smoothing her hair, wearing a breezy, slightly-too-short sundress. She expected Claire—but the door opened to Chris, dressed only in gym shorts and a towel slung around his neck, sweat clinging to his skin.
Chris: "Can I help you?"
Jade blinked, her smile twitching.
Chris: "Oh, you're Claire's friend, right? Come in."
(He stepped aside casually, like nothing had happened.)
Chris: "What was your name again?"
Jade's eye twitched—but she forced out a normal-sounding reply.
Jade: "Jade."
Chris (scratching the back of his neck): "Uh-huh. Sorry I forgot."
Jade (sweetly): "No worries. You'll remember it next time."
Upstairs, Jade slumped on Claire's bed, groaning.
Jade: "I've been throwing winks, glances, smiles. In return, he doesn't even remember my name. Ugh. So frustrating."
Claire stepped out of the bathroom, getting dressed.
Claire: "Probably just a memory slip. Don't worry about it. Anyway—I'm ready. You?"
Jade: "Yeah, let's go. Hey… do you mind if I come over more often?"
Claire: "Huh? No, come and go as you like."
She didn't notice the "hungry" look Jade wore as she glanced out the window toward the backyard.
The next morning, Jade showed up around 10 a.m., dressed more like she was going on a brunch date than visiting a friend at home.
Claire (glancing up): "You've gotten awfully interested in my garden lately."
Jade (not turning away from the window): "Huh?"
Claire (smirking): "You've been staring out there for ten minutes. Unless you've suddenly got a thing for dumbbells and sweaty shirtless guys…"
Jade (grinning): "What if I do?"
Claire: "I knew you only wanted to hang out here because Chris trains at this time."
Jade (mock-innocent): "I came for your company, obviously."
Claire: "Sure. And the view's just a bonus, right?"
They both laughed. Outside, Chris was in the middle of another set, completely focused—and completely oblivious.
Later, in the kitchen:
Jade (reaching over the counter): "Oh—sorry."
Their hands brushed. Jade didn't move right away.
Chris (stepping back politely): "No problem."
Jade (tilting her head): "You always this careful around girls?"
Chris (not catching the tone): "I just try not to spill anything in the kitchen. Mom would kill me."
He turned to the fridge. Jade narrowed her eyes slightly.
Days passed. Jade tried everything: "accidental" encounters, light touches, casual small talk.
Nothing worked.
So, she decided to be bold.
Jade (swinging open the door): "Hey Claire, is this—oh."
Chris stood inside, towel wrapped around his waist, brushing his teeth. Water dripped from his hair. He didn't flinch.
Chris: "Oh—hey. It's occupied."
He turned back to the sink, toothbrush in hand.
Jade (still staring): "Right. Sorry. Didn't know you were in here."
Chris (mouth full of toothpaste): "No problem. Just knock next time."
Seeing that she still hadn't left, he asked:
Chris: "Something urgent?"
Jade (faintly): "Nope. Not at all."
She slowly closed the door and wandered away like her brain had just rebooted.
That afternoon at a downtown café, Jade ranted to Claire and Amber.
Jade: "It's like flirting with a literal wall. A hot, oblivious wall."
Amber (laughing): "That's number six this year, huh?"
Jade: "He doesn't react to anything. Smiles, skin, subtle hints, accidental door openings—nothing!"
Claire (smug): "Maybe he just doesn't notice. He's dense like that."
Amber: "Or maybe he's just not into—"
Jade (cutting in, pouting): "Don't you dare."
Claire (grinning): "I told you. Best of luck."
Jade groaned and slumped in her seat, muttering about emotional armor.
The next day, Jade didn't come over—she called instead.
Claire (on the phone): "Sorry, can't go out right now. Mom asked me to make lunch for Chris."
Jade (humming, then snapping to attention): "Don't do anything. I'm coming over."
She hung up before Claire could ask why.
Not even thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Claire: "You're here fast. What's up?"
Jade (marching inside): "I'm helping you cook for him."
Claire (confused): "Uh… okay?"
Jade (proudly): "Guys are weak to food and soft domestic charm. It's science. Time to show him I'm not just a face and a killer wardrobe. I've got housewife potential."
Claire (dubious): "You can cook?"
Jade: "Well, I'm not a master chef, but I know my way around a kitchen. Parents are rarely home, so I've had practice."
Claire: "Fine. But I'm staying to watch the show. This is better than Netflix."
Jade: "Just wait. By the end of the day, he'll be the one asking me out."
The kitchen smelled amazing—garlic, basil, and a hint of something slightly overcooked. Jade stood near the stove in a pink frilly apron, hair tied back in perfect disarray. Claire, casual in a loose T-shirt and jeans, wiped her hands on a towel and looked over the plates.
Claire (calling upstairs): "Chris! Lunch is ready!"
Footsteps echoed. Chris came down in a clean T-shirt and gray sweats, damp hair pushed back. He glanced at the table—and then at the girls.
Right past Jade's apron and hopeful expression.
Chris (nodding): "Smells good. Thanks."
Claire: "We made pasta with grilled chicken. And some kind of… attempted garlic bread."
Jade (smiling): "We worked so hard on it."
Chris hummed in acknowledgment, sat down, and began eating. No ceremony. No fanfare.
Jade tried hair flips, arm positioning, little glances.
Nothing.
Chris (finishing, placing his fork down): "That was good. Thanks."
He stood, stretched, grabbed a water bottle.
Chris: "I'll do the dishes in a bit. You two can chill or whatever."
And just like that, he walked out.
Jade stared at the empty doorway for a moment longer, then slumped forward, cheek on the table.
Jade: "Not even this works."
Claire (mock-sympathetic): "Poor girl. What's next? A serenade?"
Jade (muffled): "If I thought it would work, I'd consider it."
Claire (teasing): "You better pick up the pace. At this rate, you'll be single for the summer… for the first time in what, three years?"
Jade (groaning): "Four. Don't remind me."
Claire just laughed, grabbing a leftover breadstick and leaning back in her chair.