Ten Days. Zero Sparks. One Huge Problem.
Cohen
The Heart Room at Cupid’s Agency was designed to make people fall in love.
Or, in my case, to make me regret being born.
Comfy chairs, warm lighting, vanilla-rose scent in the air, bright fuchsia walls, trailing plants.
Everything soft. Everything welcoming.
Everything not me.
I’m sitting here chewing the inside of my cheek, praying a meteor might crash directly into this building—gently, without hurting anyone… except maybe me, just enough to get me out of the rest of this week.
Across from me sits Candidate Number One.
Dark hair. Brilliant smile. Probably a great person.
And behind the mirrored glass—that is not actually a mirror—is her.
Sloane.
I can’t see her, but I feel her.
Every second.
And I feel completely out of my mind and trapped in something I don’t know how to escape.
“What’s your favorite season?” the first girl asks, all enthusiasm.
I think:
Late summer.
Because that’s when I met her, the season I both hate and crave at the same time.
And that thought terrifies me.
Why can’t I think about anything else?
What the hell has Sloane Heart done to me?
I either shrug or stay silent too long, because Lucy moves on.
“Okay,” she says, crossing her legs with confidence, “what do you look for in a relationship?”
A blonde woman, sure of herself, with eyes that completely destroy my heartbeat and a voice that scrambles my brain.
An Angel.
Then my brain realizes what I’ve just thought and slams on the brakes.
Revised internal answer: I don’t want a relationship. I’m only here because otherwise I lose my spot on the team.
Permitted answer:
“I’m not sure.”
I see it—
Even though I can’t actually see her, I feel it: Sloane behind the glass rubbing her temples.
The girl insists. “You don’t have an ideal type? A… picture in your head?”
Oh, I do.
I’ve memorized her down to the last impossible detail.
But I can’t say “Sloane Heart” unless I’m ready for public execution.
“I like… ambitious people.”
The candidate lights up like a lighthouse.
And every part of me wants to turn that light off. Not because she isn’t lovely—she is—but because…
I don’t want any of this.
The next day is identical and completely different.
The girl is gorgeous. Confident. Warm. Open.
She’d laugh with me.
She’d look good next to me.
Good in a photo.
In a reality show.
In a contract.
But nothing inside me moves.
“Are you always this serious?” she asks gently. “Or do you loosen up only when you play?”
I try. I really try.
I smile.
I talk about soccer.
I talk about the match.
I try to swallow everything down, to make this whole thing work.
Because technically… this is my fault.
I put myself here.
But do I really want to say yes to someone for this reason?
Do I really want to commit to someone because the club is forcing my hand?
Do I really want to drag one of these candidates into something I don’t mean?
A stupid little voice in my head whispers that maybe I could change my mind.
Find the right person and move forward without guilt.
This girl—on paper—is perfect.
Then the wrong thing happens.
I blink. Just once.
And I see someone else sitting where she is.
Someone I know too well.
And my heart—traitorous bastard—stops.
The candidate hesitates. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
No.
Because the attraction I feel for one Angel is driving me insane.
I’m not a feelings guy, I swear.
I’ve never thought about taking someone out, or building something real.
My wonderfully dysfunctional family made sure I understood early on that I do not want a stable relationship.
So what the hell am I doing here?
What am I doing with my life and my career?
And why won’t Sloane Heart get out of my head?
I want to scream. Rip my hair out.
Run back onto a field and lose myself in the only thing I understand.
Soccer.
The team.
That’s what matters.
I just need to get back to doing what I love full-time.
I hate you, stupid brain.
Why did you have to picture Sloane in the stands at my game right now?!