Chapter 27
Iwake up before my alarm.
For once, I’m not tired. I should be after a flight, a long night, and a heart that refused to slow down, but I feel light. The air itself is different.
I dreamed of him.
Of his hands on my skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, the soft weight of his kiss. When I opened my eyes, I was already smiling.
Everything feels … sweet.
Like I’ve been dipped in sunshine and cotton candy and the world is softer around the edges, humming with possibility.
I throw the covers back, stretch, and pad barefoot down the hall, only to stop dead in the doorway.
Bri and Marianna are awake. Before seven in the morning. In pajamas and messy buns, making bagels.
“What is happening right now?” I ask, still halfway between dreamland and confusion.
Their heads snap up in perfect unison, identical smirks already forming. The kind of smile only a sister and a best friend can master.
“Good … morning,” I say.
“Good morning,” they echo, way too innocent.
Marianna raises an eyebrow. “You’re up early. I figured you’d be exhausted. I was literally planning to drag you out of bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I head for the coffee maker because caffeine feels safer than eye contact.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to catch them trading a look. Mischief practically vibrates between them.
“What?” I ask, pouring my coffee.
Marianna turns to Bri, eyes sparkling. “Is she really gonna make us ask?”
Bri sips her coffee, deadly calm. “Guess she’s playing hard to get.”
I blink at them. “What are you two talking about?”
Marianna leans on the counter, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Sooo …the text about not needing a ride home was weird as hell, Catalina. So, naturally, we did a little math.”
My stomach drops. “Math?”
“Oh, yes,” Bri cuts in. “We looked up your flight number, timed when it landed, calculated how long it would take for your friend’s car”—she does air quotes—“to get from the airport to the building.”
Marianna nods. “And then, like the totally normal people we are, we waited by the window.”
“You what?”
“We waited by the window,” Bri repeats, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world. “And then we saw you get out of a black town car, with a driver, and none other than football superstar Roger Gallagher.”
I attempt a poker face. I really do. But my lips betray me, twitching upward, and the second they notice, they scream. Actual movie-trailer scream.
“Oh my God, Catalina!” Marianna yells, nearly knocking over the cream cheese. “What the actual fuck? What happened in New York?!”
Bri’s already clapping. “Tell us everything. I want timestamps, dialogue, deleted scenes. Start from the beginning!”
“Fine, fine,” I say, laughing despite myself, and take a long sip of coffee while they bounce in place like two caffeinated detectives.
“Get me a bagel,” I say, surrendering. “I have a lot of tea to spill.”
By the time afternoon hits, I’m in my office, with June across from me, our laptops surrounded by coffee cups and color-coded notes. The high from New York still hums somewhere in my chest, but the world has spun back to normal: emails, deadlines, and a week packed with prep.
This weekend the Strikers host Miami, and the city’s already buzzing.
Tickets sold out months ago; every bar in town is throwing a watch party.
Miami’s lineup is stacked—Messi, half of Argentina’s World Cup roster, and a parade of celebrities who’ll be filling up the VIP seats.
It’s Rogue’s debut all over again, and you can practically feel the stadium vibrating through the walls.
Focusing on work hasn’t been easy.
After my morning interrogation with Marianna and Bri, answering all their “what happened in New York” questions, I showered, dressed, and tried to pull my head out of the clouds. Somewhere between mascara and matching my shoes, curiosity got the better of me.
I opened Veil.
It’s been days since I heard from HalfWritten, which makes sense after telling him I was interested in someone else. But I’ve gotten used to his words—the quiet comfort, the way they always seem to find me when I need them most.
So I messaged him.
@OneLastLine:
Happy Monday. Hope you had a good weekend.
@HalfWritten:
Wishing the same for yourself. Mine was … interesting.
I smiled.
@OneLastLine:
Same. I followed your advice and listened to my heart this weekend. Took a step and got more than I expected. I’m feeling giddy.
@HalfWritten:
Giddy? Then I hope he can catch you before you fall with all that twirling.
@OneLastLine:
Maybe I’m hoping he’ll fall with me.
I closed the app before I could overthink it and checked my texts. First was a message from Emily with the week’s logistics. Then a note from Mom reminding me to “keep an eye on Marianna, please.”
And then one from him.
Rogue:
Morning, kitten. Miss you already.
I grinned before I could stop it.
Me:
Morning. Miss you too. Especially after all the dreams I had about you last night.
And that was it. No follow-up. No overthinking. Just … warmth.
June spins her laptop toward me, bringing me back to earth. “Here’s the schedule so far. I built out the posts through Friday, but game-day coverage is still flexible.”
I lean forward, scanning. “This looks great. We’ll tighten the captions, maybe push some teaser reels mid-week.”
She nods, jotting notes as she stands to refill her mug. “Top off?”
“Please,” I say, holding mine out. “And grab two of those fancy brown sugars?”
She grins. “The only reason I still come to this office.”
When she returns, she tops my coffee and drops the sugars beside it.
“Thanks,” I say, stirring. “Hey, did you request tickets for the game yet?”
June freezes mid-sip. “Wait, I can do that?”
“Girl, yes. Emily didn’t tell you? You can request for any match. We have an entire section reserved for family.”
Her eyes widen. “Even away games?”
“Absolutely.”
“In that case, two, please,” she states, her smile turning soft. “April’s back in town for a few days, and I’d love to take her.”
I pause, raising a brow. “Wait, your sister’s name is April? I knew about May.”
June laughs, shaking her head. “Yep. April, May, and June. My mom was obsessed with spring.”
“The Spring Fling Sisters,” I say, grinning. “That’s beautiful.”
“Most people call it cheesy.”
“Only people who never had a sibling they actually like,” I shoot back. “Anyone who says that just wishes they had that kind of bond.”
She giggles, cheeks pink. “I’ll tell them you said that.”
I sip my coffee. “Marianna and Bri will be at the game too. We’ll have to introduce everyone.”
Our eyes meet. The same idea hits us at once.
“Wait,” June says, leaning forward. “That means we’ll have four extra people we trust in the stadium. We could have them help us with content, like the interns did last time.”
We start rapid-firing ideas, building the plan out loud.
“Okay,” June says, fingers flying across her notes. “Two people covering the fans before the game and during. One handling the VIP section, and maybe one helping me with tunnel shots and sideline behind-the-scenes while you handle the posts during the match.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I say, grinning as the energy between us ramps up. “Do you think April and May would help us out? I can’t pay them, but I can totally bribe them with cocktails and a girls’ night.”
June laughs. “Consider it done.”
“We’ll need to figure out who we’re assigning to the VIP section,” I add, tapping my pen against my notebook. “It has to be someone who’ll behave.”
June snorts. “Then May’s probably our best bet. She doesn’t give a crap about anyone famous. She won’t get starstruck.”
I laugh. “Perfect. She’s hired.”
The plan for this week’s game feels solid now. Everyone is confirmed. April, May, Bri, and Marianna will be here to help, and the buzz in my chest hasn’t stopped since. But beneath it, a whisper of nerves hums too—because fairytales don’t last forever, and mine is about to meet the real world.
June and I grab our cameras and make our way to the practice fields.
She’s chatting about the trend she’s filming today, something involving the players and a viral dance, but all I can think is I’m going to see him. I’m going to see him. I’m going to see him.
The moment we push through the glass doors, the warmth hits my cheeks.
The sun is high, the air thick with freshly cut grass and the sharp sound of whistles.
Practice has been going on for hours; the guys are in various states of exhaustion.
Some still running drills, others on their knees, laughing and talking between plays.
I scan the field, spotting familiar faces—Reyes, El-Sayed, Silva, Petrovic, Dupont, Tanaka, Rivas, Khan. Thiago’s in the net, Holloway firing shots his way, both of them trading playful insults.
But no sign of him.
Before I can dwell on it, Luca Moretti catches sight of us. He jogs over, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, grin wide as ever. He stops right in front of June, takes her by the shoulders, and kisses her on both cheeks.
“Ciao, bella,” he says, his accent smooth and warm. June’s cheeks turn crimson, and I can’t help but grin. “Well, hello there, Luca,” I tease.
June is caught somewhere between mortified and flattered. Luca slings an arm around her shoulders and turns to me.
“Forgive me, Catalina,” he says with that charming grin that could sell chaos. “I had to say hello to my seatmate.”
“Of course.” I smile knowingly at June, who looks like she might melt on the spot.
Luca Moretti looks like every cliché Italy ever bragged about—and somehow still makes it work.
Tousled dirty-blond hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes the color of sunlit seawater.
He’s all charm and confidence, the kind of man who could smile at you and make you forget your own name.
Sweat clings to his temples from practice, but it only adds to the effect, golden, careless, infuriatingly handsome.
Before I can tease June further, a familiar Australian drawl breaks in.
“When am I getting an assigned seatmate?” Noah James asks, striding over with his usual grin.
Before I can respond, another voice cuts through—low, rough, unmistakably Irish.
“You’ll have to ask Cat,” Rogue says from behind me.
His voice sends a jolt straight through me. I turn, and there he is, just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, that small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
The sight hits me like it always does. Unexpected, inconvenient, and completely impossible to resist. He is entirely too pleased with himself for catching me off guard.
Noah grins, undeterred. “Any other pretty girls traveling with us soon?”
I shake my head, forcing a smirk. “Depends on how much you cooperate today. June’s got a great idea for a new trend, and she needs all your help.”
The guys groan good-naturedly but gather around June anyway. She steps forward, phone in hand, suddenly in her element.
As they crowd around her, I turn back to Rogue, who’s still standing behind me.
“Where were you?” I whisper.
“I had a little meeting just now.” He shifts closer, voice soft enough that only I can hear. “They want me to do a press conference with Messi before the game. Him, me, and a few of the others.”
My eyes widen. “Really? Did you agree?”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “I was going to decline.” He pauses, then adds, “But then I thought, what would my kitten say? So I agreed.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Smart man.”
He shrugs lightly, that faint half smile still there. “I’m learning.”
I glance past him and laugh. The boys have started doing the dance while June shouts out instructions.
“The land, the sea, the sky!” she calls, dramatically motioning with her arms.
Half the players are doubled over laughing; the other half are trying to keep up. “Pledge allegiance to your hands, your team, your vibes!” she continues, somehow keeping a straight face.
Rogue leans closer, his voice a low rumble by my ear. “You’re not going to make me do that, are you, lass?”
I glance up at him, biting back a grin. “No, Rogue. I think you’ve done enough for today.”
He chuckles quietly, the sound rolling through me more than it should.
Standing there under the sun, surrounded by laughter, the smell of grass, and the man who keeps undoing me with every look, everything finally feels right.