Page 9 of Set Play

“He hates my brother. My brother hates him. Could you even imagine me taking him home for the holidays?” I snort at the very thought. “It’d be a blood bath. I shouldn’t have even let him kiss me that night after I recognized him.”

I finish the explanation and get up to rinse my mug, just as she attempts to sip her tea. However, the sound of choking behind me tells me I fucked up story time.

Gripping the counter, I drop my head in defeat. “You…didn’t know about the kiss…did you?”

Several moments pass as Niamh struggles to regain her composure. When I finally turn around, her shirt is stained with tea, her flecked hazel eyes narrowed at me in a glare. She takes a deep breath, and I brace for her screech; however, her measured whisper is even more terrifying.

“What do ye mean, ye shouldn’t have let Mateo fecking Reyes kiss you?”

She pauses as if waiting for a response, but when I try, she cuts me off, bringing back the banshee, “Ye absolutely should have, ye lunatic! Fair play to ya,3 he’s a fecking catch! Ye know don’t kiss and tell doesn’t apply to us, right? Now…I need details.” There’s a beat of silence as she looks down and snorts, “After I change.”

Her witch’s cackle follows her out of the kitchen and up to the third floor of our townhouse, leaving me alone in the kitchen to curse Mateo fecking Reyes.

Mateo

“Reyes!”

At Coach’s holler, my twin and I freeze, snapping our heads toward the sideline. “Damnit,” Coach mutters as he approaches us, “I really need a better way to yell at you two to avoid this confusion.”

Lukas’s amused eyes meet my own before a goofy grin breaks out across his face. I recognize that grin all too well; it’s his “I’m going to be a little shit head” smile.

Ay dios mio.4 Now we’re in for it.

I exhale an awkward chuckle just as Coach reaches us, ready to apologize for whatever comes out of my twin’s mouth.

“You know Coach,” Lukas starts, unrepentant despite the unamused glare Coach gives him, “you could always just call us by our first names.” That shit-eating grin stays on his face because he knows that using first names isn’t an option.

We’ve both been on this team for three years now and never once has Coach called a player by their first name. On or off the field. “Ooh, or our eye color, like ‘Blue Reyes,’ or our numbers, or you could address Teo as Captain, or—”

“Enough.” Coach doesn’t raise his voice, but he doesn’t need to. The tone alone is enough to shut Lukas up.

Shit, I need to learn how to do that.

“I need to speak with this particular Reyes right now.” He tilts his head to me, before looking back to my brother. “So you, ‘Brown Reyes,’ are off the hook. Get back to your drills.” The mocking drawl of the name ‘Brown Reyes’ goes right over Lukas’s head, who just gives Coach a goofy thumbs up before jogging off. “Let’s step off the field for a second, seventeen.”

I snort in amusement. “Are you just trying every horrible option Lukas gave you until you find one you don’t hate?”

The joke causes the smallest hint of a smile to touch his lips, but it vanishes before it can bloom into a full grin. Damnit. It’s an ongoing challenge for the senior roster to get Coach to fully smile outside of winning.

As we reach the edge of the field, Coach turns to me, folding his arms over his chest. It’s his ‘no bullshit’ stance. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of it, and it’s a struggle not to fidget where I stand. “You’re distracted.”

No subterfuge, no beating around the bush. It’s one of my favorite things about having Ryan Carter as my coach; he always gets straight to the point.

“What’s going on? Your footwork has been sloppy all week. For fuck’s sake, Reyes, you’re so distracted that Miller managed to steal the ball from you!”

I cringe inwardly, giving in to the urge to shift from foot to foot, not meeting his eyes. How the hell am I supposed to admit that I’ve been distracted all week after meeting a five foot something brunette who felt perfect in my arms? That I haven’t been able to get her emerald eyes or the feel of her perfect lips out of my mind?

I swallow thickly, before giving him a half-truth. “Uh, yeah. All the publicity around those stupid pictures has been weighing on me. Garrett was able to prevent the press from releasing theirs, but that damn fan started a fucking wildfire with theirs. Sorry Coach.”

As if expecting that answer, he nods, scratching his beard. “Given your reputation, it’s understandable that the pictures have caused a commotion. I admit, I assumed it was just unfortunate timing for a picture, but if she’s distracting you this much, she must be something really special. What’s her name?”

“Élise.”

A look of surprise crosses his face, but he smothers it quickly. My eyebrows raise as I silently ask him to elaborate on it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks, “And when did the two of you start dating?”

I hesitate; I haven’t been denying that I’m dating Élise when reporters ask, secretly liking the idea a little more than I probably should, but lying to Coach is another thing entirely.

I run my hand through my sweat-soaked hair, sighing, “Honestly, sir, we aren’t. The night those photos were taken was the first time I’d met her. She was being harassed by some dick in a cowboy hat, and I couldn’t just stand by and watch. Saying I was her boyfriend didn’t get through to him, so I kissed her. And a nosy fan took the opportunity to go viral.”