times on TV.
“Soccer takes up most of my time right now,” he replies, giving his standard answer. “So I’m not looking for a relationship.”
Yeah, that’s what he usually says.
Soccer is my life right now.
Or I’d rather not talk about my personal life but I’m happy to talk about the game.
He’s always kept his love life under wraps.
Mostly because soccer really is his main focus and he wants to be known for only his game and nothing else. And secondly, because when Arrow joined the league, Sarah was still in college and he wanted to protect her from all the gossip and paparazzi.
See? It’s so, so hard not to love him.
Why does he have to be so good and dependable and so fucking protective?
I’ve never seen anyone like that in my entire life.
No wonder my sister fell for him, and no wonder I fell for him too.
But anyway, that’s his standard answer. However, a second later, he digresses and adds, “But who knows? Things can happen. I’m actually finding out that it’s great to roll with the punches.”
Then, he smirks at the end of his answer. At the end of ‘roll with the punches.’ And I fist my hands because when has he ever rolled with the punches? When?
He’s such a fucking planner.
Such a fucking rule follower.
Not to mention, why’s he smirking like that? I mean, as much as I hated that he smirked at that girl in the bar, I now understand that he did it because they were making out or whatnot.
He was smirking at me – I remember that very clearly as well – because he was playing with me, trying to distract me from the truth.
But why is he doing it here?
Is he freaking flirting?
I don’t get to dwell on it because after he’s given that bizarre answer, he goes on to answer all the other questions that the girls have asked him. With the same smirk on his face.
And I don’t like that.
I don’t like that at all.
He’s flirting, isn’t he?
He’s freaking flirting with the girls and my legs are itching, itching to go and put a stop to it. And I can’t because I promised myself that I’d stay away from him.
Besides, I have no right to be jealous, do I?
I didn’t have any right to be jealous back at the bar and I don’t have any right here, either.
In fact, I have even less of a right now.
He’s not my sister’s boyfriend anymore – for stupid fucking reasons, if you ask me – so it’s not as if I can be jealous on her behalf.
Technically, he’s free to flirt, to kiss, to do other things with whomever he wants and it’s none of my business.
None of your business, Salem.
But Salem is stupid, okay?
Salem is a freaking idiot who has a super secret love for this flirting, smirking guy whose gym t-shirt is fluttering against his muscular body in the breeze and whose lips are so fucking gorgeous that I just want to die right here.
And before I can stop myself, I’m walking away from my friends and breaking off from the crowd. I walk around the huddle where the girls are still simpering, glaring first at Coach TJ because seriously, shouldn’t she put a stop to this?
Are we here to play soccer or have an impromptu Q and A session?
The second target of my glare is Arrow himself, the coach. With sun-struck hair, glittering blue eyes and golden skin, he wears his title well.
The Blond Arrow.
“I thought we were here to play soccer,” I say, loud and clear, effectively putting an end to all conversation and laughter.
My sudden appearance has jarred everyone. They weren’t expecting me or my curt words. I can feel their astonished and antagonized stares at my back. I can even feel Coach TJ looking at me with a glare of her own.
But I don’t pay them much mind because my eyes are glued to him, and his are glued to mine.
But then, he breaks our connection and his eyes move down.
They go to my nose first, then my lips, followed by my throat.
I swallow and he watches it.
I take a deep breath and he watches that too, studying my soccer uniform issued by the school. He studies my white t-shirt, my mustard-colored shorts. My knee-high socks and finally my soccer cleats.
He stares at them a beat like he did the other night when he gave me that hint, before lifting his eyes back up to my face and murmuring,