With a thud, it fell untouched behind the front row.
Adapt. Control. Win.I chanted inside my head.
Timeout was called after a long rally, and I jogged to the bench, towel in hand. Dom was leaning against the railing at court level, away from the crowd. His stance was casual, his expression pleasant but unreadable.
Our gazes met, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t move at all. The usual exuberant air surrounding him had given way to an intensity that made my breath hitch. All he did was look at me, but it was enough.
I wanted to ignore him. Wanted to believe I could keep this thing contained. But realistically, I never stood a chance.
Swallowing a couple of mouthfuls of water, I tried to keep my cool facade, determined not to let any of the emotions wreaking havoc inside me shine through. Determined to appear unshaken.
Even so, Dom’s intense gaze branded me, staking an unmistakable claim on me. My heartbeat pounding in my ears was louder than the crowd.
The setter gave me a tight back-row set, forcing me to jump out of position, hang in the air, and slam it through the block. The crowd erupted, but everything sounded muted to me.
I hit the floor hard with a strained grunt, adrenaline coursing through my veins in a rush. Hands braced on my knees and my heart pounding, I caught my breath.
Involuntarily, my eyes flicked to Dom, who hadn’t stopped watching me — heat crawled up my spine under his stare. He was still wearing that unreadable expression, still standing in the same spot.
We ended the game with a huge win, my teammates bouncing around me, screaming, hugging, and trading high-fives. I offered them a smile but didn’t feel like joining in.
Dom was still there, his eyesstillfixed on me with an intensity, they might as well burn right through me.
I parted my lips, but the words just wouldn’t come. My mind was too loud, in a state of absolute mayhem. I’d played like I was in control, but he saw me crack.
Maybe it wasn’t about losing control. Maybe it was about trusting someone to see you without it.
There was fire in his eyes, and God help me, I wanted toburn.
***
Dom
Sierra emerged from the athletic complex with damp hair and that sharp, unreadable expression she wore like armor. Her duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, and her skin was still glowing with the flush of adrenaline and hot water.
She didn’t look at me right away but didn’t pretend to not see me, either.
I pushed off the rail where I’d been leaning. Didn’t say anything. Just fell into step beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re still here?” she asked after a few seconds, not quite surprised, but not exactly neutral either.
“Figured you’d need a ride.”
She gave me a side glance, one brow ticking up. “You figured, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said simply. “I did.”
She didn’t argue. Just shifted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and kept walking. The air was warm — sticky, the way it gets in the South even in the fall.
As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a strange, soft gold across the pavement, streetlights flickered to life above us. Crisp, orange leaves rustled across the pavement with the breeze.
“I played like shit in the first set,” she muttered.
“You pulled it together.”
“I cracked.”
I peered at her sideways. “So?”
