Offside Desires: A four part sports romance

Kaya POV

The air feels charged, like static when I would work all night in labs, as Flynn's words echo over the field, his arm rests around my waist like it belongs there."Kaya and I are together." he repeats again

My heart thuds so loud it almost drowns out the stunned silence that follows.

I didn't exactly program this part, not exactly. And the fact I didn't rattle something in my chest but I'd rather pretend it isn't there.

Tom freezes,  his fingers clench so tight around his helmet that his knuckles turn pale. Riley's red lips part, her hand clutching Tom's arm like she's worried he might actually charge across the grass.

Around us, the rest of the team stares openly, helmets still in hand, sweat dripping as they look from Flynn to me and back again.

Flynn stays perfectly calm, gaze steady. "I'll repeat it," he says, voice carrying just enough. "We're together, so no one" he turns his eyes to Tom, dark and different from the dinner before, "should dare say a word to her"

The words ripple through the players, their shoulders shifts and some exchanging glances.

My pulse spikes so high it almost hurts.

Tom's jaw works, opens, then slams shut again before the words finally come out, low and sharp. "You've got to be kidding me. You think parading this guy around makes you look strong?"

Flynn leans in slightly, voice smooth but edged. "Funny," he says. "From where I'm standing, it just makes you look nervous."

Tom's breath comes faster, chest rising and falling as anger cause his muscles to tighten underneath his shirt

Before it can get worse, Coach's voice slices through. "Enough!" he barks, eyes flicking from Tom to Flynn, then landing on me with a look that feels almost curious. "Back in line. We've got work to do."

Flynn's hand drops from my waist. The brush of cold air where his warmth had been almost makes me flinch. I wonder stupidly if he felt it too.

Tom stomps back toward his squad, Riley hurrying after him, as usual,she's securing her meal ticket. Flynn stays a beat longer, gaze softening. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I say too quickly, my voice thinner than I want.

His smirk eases into something gentler. "Stay close. This part's going to be fun."

Then he jogs away, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat catching the light on his forearms. And for a moment, I almost forget he's meant to be nothing more than my codes.

The whistle blasts, and the scrimmage kicks off.

Tom charges into the first play like a man trying to crush something underfoot. He shouts too loudly, throws too hard, passes just off-target. The frustration shows in every sharp gesture, every glare tossed at his teammates who flinch back.

Flynn, by contrast, is... smooth. He calls short, calm directions, barely louder than a normal speaking voice and somehow the team moves around him like they've trained together for months. His passes arc clean and fall into waiting hands, and every small success sparks an energy that Tom can't seem to replicate.

Every time Flynn scores, Tom's gaze snaps toward me, like he blames me for every point. Riley hovers close to Tom, whispering, but he jerks away from her, sweat flying.

Near the end, the score isn't even close.

Flynn's squad huddles around him, their backslaps and helmet tapping. Even Coach's frown eases, scribbling quick notes on his clipboard like he's taking notes from Flynn. My smirk deepens at that but I hide it immediately.

On the final play, Flynn steps back, flicks his wrist, and the ball soars, spinning once, twice, before landing right in the receiver's arms at the edge of the end zone.

Cheers break from the sidelines, cheerleaders yell out forFlynn crazily, louder than they have ever cheered for Tom. Even a couple of Tom's own teammates clap quietly

Tom rips his helmet off, his hair plastered to his forehead, his glare dark as they follow Flynn cheering.

Flynn jogs back toward me, his grin relaxed, and fake sweat darkening his collar. His eyes lock on mine first, like he's waiting for something.

"You were good," I manage, words coming out softer than I'd planned.

"We were," he says, teasing back. "This is just the start."

"Just the start?" I echo, pulse still racing.

His grin sharpens. "Next time, we will go bigger."

Before I can ask what he means, Tom storms up, shoulders tight, breath ragged. "Enjoy it," he spits, voice edged with venom. "One lucky day doesn't make you captain."

Flynn tilts his head, smirks unfazed. "We'll see."

Tom turns to me then, voice dropping low. "And you really think standing beside him changes what you are?"

My throat closes, but before I can speak, Flynn shifts closer, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat of him.

"Careful," Flynn says, voice so low it feels like gravel under velvet.

Tom's eyes narrow, but Coach's voice slices in again. "Tom! Flynn! Locker room, now!"

Flynn leans down before he turns, so close the scent of turf and sweat and warm skin curls around me. "You handled that," he murmurs, something like approval in his tone.

I swallow, words sticking. "You're impossible," I manage.

"Maybe," he chuckles, soft enough that only I hear. "But it worked."

As he pulls away, his eyes catch mine a half-second longer than necessary, heat sparking down my spine.

The rest of the team drifts back toward the tunnel. Whispers fill the echoing space, some are teasing, some curious, some sharp. Riley's gaze skims over me, head tilting just slightly, as if weighing something ready to strike as usual.

Flynn starts to turn away, grin softening, but stops his expression flickers, the smirk slipping. "Kaya," he says, voice suddenly lower, his eyes spin blinking only black for a moment.

My heart sinks as I immediately think he's about to start malfunctioning and everyone will catch us on our lie.

But he blinks, his normal eye colors reload and his voice is almost uncertain. "Why does your voice sound familiar?"

My breath catches, confusion spreading through my chest. But before I can answer, Coach's shout cuts through, and Flynn jogs off, helmet swinging under his arm like nothing happened.

I stand frozen on the edge of the field, my clipboard heavy in my hands and heart pounding so loud it drowns everything else out.

"What the fuck just happened?"