Robbie freaking Sparks.

He's the subway guy. The cute subway guy, to be more precise... who said he'd catch me on the rebound when he saw the high school emblem on my T-shirt.

Damn, damn, damn. I start to hyperventilate.

Panting and sweating, the guy—who is no other than Sparks, Osborne High's freaking wonder boy—rushes to his coach. "I'm awfully sorry, coach." His sports bag falls from his back to the front as he leans a bit forward.

"Well, at least you've already warmed up." Coach Whittaker clenches the muscles in his arms and fists.

Those broad shoulders swing in harmony with his chiselled arms as he takes off his sports bag. His eyes fearlessly focus on his coach as he flashes a polite smile.

"I-I thought I'd warm the bench," Sparks says, wiping the little sweat on his forehead.

"You deserve to warm the bench, but you're not doing it... today," coach Whittaker says as he gets closer to him. He puts a hand on his back as he turns Sparks to one side, far from my eyes' reach. "I need you out there, now."

He tries to be discreet about it, but I've got the sharp hearing of a bat. I bet he doesn't like how our high school has metamorphosed into a different team this year.

"Go get changed and rush back here," his coach says, patting the guy's back with energy.

When coach Whittaker stares back at the players on the court and barks some orders, Robbie Sparks, aka the cute subway guy, catches me staring at him, smiles, waves, and winks at me just like before, when I left him on the platform.

What's the deal with him?!

His dreamy green eyes lock with my brown ones. He walks to his team's locker room. His unwavering smile earns a genuine raise of my eyebrows. He disappears behind a door.

This dude has just scored a three-pointer on my attention. I force my gaze back to the game and blush.

Allie, I'm the voice of your conscience. I know he's hot. His athletic physique is fit for a demigod. You could get lost in those deep green eyes... as much as in every dimple, lean muscle, and those cool black and red sneakers. But you cannot let him distract you.

Remember what's at stake here: this match, the nationals, my new role as a coach, my teammates' dreams—Shaun would love to become a professional player someday—and a potential scholarship.

Although my eyes aim right in front of me, on the court, where my basketball babies are, I can't see them. Better yet, I do see them, but I can't concentrate.

"Coach Casas... focus, please," coach Owens says in a mild warning tone, sending me back to Earth.

I flinch. "Yes, yes, sorry," I whisper apologetically.

I focus my eyes back on the court as I recap and bite my lower lip.

I made Osbourne High's basketball star be late. Not in a billion years would anyone believe that I didn't do it on purpose, to make their team weaker.

But I didn't know who he was! He didn't wear any emblem or anything. How could I possibly have known?!

If Sparks spills the beans, I'm dead.

I swallow hard. My behaviour can be construed as cheating or playing dirty. My teammates will hate me. Coach Owens will lose his faith in me. Right now, I can't play, but if the truth gets out there, I won't be able to coach either. Ever.

Good references are key in this world. In fact, I managed to get coach Owen's attention in the first place thanks to a letter of recommendation that my former coach in Barcelona wrote for me. If he hadn't, maybe coach Owens wouldn't have even let me talk to him or even do the try-out like the other rookies.

"You look pale, Allie," coach Owens says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a bit dehydrated is all."

He goes back to sit on the bench with the other players while I take my water bottle from my bag and take a sip, just to keep appearances, while I stand and watch the match unfold with a deep frown.

Damn. I'm in a pickle.

Our teams tie, and Sparks comes back from the locker room. That black and red uniform makes him look like a demon.

A demon who can cause my downfall.

The way his chiselled muscles tense as he stares at the game unfold sends chills down my spine. He checks the score board and pouts just slightly.

I return to the spot reserved for coaches, standing there as I assess the situation. Is he angry at me because I made him late, and now my team is making things too difficult to handle for his?

But his pouting soon disappears, and he smiles without a care in the world. He's... weird.

I take a deep breath as I look briefly at the ceiling just to silently pray to God to spare me from this predicament. Please, God, make this guy keep our subway little thing a secret.

Coach Whittaker calls the referee's attention to request a substitution. The latter blows the whistle, and Sparks smirks as he cracks the joints of his fingers as he stretches his arms in front of him.

A guy called Prince walks by him, and they pat each other's back in a brotherly gesture. Prince sits on the bench and drinks some water.

"You're late, Robbie," Davis says in a foul mood when Sparks approaches him. "What happened?"

"Later," Sparks replies. "You were losing when I came in. What happened, Jer?"

"I don't know. They seem a different team from last year." He frowns deeply as he pats Sparks' back. "Don't let your guard down."

"Hey, Sparks. Nice shoes!" Steinhart, on my team, tells Sparks, interrupting their banter. "Too bad they won't help you score."

Sparks chuckles almost inaudibly and smirks. "You're gonna bite the dust I leave behind with them."

"Always the perfect comeback, huh?" Steinhart says.

He should really shut up. His usually defiant mood could get the team in trouble.

"Bert, dude," Shaun warns Steinhart in a harsh whisper as he approaches him. The usual sweetness in his dark brown eyes has disappeared. "Shut up already."

"Better start planning for the next game," Sparks replies as he approaches them with a menacing attitude.

They stand face to face, glaring at each other and puffing their chests. That well-built chest of his is pure perfection. He must have an amazing breathing capacity... and he must give breathtaking hugs, I guess.

Damn it, Allie! Focus!

"Because now that I'm here," Sparks goes on with a glare, "this one's over. I'm gonna smash the scoreboard with my points."

Oh, dear. He's pissed... and it's my fault.

His fiery eyes briefly turn to the side of the court, where I stand, right in the space where the coach is supposed to be. They scorch my retinas and engrave their authority and his entire stunning presence in my brain.

With that, he takes my breath away. He's gonna say it, what I've done, aka my stupid secret.

If he spills the beans, I'm done. And it'll not be fair. I didn't make him late on purpose.

But then, he winks at me and smiles that stupid, goofy smile of his like before.

"Nice coach you got," he says. "Now I get why you were winning so far. I wonder what her... secret might be."

His telltale voice precisely on that word makes my blood boil.

I swallow hard. My fists clench enough to almost draw blood. I already hate this guy.

Nobody fights my battles for me. I'd kill to be able to enter the court instead of my male teammates and settle this with him right now, all by myself... but I'm a woman.

Mierda. Shit.

Hello, my sugar cubes!

Quick question: are Allie and Robbie likeable to you?
Allie is extrovert and cheeky, while Robbie is more aloof outside the court, but menacing in it. Do you like this combo?
Anyway, what will happen next? Will he spill the beans? Will she be in trouble?

XOXO

Mar

*Depending on the number of engaged readers, I may choose to discontinue or continue this story. Thank you for your understanding.