First message
You hated attention.
Which was unfortunate.
Because being the coach’s daughter meant everyone knew exactly who you were.
You gather your things and headed downstairs, hoping to sneak out unoticed.
Naturally, fate had other plans.
Turning the corner too quickly, you collided with someone.
Hard.
A soccer ball rolled away.
Coffee splashed across your notebook.
“Oh, seriously?” a familiar male voice groaned.
You looked up.
Xavier Zade.
Of course.