Girlfriend for Hire

Chapter Three: Get your Head in the Game

Samantha Harper

The whistle blew, jolting me back to reality. I blinked, trying to focus on the field in front of me. Practice had started ten minutes ago, but my mind was a thousand miles away. Coach Thompson's voice cut through the chatter of my teammates, sharp and demanding.

"Harper! Eyes on the ball!" she barked.

I nodded, even though she was already turning her attention to someone else. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to concentrate. My best friend, Rachel, darted past me, her ponytail swinging as she moved with her usual speed. She flashed me a quick smile before focusing on the drill.

"Come on, Sam," I muttered to myself. "Get your head in the game."

The ball rolled towards me, and I managed to trap it under my foot. I passed it off quickly, but my touch was off, and the ball skidded away from May, our team captain. She shot me a look of annoyance before chasing it down.

"The hell's wrong with you today, Sam?" she snapped as she passed the ball back to me. "Focus!"

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling the familiar sting of frustration. I hated letting my team down, but today was one of those days where everything felt wrong. Max, would understand. He always did. He'd pick me up after practice like he did every day, and maybe he'd have some sage advice to pull me out of this funk.

I tried to shake off my thoughts and threw myself into the next drill. I needed to prove to myself—and everyone else—that I could handle this. But it was hard to focus when there was always a constant distraction. She was dating Kyle, the captain of the boys' soccer team, and seeing them together was like a punch to the gut every time.

As practice dragged on, I kept glancing over at Rachel. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight perfectly, her heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one green—shining with excitement. She was the epitome of natural beauty, and watching her with Kyle made my chest tighten. No wonder guys asked her out all the time. If I looked like her I'd probably get asked out too. Would anyone look at me that way?

Finally, practice ended, and I trudged off the field, my legs feeling like lead. Max was waiting for me, leaning against his car with that familiar smirk on his face.

"You looked more distracted than usual out there," he teased, nudging me with his elbow. "Thinking about your boyfriend again?"

I rolled my eyes, refusing to take the bait. "Shut up, Max."

He laughed, ruffling my hair. "Come on, admit it. You can't stop thinking about Kyle."

I didn't respond, knowing that anything I said would only encourage him. Instead, I climbed into the car, my mind already drifting back to the gnawing ache in my chest.

Max's car ride was filled with his usual banter, but I barely registered it. My mind was stuck on the field, replaying every misstep. By the time we pulled up to the martial arts studio, I was ready to punch something.

"Later, Max," I said, hopping out before he could respond.

The studio was a small, gritty space, filled with the sounds of grunts and impacts. The familiar smell of sweat and rubber mats hit me as I walked in. I spotted my coach, Lena, a college junior with a black belt in karate and a sharp tongue to match, working with a group of students. My rival, Jackson, was there too, showing off his kicks.

Lena glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. "Hey, Harper! You look like you want to kill someone."

"Less talking, more training," I muttered, heading straight for the punching bag.