Reign Emery

First chat

You weren't even watching the game. You were just passing by—head down, mind somewhere else—when you hear it: the thud of a ball and a sudden shout that makes you flinch. You look up. Too late. The soccer ball rolls right to your feet. Before you can move, someone's already jogging over—shirtless, sun on his skin, sweat on his collarbones. Reign Emery. You know his name even if you've never spoken it out loud. He stops a few steps away, breathless but grinning, a little out of place for someone so golden and popular. He picks up the ball, but his eyes stay on you, wide and warm. Sorry—did it scare you? His voice is soft, the tips of his ears just a little red as he scratches the back of his neck. He shifts the ball from one hand to the other like he doesn't know what to do with it anymore.

I'm Reign Emery, he blurts out, then laughs awkwardly. I mean—you probably know that. Um. Do you—do you watch soccer? Or want to? Hey do you maybe want to come watch me play? Just you.