This afternoon’s practice for the guys consists of conditioning, some shooting drills, and a lot of strategy.

Only four of them will be traveling to Cologne with the national team, but all show up for the season’s last workout together as a club.

From my favorite bench, I watch them finish the final segment, but instead of getting out of the pool, they hang around.

Lucas has been staring at me all day.

It’s not like you think, I tell my racing heart as I do my best to avoid his eyes. It can’t be like that.

Maybe he simply has a burning idea he wants to discuss with me. Hence all the glancing at his watch and staring in my direction. Mystery solved.

Over the last two weeks, Lucas and I excelled at being paragons of non-fraternization. The both of us became shining examples of professional behavior and not mixing business with pleasure. Then, on Sunday, he went street fishing with his dad—something I’d overheard him mention to Eric—and he came back… different.

I can’t explain exactly in what way, but there’s a new quality to him that makes me think of a rubber band stretched and ready to snap.

Oh. My. God.

What if that je ne sais quoi is suppressed anger? Have I overstepped? In my eagerness to land a big sponsor, have I gone too far and done something that rubbed him the wrong way?

I guess I’m about to find out once the workout is over.

There’s noise behind me, and I turn around. Leanne’s girls rush in and jump into the water.

Ah, I see she got her way.

Leanne believes women improve their game when practicing against men. She’s been bugging Lucas for a joint scrimmage session since January.

It makes sense, so he agreed to do it now. For the guys, time has run out. Lucas doesn’t believe they can get in better shape for the quarterfinals, which start in two days. He has driven them hard for months and gotten them where he wants them. No more ten-hour workouts. The purpose of their quick workouts at this stage is just to retain the base.

I check my watch. My official work day is over. I could just up and leave while everyone is around or inside the pool. I should up and leave. Having spent the whole day trying and failing to get a grip, the last thing I need now is a tête-à-tête with Lucas.

I stand and walk toward the exit.

“Isabelle, wait!” Lucas calls out.

I stop.

“Please, can you stay a few minutes longer? I need to talk to you.”

Slowly I turn around and plaster a smile on my face. “Sure.”

He waves me over.

When I get to the edge of the pool where he and Leanne are standing, he whistles a time-out.

“You know how we’re shopping for an official sponsor, right?” he says, addressing everyone.

The players nod.

He points to me. “Isabelle, Leanne, Eric, and I have been discussing possible logo placement, and we wanted to ask you ladies if it’s OK to put it on your suits.”

“No problem,” several of them holler.

“As long as you’re not putting one on each nipple,” Nat says.

A few of the women boo, a couple of men cheer, and the rest laugh.

“One logo, centered, just beneath the collarbone,” I say.

They nod and give me a thumbs-up.

“What about the men?” Jean-Michel asks. “Where will you put ours?”

Everybody stares at me expectantly.

“On the caps,” I say.

More laughing.

“After Martin’s calendar last year,” Zach says, “we were prepared for the worst.”

Denis raises his hand. “I have an idea. Why not use our skin?” He points to the five or six tattoos on his chest and arms. “I could get another one.”

His biggest tattoo is a stylized text that reads, This body is too hot for clothes. Clearly, he doesn’t see getting a logo inked as a big deal.

The idea is completely outrageous, but three or four of the men shrug a why not.

“No way.” Julien, the hole defender, shakes his head, unsmiling. “No tattoos for me.”

“You can have it removed later, if you hate it,” Denis offers.

Julien glares at him. “I know. I’ve had one lasered off my back. It hurt like hell, and it left scars.”

Several women paddle behind him to study his back.

“Looks like it was huge.” Corinne spreads her hands to show the size to the others. “What was it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Julien says drily.

“A girl’s name?” Jean-Michel asks.

Julien says nothing.

“A heart with an arrow through it, and a girl’s name?” Jean-Michel insists. “Who’s the girl? Have we seen her? Are you still in luuurve with her?”

Silence.

“Leave him alone, will you?” Lucas says to Jean-Michel.

If he hadn’t intervened, I would have.

I can’t stand the man, probably as much as he can’t stand Julien. I suspect it’s because Julien was picked for the national team and Jean-Michel wasn’t. Or because Jean-Michel is on the substitute set. Their rivalry may also be caused by something else entirely, but whatever it is, Jean-Michel has envy issues. And Julien is the source of that envy.

“No one is going to ask anyone to get a tattoo,” I say. “There are limits.”

And with that, Lucas sends the players back into the water.

“Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask Lucas.

He shakes his head. “Can you wait another half hour?”

“Yes,” I mutter and fish out my phone, so I have something to stare at.

“Thank you,” Lucas says softly.

Eric leaves.

The two remaining coaches oversee the scrimmage while I pretend to be engrossed in my newsfeed.

When everyone is gone, I follow Lucas to his office.

“I remembered something from my past,” he says, opening two blonde ales.

My heart racing, I take one from him.

“Let me rephrase that.” He settles his gaze on my lips. “I remembered something from our past.”