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2025-08-09 21:29:28
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Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 48
Kaya POV The morning of the game, I’m standing in front of the mirror in my hotel room, holding the jersey like it’s some kind of weapon I’m not sure I want to use. It’s crisp, new, the fabric soft against my fingers. Flynn’s number eleven is stitched in bold white across the back. My name is absent, but I know exactly who gave it to me. And I know exactly what wearing it means. The safe, logical part of me says to put it away and wear something neutral. I’ve spent years avoiding attention, slipping into the shadows, blending in. Even before Tom’s betrayal, I hated the spotlight. And after? The last thing I want is to be paraded in front of gossip blogs and strangers’ camera lenses. But there’s another part of me, the sharper, colder part that remembers Tom never let me wear his number. Not once. All the other football wives and girlfriends got their photo ops, their sideline moments, their claim to their player. Me? He didn’t want me “distracting from his image.” So, yes. Wear
Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 47
Kaya POV The dinner ends with lingering chatter and the smell of grilled steak still clinging to my clothes. Most of the team filters toward the buses that will shuttle us back to the hotel, but Flynn lingers beside me as I pull on my jacket. “Walk with me,” he says, like it’s not a question. I glance at the buses idling across the street. “It’s late. And cold.” His mouth curves. “I run at five in the morning most days. I think we can survive a ten-minute walk.” Before I can come up with a reason to refuse, he’s already stepping toward the sidewalk. And because I’m apparently incapable of telling him no lately, I follow. The streets are quiet, just the hum of streetlamps and the occasional sound of distant traffic. My heels click against the pavement, his steps measured and easy beside me. We talk about nothing at first, the food, the way the rookie nearly fell out of his chair when Coach told him to slow down on the bread basket, how much better tonight was than some of the pa
Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 46
Kaya POV The next morning starts thick with tension. We’ve got a joint practice with the rival team today, which means two hours of watching the guys size each other up like predators circling the same kill. The air around the field feels charged from the moment we walk out. I can see it in the set of their shoulders, the way the rival players throw those sharp, measuring glances at our guys. And, of course, Flynn notices everything, his gaze sweeping the field once before locking on the tallest of their defensemen. The warmup stretches don’t do much to soften anyone’s mood. The drills start, and within minutes, it’s all grunts and sharp impacts, bodies hitting hard and refusing to give ground. I keep my eyes on Flynn, watching the way he reads each play, how precise his movements are, almost calculated, but natural enough to pass as instinct. Tom’s got that same glint in his eye he always gets when he smells a chance to one-up Flynn. Every time he makes a decent block, he glan
Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 45
Kaya POVThe knock at Flynn’s door still echoes in my ears as we head downstairs, the low hum of conversation from the other team mates rooms drifting through the hallway. My heart is still hammering, but I keep my face neutral, my steps even. Flynn walks just behind me, hands in his pockets, looking unbothered. Like nothing phases him. Like being caught in the middle of something the entire team will probably gossip about all night is just another part of his day. The coach’s meeting room is on the ground floor, right past the lobby. The door is propped open, voices spilling out into the corridor. When we push it open, every head turns at once. And, It is not even subtle. A few players glance at me, then at Flynn, then back again. Some try to hide their smirks, others don’t bother. I catch one of the rookies raising his eyebrows in that “called it” kind of way before someone elbows him. My grip tightens on the folder in my hand, but I keep walking toward an empty seat at the sid
Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 44
Kaya POV By the time I get back to the stadium after scrolling past the blog for hours, the rumor mill is still spinning, except now, it’s not about me. The blog that trashed Flynn yesterday is gone. Not “took the post down” gone. Entire site. Crashed. Lily texted me a screenshot before it disappeared completely. Server error 504. Site unavailable. I’m still staring at the blank screen when I spot him outside, leaning against the side of the team bus, sleeves pushed up, hair falling a little into his eyes. Flynn. The sight of him instantly lowers the noise in my head. Which is dangerous. “You,” I say, pointing the phone at him as I walk closer. “Did you…?” I stop a few feet away eyes widening disbelief. “Don’t lie. Did you put a virus in the blog?” His mouth curves, slow and wicked. “Why, Miss Williams,” he says, like he’s tasting my name, “that would be illegal.” I cross my arms, my lip lifting slightlyin a teasing smile. “Flynn.” The smirk deepens, his voice dropping just e
Programmed the Quaterback Robot to Love 43
Kaya POV The first thing I see when I walk into the facility the next morning is Tom’s smug face. He’s leaning against the wall near the lockers, arms crossed, a look that says he’s been waiting for me. His phone is already in his hand, the screen tilted so I can see the headline in bold, black letters. FLYNN FETCHER: IS THE NEW HERO HIDING SOMETHING? Underneath it, a grainy photo of Flynn mid-game, helmet in one hand, sweat running down his jaw, eyes locked on something off-camera. The caption underneath, “A perfect face with a missing past”. “Good morning to you too,” I mutter, brushing past him. Tom pushes off the wall, following me like a shadow. “Told you,” he says, voice dripping satisfaction. “Perfection cracks. Every time.” I stop at my locker, open it slowly, pretending his voice is just background noise. “And yet you’re still obsessed with him.” His smirk sharpens. “I’m not obsessed. I just don’t like frauds. Or the women who defend them.” I slam my locker
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