Falling For my Fiancé’s Enemy
The others followed, reluctant, muttering, but moving.
I blew the whistle as they began sprinting, while I just watched.
When the last girl crossed the line on the second lap, chests heaving, I was already setting cones.
“Possession square, Four-touch max. No standing still. If the ball stops, everyone drops for twenty push-ups. Move.” They grumbled but they moved.
Every time someone half-assed a pass, I blew the whistle sharply, piercing to annoy them.
“Again. Faster.”
Every time someone walked instead of jogged to reset, I pointed.
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