Man Olid wasn’t supposed to be at the training center three days in a row.  

He told himself it was “business observation.” His assistant called it “a crush with a dress code.”

Bailey called it “unnecessary.”

When he appeared again that morning, leaning casually against the court door with his tie undone and a smoothie in hand, she didn’t even look up.

“You realize this isn’t a co-working space, right?” she said, focusing on her footwork drills.

“I’m here for research,” he said. “Athlete psychology. Team dynamics.”

“You’re a finance major.”

“Exactly. I analyze things.”

“Like what—my patience?”

“Among others.” He sipped the smoothie. “You’re very data-rich, by the way.”

She turned, racket in hand. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I could write an entire thesis about how you pretend not to enjoy our conversations.”

“I don’t pretend.” She hit a perfect serve. “I genuinely don’t.”

He smirked. “Denial. Classic early-stage attraction symptom.”

“Diagnosis: arrogance.”

“Touché.”  

Bailey ignored him and served again. He watched the movement—clean, precise, zero wasted motion.  

When she turned back, he was still watching, head tilted slightly.

“Stop staring,” she said.

“I’m observing greatness.”

“You’re distracting greatness.”

“Would it help if I looked impressed instead of interested?”

“Neither helps.”

He grinned. “Then I’m out of options.”

“Good. Leave.”

“Can’t. I just made a bet with your assistant.”

Bailey froze. “You what?”

“Kaiylin. Nice girl, bad poker face. She said you’d ignore me for the entire week.”

“And you decided to gamble on me?”

“Of course. You’re the most interesting variable I’ve ever met.”

Bailey set her racket down. “What happens if you win?”

“I get to choose your post-practice meal.”

“And if you lose?”

“I sponsor the entire team’s dinner.”

She arched a brow. “You’re that confident?”

“I’m that hungry.”

Bailey considered, arms crossed. “Fine. But if I catch you interrupting practice, you lose automatically.”

“Define ‘interrupt.’”

“Breathing counts.”

He laughed. “Cruel but fair.”

Thirty minutes later, he was still there—sitting quietly this time, jotting notes like a model student.  

Bailey pretended not to notice. She noticed everything.

Kaiylin, of course, noticed too. She leaned toward Bailey mid-drill. “He’s cute when he’s pretending to behave.”

Bailey muttered, “He’s dangerous when he’s pretending to behave.”

Kaiylin giggled. “Same difference.”

When practice ended, Bailey found him waiting near the lockers, grinning like a man who thought he’d won.

“You didn’t talk to me,” she said. “So technically you lost.”

“I didn’t talk. You just talked *about* me. That’s engagement.”

“That’s delusion.”

“Semantics.”

He held up a takeout bag. “Thai food. You looked like a pad thai person.”

“I look like someone who didn’t agree to dinner.”

He shrugged. “And yet here we are.”

She sighed, giving up. “You really don’t understand the word ‘no,’ do you?”

“I understand it perfectly. I just like testing if people mean it.”

“And when they do?”

He met her gaze—less teasing, more honest. “Then I stop.”

That tone startled her more than she wanted to admit.  

She looked away first. “You’re impossible.”

“Unforgettable,” he corrected, softly.

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Later, when she walked out of the building with the bag he’d somehow convinced her to keep, she found a note taped to the lid.

**‘You play sharp. You live sharper. Don’t forget to eat.’ — M**

Bailey shook her head, smiling despite herself.  

And somewhere across the parking lot, Man watched her open the box and thought—  

maybe, for once, his kind of trouble was exactly what someone needed.