Chapter 13: For Good Luck
1182 Words
The office had been building toward this for weeks.
What started as posters near the pantry had turned into something louder—team lists taped to glass walls, schedules scribbled over whiteboards, conversations that slowly replaced actual work. By the final week, no one was pretending anymore.
Everything led to this.
The last game.
The deciding one.
Sales had taken it personally from the start. Now—there was no disguising it.
“Finals at two.”
“Don’t disappear after lunch.”
“We’re closing this.”
Even departments that usually stayed out of each other’s way had shown up.
But Sales—Sales came prepared to win.
“You’re playing, right?”
The question came again, casual but insistent, as someone leaned against Athena’s desk.
She looked up, already smiling. “Do I look like I play basketball?”
A few laughs followed.
“You look competitive enough.”
“I am,” she said lightly. “Just selectively.”
“Then at least sit courtside. We need a witness when we win.”
She leaned back slightly, considering it just long enough to make it seem like a decision.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll watch.”
By early afternoon, the shift was undeniable.
Work didn’t stop—but it no longer mattered. People moved in groups now, heading toward the court, energy carrying ahead of them. Voices louder. Movements quicker.
It wasn’t formal.
Just a cleared space. Marked lines. Improvised seating.
But it felt like something bigger.
Like everyone understood—
this wasn’t just a game anymore.
Bobby was already there.
Dressed for it—athletic shirt, training shorts, sneakers marked from warm-ups. No trace of the office in him now. Movement easier, grounded in the court, but still unmistakably controlled.
Still him.
“Sir, no mercy today!”
He smirked. “I don’t do mercy.”
Athena arrived a little later.
Unhurried. Unearthing.
She slipped into a seat along the side, greeting a few people in passing.
“Finals,” someone said. “You made it.”
“I said I would,” she replied easily.
She settled in, crossing her legs, attention shifting to the court.
Observing.
Relaxed.
Bobby noticed her immediately.
He didn’t go to her at once.
Just watched—then, eventually, made his way over.
“Not playing?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, already amused. “You were expecting me to?”
“I considered it.”
“You overestimate me.”
“I don’t think I do.”
She gave him a look, light but knowing. “That sounds like pressure.”
“I handle pressure well.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The noise of the court moved around them—calls, footsteps, laughter—but their space felt separate.
Contained.
“You’ve been busy,” he said.
“I always am.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“You still go out for field work?”
She tilted her head slightly. “That’s part of the job.”
“Together.”
There it was again.
This time, she didn’t shut it down.
Just a faint smile.
“When it makes sense.”
The same answer.
Lighter now—but unchanged.
She shifted the conversation.
“You’re playing.”
“Yes.”
“Confident?”
A hint of a grin. “I don’t usually lose.”
She leaned slightly toward him, just enough.
“Then I should stay.”
“I’d recommend it.”
“Sir, we’re starting!”
He didn’t stand right away.
Instead, he reached for his wrist, removing his watch.
“For safekeeping,” he said, holding it out.
She extended her hand to take it—
but he didn’t let go immediately.
“Wait.”
Her gaze lifted to his.
A small pause.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he took her wrist gently.
Turned it slightly.
And fastened the watch around it himself.
The touch was brief.
Deliberate.
Closer than necessary.
“There,” he said quietly.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t comment.
Just looked at the watch now resting against her skin.
Then back at him.
“That’s a lot of trust,” she said.
“I’m selective.”
Then his wallet.
Then his towel.
She laughed softly as she adjusted everything in her hold.
“You’re giving me everything now.”
“I trust your judgment.”
“That’s a risk.”
“Calculated.”
Then—his cap.
He placed it lightly on her head before she could react.
She blinked, then let out a quiet laugh.
“You’re assigning roles now?”
“Temporary.”
She adjusted it slightly, settling into it without thinking.
“For good luck,” he said.
She looked at him then—more directly.
“Do you believe in that?”
“Today, I might.”
A small pause.
Then—
“Do I get a kiss for good luck?”
She didn’t miss a beat.
“You wish.”
But there was something different in it now.
Not dismissal.
Something closer to play.
She held his gaze a second longer.
Then, lightly—
“You’ll have to earn that.”
Bobby smiled.
Not restrained.
Real. “Fair enough.”
He stood then, pulled back toward the court—but not before one last glance.
At her.
The cap.
The watch—on her wrist.
“Don’t lose them,” he said.
“I won’t.”
The game started fast.
Louder than before.
Sharper.
Every movement carried weight now—every pass, every call, every play answered by the crowd that had gathered too close, too invested.
Athena leaned back slightly in her seat.
Watching.
But not idly anymore.
On the court, Bobby played exactly as he said he would.
Focused.
Controlled.
Certain.
But every now and then—
his gaze shifted.
Not to the scoreboard.
Not to the crowd.
To her.
And every time—
she was still there.
Watching.
Cap still on her head.
His watch resting on her wrist.
A faint smile she didn’t bother hiding anymore.
Not just observing.
Present.
And when the final point came—
sharp, decisive, undeniable—
the court broke into noise.
Victory.
Bobby didn’t stay in the center of it for long.
Acknowledged the team.
Returned the energy.
But his attention—
already elsewhere.
At the edge of the court—
Athena.
Still seated.
Still composed.
Still wearing his cap.
Still wearing his watch.
He walked toward her, the weight of the win still in his expression—but something quieter underneath it.
“I told you,” He said.
She looked up at him, eyes steady.
“You did.”
A pause.
Then, just slightly—
“You earned it.”
His gaze dropped—to her wrist.
Lingering there a moment longer than necessary.
Then back to her.
“And the kiss?” he asked, voice lower.
She smiled.
Slow.
Measured.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” she said.
A beat.
“But,” she added lightly, “you’re getting closer.”
And this time— she didn’t look away first.
- Writer
