PREGNANT FOR THE FOOTBALL KING

Episode 2: Ava Bennett

His fingers still circled her wrist.

Ava looked down, staring at them, a little stunned at the boldness of someone who just grabbed a stranger without bothering to explain himself, like he was perfectly entitled to it.

“You can let go,” she said.

“I know.”

He didn’t.

There was something about the way he said it—so casual, so certain—that sent a chill up her spine. It wasn’t charming, not in the way charm tries to win you over. This felt more like he was just stating a fact. That threw her off. It almost seemed like he thought he had some kind of claim on her, and, honestly, what rattled her most was that some part of her didn’t actually mind. If anything, she felt herself pulled toward it, which freaked her out even more.

“Ava Bennett,” she finally said, her voice small, because he just kept watching her, waiting for her to say something else, and the silence felt like a dare. “That’s my full name,” she added, a little sharper. “No secrets, no scandals. Sorry if you were expecting something juicier.”

“Disappointed isn’t the word I’d use.”

“No?”

He released her wrist, but he did it on his terms, his eyes fixed firmly on hers. “No,” he said, calm as ever. “I don’t get disappointed, Ava Bennett. But I do get curious. Doesn’t happen much these days, so when it does, I pay attention.” He studied her, watching every tiny flicker of reaction, soaking it all in.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Does it?”

I need more information to make a decision.

His face shifted—not quite a smile, but close. The corner of his mouth twitched, telling her he found her a lot more interesting than he was letting on.

Priya let out a cough—loud and obvious, as if she was trying to cause a scene. “I’m going to grab a towel,” she said, but nobody was really listening. Then she ducked into the crowd, as subtle as a fire truck.

Coward.

Somehow, it felt like they were the only two people in the whole room, even with three hundred people swirling around and every camera phone pointed their way.

Ava nodded at the wine stain blooming on his shirt. “You should deal with that,” she said, happy to look at anything except his eyes. “If it sets, you’ll never get it out.”

“It’s just a shirt.”

“This two-thousand-dollar shirt is about to make the news.”

“Is that concern I hear?”

“That’s guilt. Big difference. Concern would mean I care about you.”

“And guilt?”

I just ruined something expensive, and now I’m worried my landlord’s going to be extra annoyed when I’m late on rent.

He watched her for a second too long, like he was recalculating. “You really don’t care who I am.”

“I know who you are. You’re the guy whose shirt I spilled on.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She folded her arms, careful not to get too close. “I know what you’re getting at,” she said. “You want me to admit I know you’re Lucas King—the national team captain, billboard superstar, and star of that protein bar ad my little brother is obsessed with.”

His eyes locked on hers, something sharp lighting up, like she’d finally said something real instead of reading lines off a script. “You’ve seen that ad?” he asked, almost eager.

“Against my will. Over and over.”

He said that usually, people who met him spent the first few minutes going on about how much they love the team, or trying to take selfies, or begging him to say hi to their cousin’s soccer team. It was just the routine, and maybe then they’d actually talk like normal people. But at first, it was always the same—fandom, pictures, favors.

“I spilled a drink on you and insulted your shirt in less than a minute. Not exactly your usual welcome, I guess.”

“It’s the most interesting five minutes I’ve had tonight.”

“High standards you’ve got.”

“You keep saying that.” His eyes dipped, slow and deliberate, to her mouth, then came back to hers, not sorry at all. “Maybe my standards aren’t the issue.”

The air buzzed between them, dense and electric—the kind of drama she’d only ever read about in magazines her patients left behind. Every sensible part of her brain told her to turn away, laugh it off, find Priya, stay out of trouble. But her feet stayed put. The silence between them was so thick it felt like she’d suffocate. Her logic wanted her to leave, but her curiosity wanted to see what happened next. She just stood there, caught, while the tension grew heavy enough to make it hard to breathe.

She didn’t budge.

“Come on, dance with me,” Lucas said, voice low and a little dangerous, making it sound like he wasn’t asking.

“I just ruined your shirt.”

“You messed up. Now you fix it.”

“By dancing?”

“Give me four minutes, don’t trample me, and we’ll call it even.”

“That’s a weird way to ask for an apology.”

He held out his hand, palm up, waiting like he already knew what she’d do, just letting her pretend she had a choice. “You can take this,” he said, “or we can stand here while you apologize another ten times. I’ve counted three so far. Want to keep going?”

“I hate that you’re counting.”

“I hate that you’re stalling.”

Her head was swimming with all the reasons this was a terrible idea—the cameras, the headlines, the canyon between their worlds. Still, his hand stayed out, steady, and deep inside she felt a warm jolt of recklessness she hadn’t felt in years. Logic was screaming at her to walk away, but her body was already leaning in. The consequences were still sitting at the edge of her mind, but, honestly, she didn’t care right now. His touch felt like a spark, setting off a flame she’d forgotten she had.

She grinned, her eyes dancing as she put her hand in his, all her internal alarms muted for a second. “One dance,” she teased. “But if you step on my toes, I’m telling everyone in here that Lucas King not only ruins shirts but sucks at dancing too.”

“Deal.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers with a confidence that made her heartbeat stutter. There was something possessive in the way he did it, and it sent another shiver through her. Before she could reconsider, he pulled her onto the dance floor. The crowd parted, almost automatically. People turned, phones went up, and there was a ripple of energy in the air, like a frequency everyone suddenly tuned into. The conversation and looks followed them—a reminder that he was used to being the center of attention, and now she was caught up in it with him.

Ava let herself be drawn in, her heart pounding, realizing she’d just crossed a line. This wasn’t just an accident anymore, and she knew it.

He pulled her close, his hand resting on her lower back, and Ava felt sparks fly between them. Trouble, she thought. I am walking straight into trouble. And she didn’t want to stop.