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Coach Clara Summers came to the Olympics to chase gold, not trouble. But when twin brothers—both on her coaching staff and both far too charming for her own good—start blurring the lines between competition and connection, her calm, collected game plan doesn’t stand a chance.

Here is an excerpt from Chapter One:

Two years. It had been two long years since I last saw him in person. Texts and late-night calls had kept us orbiting each other, the kind of friendship that hummed with unspoken possibilities, but now we were about to collide again.

I typed back quickly: Carousel 6. Hurry, I have things to tell you.

Sixteen days in Los Angeles, sixteen days of the most significant assignment of my coaching career, and yet the only thing I could think about was Nate. Seeing him again and proving to myself that I had not imagined the pull between us.

My fingers hovered over the phone a second longer than needed, my reflection ghosted in the dark screen, smiling like the woman I used to be before I learned to ration hope.

When I looked up, I saw him with broad shoulders. Dark hair, I would recognize anywhere. Standing with his phone in hand, just beyond the cluster of tired travelers. My heart did a reckless somersault.

He looked the same, except maybe softer around the eyes, and for one strange heartbeat, I could smell the same aftershave that used to linger in his hoodies when he’d lend them to me at meets.

I did not think so. I just ran.

Suitcase wheels clattered as I let go of the handle and broke into a sprint. My sandals slapped against the tile, and laughter bubbled in my throat. Two years of waiting, of wondering if the spark had been real, and here he was, right in the middle of LAX baggage claim.

“Nate!” I called, launching myself forward.

He looked up, startled, just as I leapt. My arms wrapped around his neck, my lips pressed to his in a rush of pure joy.

For one heartbeat, everything felt exactly right.

People around us gasped and smiled; someone’s kid giggled, “They’re in love!”, and for a breath I believed him.

Then gravity reminded me it had other plans.

He staggered backward, dropping his phone mid-sentence, arms coming up too late and too awkward. His eyes widened in shock. The next second, his grip faltered. With no room for my feet to land, I careened sideways, clipped a rolling suitcase, and tumbled hard onto the unforgiving tile floor.