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“No!” he cries, running to grab his backpack.
Mission accomplished. He’s in a better mood, awake and moving, and if I know my son, he’ll get some decent mileage in sharing the ‘lame joke my mom told this morning’.
Practice tonight is a scrimmage with another team. It’s the first time my utter lack of football knowledge really sinks in.
I mean, I know I don’t have much of a clue, but I’ve been reading up a little on my too-short lunch breaks and Cooper talks football pretty non-stop, so I thought I’d do okay. Practices have been good, at least.
But from the coin toss, there are rules and plays I’m clueless about. At first, I think the kids are just running around like feral cats chasing a laser light and they’re as confused as I am. But slowly, patterns emerge and I can see the kids’ eyes on one another.
They’re actually playing, and they know what they’re doing. Luckily, we have Bruce, and he’s a natural, both with the football aspect and with the boys too. He has really whipped them into a team and it shows. There’s no showboating or ball hogging, and they’re actually holding their positions and running the plays we’ve been practicing.
I’m a little in awe of the whole thing if I’m honest. I’m a lot in awe of Bruce.
I glance over at him, standing right beside me with his full attention locked on the field. He’s watching every step, reading every kid out there and guiding them from the sideline in a way that makes them hear the direction and act accordingly. There’s no yelling, no insults, no anger, just a good man doing a good thing.
He has no idea how much I appreciate that and even less of an idea of how special he truly is.
After a long line of high-fives from both teams and a coach handshake, we circle up for the team cheer.
“All right, guys, next meeting is our first game. We’re ready. You’ve worked so hard for this, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re already winners because we’re a team. We’re the Wildcats. The game is just a chance to pull together even more and maybe show off a bit.” Bruce smirks at the boys, and they start flexing their little boy biceps like the Incredible Hulk. Bruce joins in, his muscles popping out in a way that makes my entire body flush.
And that’s before I start imagining his sexy body with no clothes on, muscles rippling as he holds himself above me. And okay, I know this is a weird one, but my favorite thing about Bruce’s muscles is when he wraps his arms around me and puts his chin on my head. It makes me feel safe and protected, my smaller body cocooned by his much larger one. I swear I could suffocate against his chest and die a happy woman.
His eyes jump over to me, checking to make sure I’m watching and gauging my reaction. I almost look away quickly, embarrassed at being busted so obviously, but instead, I stick my tongue out at him and join in with their ‘gun show’. Granted, my stick arms aren’t all that strong compared to Bruce’s, but my biceps are bigger than several of the boys’.
That’s not really a rousing endorsement of your muscle-y goodness.
Even my inner monologue is in a good mood today, teasing me with a healthy dose of silliness.
After the team cheer and a quick conversational recap of the first game expectations with the parents, we head home. Well, to mine and Cooper’s house.
But it does feel more like our home as we sit down and have dinner. I listen dreamily as Bruce and Cooper replay practice, move by move and play by play. It all washes over me, buoying me like fizzy champagne.
I’m going to tell him tonight.
I love him, but also that I need his patience because while I’m swimming pretty well right now, drowning in him seems pretty possible too. I think he’d like that, though, and honestly, I might too.
The thought rolls in my head all evening, and when I come back down the hall from tucking Cooper in, the house is empty. It doesn’t even occur to me that Bruce left because I know he wouldn’t. My trust is that deep with him.
I look on the back porch to find him sipping on a beer, a second one with rivers running down the bottle sitting at his feet. He got one for me too, I think with a smile.
I open the door slowly so it doesn’t creak in the dark evening. Bruce doesn’t so much as move a muscle, eyes focused on the moon far out on the horizon. But he’s aware of my every move, every expression, every thought. He’s always attuned to me that way, and while not as skilled at it as he is, I can read him well enough to know that he’s preparing for something. His shields are fortified, his walls ready for war.
