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Chapter 6
Bruce
“Good job, guys,” I yell across the field as I loudly clap my hands together. “Keep it going!”
I’m aiming for motivation, but even to my ears, it sounds more like a barked order. I can feel Mike eyeballing me instead of the boys, who are running their laps. They’ve got the hang of running as a team now, and we let them go on their own, keeping watch.
They’re rounding their third lap and going for the extension of the fourth, and their initial excitement is wearing off as tiredness sets in. That’s where the motivation is supposed to come in, to cheer them on for that final push to success. I predict a dozen kids falling into their beds without a single complaint tonight.
A quick flash later, the boys cross the finish line and lay out in the grass. I look down at my watch as I walk toward them.
“Fellas, your best run time on three laps has been six-thirty. Today, you added another lap and your total time was eight-fifteen.” They groan, too tired to do math, but luckily, I’ve already done it for them. “Want the good news or the bad?”
I see a few sweaty heads perk up and lift from the grass to look at me.
“Good news is, you maintained your speed even with the additional lap, and no man was left behind. That’s amazing and shows that you pushed for it, judging by how you look right now. I like that hard work and dedication, gentlemen.”
“Bad news?” one of them asks, but I’m not sure who since it was mumbled into the ground.
“That was a good warm-up. Now let’s get to practice,” I say with a hint of evil glee. There’s a chorus of groans and I clap again. “Got two minutes for water and whining, boys, and then we’re playing some football.”
They rally, movement returning to their limbs as they seek out their water bottles and chug down some liquid refreshment. Hopefully, it reignites their fire because we’ve got forty-five minutes to go and some hard work to do.
We gather back up, and Mike gives us the breakdown of plays we’re going to run. I see Evan flinch a bit when Anthony gets quarterback, because Evan wants that spot badly, but he does as he’s told and takes the line. Good kid. He’s going to be a hell of a player one day if he keeps working hard.
They run the drill over and over again, Mike and me giving feedback and constructive criticism each time. Finally, we switch to another play and then another. We’re still in baby steps, dive right, sweep left, simple pass routes . . . but the kids are picking it up.
By the last twenty minutes of practice, my eyes are darting toward the parking lot every few seconds. Even if I won’t admit it to myself, I know I’m looking for Allyson. I’m damn near holding my breath as I wait for her sensible grey sedan to pull in, for her to walk over to the field, for her eyes to meet mine.
I wonder what I’ll see there. Hell, I can’t wait to find out, and isn’t that a fucking pisser?
On Tuesday, she’d come up all mouthy and strong, but I saw her crumbling when I pushed back and threw barbs at her. I almost felt bad until she’d spewed some shots back. We never fought like that when we were dating, but I always loved her fire, that she spoke her mind. Even about the damn baby ducks nobody else in our town gave a shit about.
And there’d been that moment of heat when I felt her eyes tracing every inch of me. I’d wanted to puff up like a damn lion, show her what she’d lost and that I’ve been just fine without her. But I’d also taken advantage of her distraction to do a little perusal of my own.
I told Bobby she’s still hot. But there’s so much more that I didn’t share. She filled out good, curves and swerves where there used to be hard angles. Her hair is shorter than it was when we were kids, but the waves still lick her shoulders, tempting me to fist them as I kiss her, fuck her mouth, pound into her pussy.
Not that I’ll be doing that ever again.
As sexy as she always has been and still is, there’s something else about her that drew my attention. She used to be so perky, the literal cliché of a cheerleader bee-bopping down the halls of our high school. She’s an adult and understandably grown out of that, of course, but what’s left seems . . . darker somehow? Like there’s a storm cloud hovering on the horizon of her very being, and I wonder what brought that on.
She’d cried when I’d asked about Cooper’s dad, though she’d tried to hide the tears from me with her bravado. I wonder if something happened to him, something that might explain the shadow over Allyson and why Cooper doesn’t have a dad.
