“Luca will be excited to see you here,” she says, standing to hug me. Actually, it’s more like a half hug—sort of stiff, like something you’d give a coworker or acquaintance you might see at the grocery store. Somehow, it still makes me want to rip her clothes off.
“It looks like they’re about to start. I’ll just say hello during his break.”
Fred tents his hand over his eyes, looking in my direction. “If we’d known you were coming, we’d have brought another chair for you.”
“Mason can stand, Dad. He’s fine,” Bailey interjects as soon as I open my mouth to speak.
So feisty. I bite my lip. “It’s no problem at all. I don’t mind standing.” Then I squat next to Bailey’s chair, making sure she can see me through her sunglasses. “That was rude. I know you didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning because I woke up right next to you,” I say, keeping my voice low.
She blushes but doesn’t respond.
I turn to make sure she sees my wide, satisfied grin before I straighten to a stand.
The game begins, and the teams of four-and-five-year-olds run from one side of the field to the other, all chasing after the rolling soccer ball. A few times, the coaches have to remind the kids not to pick up the ball with their hands and instead use their feet to kick it. It brings out a chuckle from me each time.
I could do this—coach these kids. I’d probably do a better job than the dads out there.
Luca finally gets the ball but is instead heading down to the other team’s goal. Everyone is shouting at him to run the other way, but he still keeps going. Bailey and her parents pop out of their chairs, holding back their laughter while directing him to turn around.
Laughing, I run along the side of the field next to him. “Other way, Luca!” I cup my hand over my mouth to yell.
He jerks his head to the side. “Okay!” He smiles, then takes off running in the right direction this time.
“That’s great, Luca! That way!” I scream, waving and pointing my arms in the proper direction. And to my surprise, he gets it directly into the net, scoring his team the goal. I’m filled with pride and overcome with happiness for him.
Jumping up and down, Luca sprints across the field to give me a high-five. “Did you see that?!” he asks, out of breath.
“I did! It was awesome!”
Bailey is now standing at my side. “You did such a great job! I’m so proud of how hard you worked on that goal!” she says, giving him a quick hug before he runs off and back onto the field.
We both stand there watching Luca rejoin his team with a little extra confidence in his step.
“Thank you. I’m sure he appreciated the encouragement,” she says, keeping her eyes on the field.
“You don’t have to thank me. This is fun.”
It must have been Bailey’s turn to bring the snack because about halfway through the game, fifteen kids come bolting in ourdirection. She hands out orange slices, crackers, and mini bottles of Gatorade to the players on Luca’s team. Some of the parents walk over, while others wait for their kids to come back to them after they’ve received their snack.
Luca sits on Mary’s lap with fruit in one hand and his red drink in the other.
One of the guys on the field wearing a whistle jogs over to us. “Hi, I’m Coach Jeff, Jacob’s dad. Are you Luca’s dad?”
From the corner of my eye, water comes flying from Bailey’s mouth. She’s only standing about a foot away from me, so my entire arm gets drenched.
“I’m sorry. I thought a fly flew into my mouth,” she says, wiping the drops of water from her face.
I pull my mouth to the side and stare right at her. “I’m Mason. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff. I’m not Luca’s dad. I’m just a good friend of the family,” I say, extending my arm out.
“Great to meet you,” he says, then softens his expression and turns to Bailey. “How are you, Bailey?”
A normal person would take this as their cue to leave, but I don’t like the way thisJeffguy is now looking at Bailey. I stand right beside them with my hands in my pockets. Trying not to look too obvious, I turn my head toward the field, keeping them in my peripheral vision.
She tucks a hair behind her ear and smiles. “I’m good. How are you doing?”
“I’m good. When are we going to get the boys together again? Mallory has Jacob this weekend, so maybe we could try for the following?” he asks.
I know where this is going. He’s obviously not married, and I can just take a wild guess that Mallory is his kids’ mom, and clearly, they are not together. I already don’t like him; it’s clear he’s interested in more than just a kids’ playdate. And I know all too well what an adult playdate entails.
