Bonnie wore jeans and a light blue shirt that made it clear which team she supported.
Her gaze met mine, and her mouth dropped open a moment before she smiled widely.
That reaction—so honest and forthright—knocked me off-balance and kicked my heart into gear. She was so sweet, so earnest, and distractingly beautiful in the early-morning light.
I lifted my hand off my clipboard and gave her a small wave. About that time, Mac stopped to set up her chairs, but Bonnie didn’t seem to notice. She kept right on staring at me and stumbled into her sister.
I looked down at my clipboard, fighting a smile, thinking all those ridiculous man-bun instructional videos on YouTube might not have been a waste of time after all.
Maybe I wanted her to think about me. Maybe I’d been hoping she’d show up for the game this morning. I liked that she’d kept her word to the girls. Something that could have easily been written off as casual, an agreement made in the moment and then quickly forgotten. But of course, she was here. Bonnie didn’t fall flat on her promises. She wouldn’t leave anyone hanging. That just wasn’t her.
I was glad she was here because I’d wanted to see her, too. I’d thought about that kiss more than a few times in the last three days. The way she’d felt hugging me tight on the back of my bike. All her softness and sweetness and the way she’d trusted me with her secrets. But I knew I needed to be careful.
Bonnie was just coming off a messy divorce, one she hadn’t wanted. It made sense that her feelings would be all over the place and still tied up with her ex. She was vulnerable and probably not ready for ... anything involving me. Not that I really knew what that might be.
I didn’t really date. I wasn’t sure what I could offer someone like her, beyond a roll in the hay.
A quick rebound.
But something about the thought of that had me gripping the pen in my hand a little too tightly. And when I told myself to stop being an idiot, I looked up to see the game had started.
I made myself focus, forced my attention on what was happening on the field. Not the blond sitting opposite, cheering her heart out for my team.
Brady shouted encouragement and direction. The girls responded, playing well together. But Gia hadn’t been exaggerating; the Vultures played to win. Two girls with black jerseys received warnings for slide tackling, a move that wasn’t allowed at this age.
Partway through the first twenty-five-minute half, a girl from the opposing team viciously elbowed Jamie out of the way well before the ball got within striking distance. Jamie went flying, her small body barrel-rolling on the grass.
Brady and I both stepped onto the field as the whistle blew, stopping play for the foul.
But Jamie gamely hopped to her feet, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m okay,” she told Raeanne, who’d hurried over to check on her. She winced but gave Brady and me a thumbs-up.
Shouts came from the opposite sideline. Angry little-boy squawks of protest. “That should have been a red card!” Jacob shouted from behind the line of parents in their chairs. “Get in the game, ref!”
Brady whacked me on the shoulder, drawing my attention. “See. Told you.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the kid who was losing his mind over Jamie getting steamrolled.
I shook my head, then said, “What’s a red card?”
My co-coach gave me a disgusted look. “Go home and watch an MLS game. Or at least Ted Lasso. Educate yourself, Coach. Come on.”
Play continued until the whistle blew for halftime. Then Brady talked to the girls while they drank water in a circle around him.
A few minutes into the second half, a girl ran onto the field from out of nowhere. She had wild brown hair and just started chasing the ball down.
“Who is that?” I said, mildly alarmed.
“I don’t know,” Brady replied.
Raeanne was telling the kid to leave, and the high schooler officiating the game apparently didn’t get paid enough to care that we had a feral child on the field.
“That’s Addie,” Gia said from my elbow. “I guess she got back from vacation.”
The name rang a bell. There’d been one kid who hadn’t shown up to practice yet. I was pretty sure she was on my roster.
“You can’t just run on the field,” Callie said from her place on the ground next to her twin, when the girl—Addie—finally made it over to us.
“How did you even get a jersey?” I wondered aloud. I’d just handed them out this morning.
She stood before us unapologetically. “I grabbed it out of your bag. When can I play?”
