So what the fuck was I doing?
I felt self-conscious. I didn’t belong here, and it couldn’t have been more obvious. As Troy had noted, I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. I looked like a lost lumberjack who’d somehowstumbled out of the forest and into the middle of their practice. Parents and kids aimed curious glances at me, but ultimately, they liked Dexter too much to push back on the odd addition to his coaching staff.
Then again, he’d given a pretty speech that made it seem as if my presence wasn’t a half-assed impromptu decision but rather a well-conceived idea to include the most important folks in the community…loggers.
“Hey, guys, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s new to flag football, but like all of us, he’s a big football fan. He knows defense, and I know he can teach us a lot. Plus—and this is a huge plus—he happens to have a very important job in the community.”
“I do?” I worked with a few parents in the crowd who no doubt wondered what was going on. My face and neck felt warm with embarrassment. I stared straight ahead, wishing I’d never gotten into his SUV.
Dexter was oblivious. “He’s a logger and a craftsman. That means he can take a chunk of wood and make it into anything.”
That was true, but… “Hurry it up,” I whisper-hissed.
“Please help me welcome Viggo!” Dexter shoved a clipboard under his arm and clapped.
“Yo, that’s Big V!” a scruffy logger in a John Deere ball cap yelled.
Troy brightened. “Big V. I like that!”
And yes, now everyone was chanting, “Big V, Big V, Big V…”
With a stoic expression in place, I pivoted slightly to glare at Dexter. He pursed his lips in amusement, then blew a whistle, signaling the beginning of practice.
I was given the task of throwing the ball—first to help the kids warm up and later, as timed with a specific play Dexter called. He would shout out a number and point in a random direction, wordlessly indicating where I should throw the football. My initial attempts were a bit wild. My aim was good, but I had too much firepower. The kids scrambled to catch balls I launched intothe stratosphere, laughing like loons as though they assumed I was being funny.
“Do that again! I got this one,” a kid named Rhys called, waving his arm like a windmill.
I growled, which made them all laugh.
Dexter snickered and handed over another ball. “They like you.”
“Hmph. I don’t think they’re learning anything,” I grumbled, lining my thumbs at the laces.
“They’re having fun. That’s what counts.” He patted my shoulder and jogged to the opposite end of the field to help Troy with a sprinting exercise.
I stared after him, fixating on his perfect ass for a moment before realizing I was surrounded by a gaggle of twelve-year-olds.
“Do you really know how to make anything out of wood? Like…could you carve a canoe?”
“Yes,” I replied matter-of-factly.
“What about a house? Could you make a whole house?” Rhys squinted, his brown curls falling into his eyes.
“Yes.”
“How? Wouldn’t that take forever?” a kid with floppy blond hair asked.
“I would require helpers, but it could be done.” I pulled my elbow back and launched another ball into the air.
The kids gasped as the football disappeared from view for a beat.
“That’s so cool! Teach us how to do that!”
I frowned, unsure if I was supposed to pass along poor techniques or admit that I didn’t remember enough of the fundamentals to correct my mistakes. But…I gave it a try.
“Let’s try to do it the right way. Use your whole body. Your feet, your legs,andyour arm.”
The blond kid nodded vigorously. “That’s what Silas says! He’s my stepdad. Do you know him? He used to play professional football.”
