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Me: Sweet dreams, Sunday. See you in the morning.
* * *
“And with thefinal whistle blown, the Possum Run Polecats are off to the state championships!” the announcer screams enthusiastically as we make our way to midfield, shaking the other team’s hands while saying, “Good game.”
“Great game, Coach,” the other coach says, shaking my hand. “Your guys never gave up.”
“Appreciate that, Coach,” I reply. “It’s how I was taught, so I teach them to keep playing until the final whistle.”
“Well, it worked tonight, that’s for sure. We’ll be rooting for you at state, Blake,” he says.
“Gonna be a tough game, but we’ll be as prepared as we can possibly be, and I hope my boys are ready to practice their tails off,” I tell him.
Seeing my team is done shaking the hands of the other team’s players, I blow my whistle to bring them in close. “Alright guys, hit the showers because I’m sure some of your girlfriends are waiting on you in the parking lot.” Wolf whistles fill the air as several of them blush.
“Dad! Are you staying longer?” Dusty asks, coming up to stand in front of me.
“Was going to meet with the coaches to set up a game plan of sorts to get ready for state,” I admit. “Why? You got a hot date?”
“Dad,” he drawls out, smirking at me. “No, I was hoping you weren’t so I could maybe go to Aunt Cissy’s early is all. I know you and Sunday have a date when she gets off work, and don’t want to be in the way.”
“Since when are you in the way?”
He doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes at me, making me laugh. “I know I’m not, Dad, but I also know you’ve both been busy. I really like her,” he leans in to whisper. “And I know she likes cats but also likes dogs, loves her house, and wants kids.”
This kid.
“How do you know all of that?” I ask. While we’ve both seen her during this time, he hasn’t been alone with her long enough to ask those questions.
“Because I texted her.”
“You text her?”
“Well, yeah, I mean, you’re not all that good with science, Dad. I know you think you are, but she’s a nurse and has you beat, hands down! When I said something about my science grade, she gave me her phone number and told me to call or text her if I had any questions,” he replies in a ‘duh’ tone.
“I’m sure she meant if you had anysciencequestions,” I retort, holding back my smile, because I know my woman doesn’t care why he reaches out, she just wants to be there for him. Buthedoesn’t know that, so I need to give him some hell.
“Huh, well, I asked her the stuff I wanted to know, and she answered me, Dad.”
“How often do you text? Do I need to worry about you trying to steal my girl?” I tease, chuckling.
Again, he rolls his eyes at me, making the players who have been close by, and overheard our bantering, start laughing. He glares at all of them which makes them snicker even harder. Seems my boy might have his first crush, and of course, it’s on my damn woman. Sighing, I pull him close for a hug, and lean down close to his ear and whisper, “She’s mine, little man, but if you can keep a secret, I’m planning to ask her to marry me the next time we have more than ten minutes together.”
He whoops out loud, and breaks free to do some sort of weird dance, which I hope to never see again. While the boys pester him about what I said, I smirk when he doesn’t give in and disclose our secret. Instead of answering them, he ignores their taunts, and acts like he’s zipping his lips before tossing the imaginary key he used to lock his lips with, launching it over his shoulder.
“Hey, Coach, uh, I overheard Dusty asking about you taking him to his aunt’s house. I’d be happy to drive him over for you,” Timmers says. “I wasn’t planning to go out and celebrate tonight with the rest of the team. Wanna ice my leg, you know?”
Timmers has taken Dusty over to my sister’s quite a few times when I couldn’t, and I know he’s a safe, cautious driver. Still, I feel I need to warn him, because I know how my son is as well, and don’t want him to egg on Timmers and cause him to do something dumb.
“Speed limit, no assing around, seatbelts,” I bark out, making him smirk.
“Same thing you tell me every single time I take him for you, Coach. I promise, I drive like he’s my grandma who has a full pitcher of sweet tea sitting on her lap.”
The visual has me laughing as I clap him on the shoulder. “Hit the showers, then you two can go, alright?”
“Gotcha, Coach. Hey, Dustman!” he yells out. “I’m your ride to your aunt’s house, so don’t go anywhere.”
“Thanks, Timmers!” Dusty bellows in response, while I grin at my son’s nickname.
