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My daughter’s voice fades into the background. Mac jogs onto the field and starts coaching the boys, clapping his hands and directing them into lines, calling for sprints and drills for their warm-up. The group moves closer, and I watch Mac take a ball to demonstrate the next drill.
Of course he can play soccer. Is there anything the man can’t do?
“Trina,” someone calls out behind me. I turn to see Rick, the dad from Katie’s class. He smiles warmly at me, then shifts his gaze to Katie and Kevin, and his steps slow. His son Ricky is at his side, eyes on the field where the older boys are playing.
“Hi, Rick,” I say pleasantly, while on the inside, I scream. Why the hell is he here? Why the hell is Mac here? Why couldn’t they both show up last game, when Kevin was safely in another city? I shift my gaze to the field and hunt through my panicking brain for something to say. “Which one is yours?”
“Number twelve,” Rick answers, pointing. “Nate.” He scrubs his son Ricky’s head and points to a stray soccer ball. “Go kick a ball around.”
Ricky glances at my daughter. “Wanna come play, Katie?”
“Can I, Mom?” She looks at me.
“Of course.”
The two kids dash off, and I’m left with my ex-husband on one side of me, the man who wanted a coffee date with me on the other, and my daughter’s second grade teacher—who I slept with a few weeks ago—jogging off the field toward the team bench.
Wonderful.
“I haven’t seen you at any of the other games,” I tell Rick, keeping a pleasant smile on my face.
“Nate’s mom usually handles the extracurricular activities, since I work late most nights. Had the evening off, so I figured I owed it to Nate to come support him.”
“How nice.” I smile. Just great. Must be the theme of the weekend.
Mac jogs closer, and my stomach tightens. He looks really good in shorts, I notice. Defined calves, strong thighs. Legs made to be shown off. Standing about twenty feet away and facing me, Mac instructs the boys to start jogging as he delivers balls to them in some sort of give-and-go drill. His eyes flick to me, and I look away.
Kevin clears his throat.
Ah, right.
“I’m Katrina’s husband,” Kevin tells Rick while extending his hand, and I nearly have an aneurysm.
“Ex-husband,” I correct, giving him a death glare, which he completely ignores. The two men shake hands in front of me. Some weird male stare-off happens for a few seconds while I stand awkwardly between them.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, fighting to keep my hands still and not fidget. Everything is fine. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully fine. We’re just a bunch of parents watching our kids play a sport. A totally normal interaction. Nothing to worry about.
I glance back at Mac and make eye contact again.
Damn it.
Just one short hour. That’s how long I need to last. One hour till Toby’s done with his game, then I can give my kids a kiss and send them off to their dad’s for the night and run far, far away from here. Hopefully without ever having to speak to Mac.
Mac kicks a ball toward the kid in front of me—hard. The kid catches it and brings it down under control with his foot, and Mac claps. “Good work, Nate.”
I’m staring at Mac’s thighs again. The way the muscles contract when he moves. How he lunges, and the shorts hike higher to show off the paler skin, the sparse, coarse hair of his upper thighs. I saw those legs completely bare just a few weeks ago. I saw what the shorts are hiding too.
I need to stop staring. Just—look away. Look away now.
Oh, Kevin’s frowning at me. Wonderful. Did he see me ogling my kid’s soccer coach?
Side note—why is Mac even here? He wasn’t coaching any of the other games! So I have to ask: Why me? Why today? Why now?
And why does he have to look so damn good all the freaking time?
I clear my throat and glance at Rick, then ask him what he does for work. I’m too busy thinking about Mac’s legs to actually hear his answer, though. That’s why I don’t see the soccer ball come flying at my face until it’s too late to dodge it.
Mac shouts a warning that I hear a split second too late.
