My face heats instantly. “Gracie!”
“I bet she is,” Chase says, his smile turning downright sinful as he watches me squirm.
Gracie giggles, her work here clearly done, then pivots as her coach’s whistle cuts through the air. “Gotta go. See you later.”
“Jeez,” I say as I watch her sprint away. “When she goes to college, there will be no one around to embarrass me anymore.”
“I’m sure I can pick up the slack.”
“Don’t even think about it.” I smile.
“Oh, I’m thinking about it, Violet,” he murmurs, his gaze dragging over my face. “Most of the damn day. And night.”
I squint up at him, the sunlight behind casting a sharp glow around his frame like he’s been cut from light and shadow. My chest tightens, that constant knot of uncertainty winding even tighter. My instincts tell me to keep my barriers firm, but another part of me, the one that leans into his touch without thinking, isn’t so sure.
I swallow hard and glance away, pointing to a grassy bank further down. “Let’s sit over there. It’s got a good view.”
As I lead Chase to the bank, he rests his hand on my lower back; the touch making my stomach flutter. I find a quiet spot, and as soon as we sit, he moves closer, his fingers brushing over my knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Every chance he gets, he touches me, his hand ghosting over my arm,his thigh pressing against mine, the constant hum of awareness crackling between us that I like a lot more than I care to admit.
I wave when I spot Gabi’s mom on the other side of the field, surrounded by her posse of soccer moms, every single one of their eyes eating up Chase. Not that I can blame them. He’s sitting here like he is posing for a high-end cologne advert, his sleeves rolled up, tanned forearms flexed, his shirt slightly unbuttoned. Thank the lord, they don’t know why his tie is currently discarded somewhere on his desk because, then, they would have something to be jealous about.
“I’ll go get hot dogs,” I say, jumping to my feet, keen to avoid their watchful gazes.
Chase shakes his head. “Sit, I’ll go.”
“It’s really not a big deal—”
“Violet,” he says low enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Sit down.”
I do. But not without a huff as I slump back down, folding my arms, aware it’s pointless to argue.
He smirks, his lips brushing my cheek. “Just let me look after you.”
Hell, can he quit being so goddamn charming? I can’t cope with all these lingering touches. My body is on the verge of meltdown as it is. I’m one smoldering gaze away from ripping off his Loro Piana shirt.
I smile to myself as every soccer mom’s head swivels when he walks by. There’s no way he doesn’t notice—no wonder his ego is massive.
On the field, Gracie is taking practice shots, her face set with determination. From what I can tell, she seems to like Chase, and she’s no pushover. Her opinion means everything to me.
My gaze drifts back to Chase, standing in line at the food truck, waiting patiently. I can’t imagine he does that often, not with his lifestyle. He catches my eye and smiles—one of those rare,unfiltered ones. The kind that strips away all the arrogance and hard edges, leaving something genuine beneath.
And for a second, I see the version of him I glimpsed in New Paltz—the one I could so easily fall in love with. It’s unsettling. Because I’m pretty sure this is casual. Everyone knows Chase doesn’t do relationships.
I rip my gaze from Chase when a familiar voice calls my name.
“Hi, Violet, I thought I’d see you here today.” I look up, shielding the sun from my eyes with my palm, to see Danny smiling down at me. He’s the coach for a rival team in Gracie’s league, so I often come across him at the games. We dated back in high school, but there are zero hard feelings. We were just kids who grew up and moved on.
“Hey, Danny. Oh, so it’syourteam we’ll be beating today,” I grin.
“Oooh, fighting, talk straight off the bat. I like it.” He laughs, his gaze flicking to the space next to me. “You on your own today? No Seb, I see.”
Before I can answer, Chase reappears, handing me a hot dog and a napkin. His expression is neutral, but the slight crease in his brow gives him away.
“Thanks, Chase.” I take the hot dog, sensing the shift in atmosphere immediately. He doesn’t acknowledge Danny—just studies him with that cool, assessing gaze that makes people squirm.
“You two know each other?” Chase asks, stepping in just a little too close, his sheer presence enough to make Danny edge back. His Brooklyn accent, usually controlled, slips out thicker now—rougher like it does when he feels challenged.
Oh boy, could this be any more awkward?
