Eden bursts out laughing. “I fear a crooked nose wouldonly give him a dangerous edge, and you know ladies love a dangerous man.”
My frown deepens to a scowl.
“Backstory, please,” Paisley sings out.
I run a hand through my hair, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. “Oliver’s new coach is an aspiring fitness influencer.” Even I hear the disdain in my tone.
“Klein is jealous,” Eden teases, pinching my cheek.
“False,” I declare, deepening the timbre of my voice to make my sister laugh.
Paisley looks out to the field, her eyes zeroing in on the coach leading fifteen ten-year-old boys through warm up exercises. His thigh muscles strain against his shorts, and the sleeves of his T-shirt appear to be suffocated by his biceps. Does he not own clothing that fits?
“All right, all right,” Paisley says. “I’m gonna need some proof.”
Eden whips out her phone. She has the soccer coach’s social media profile pulled up in fewer than seven seconds.
“Wow, Eden,” I gripe. “You didn’t even have to search for it. You keep it queued?”
She thrusts the phone in front of Paisley’s face, but her eyes shoot death rays at me. “Have a modicum of respect. This is Oliver’s future daddy you’re talking about.”
Paisley’s gaze rakes over the screen, pointing at a video that appears to be him demonstrating hip stretches. “I think maybe you should make him your daddy.”
“That’s it,” I mutter, annoyed at Paisley’s open appreciation. “You’re kicked out of the game, Paisley.”
“No way,” Eden interjects. She loops an arm aroundPaisley, tugging her into her side. “Paisley is my new best friend.”
I rub my temples. “I should have known introducing you two was a bad idea.”
The referee’s whistle blows, indicating the start of the game.
I swat at Eden’s phone. “If you two are done slobbering over him, there’s a game starting.”
Eden takes Paisley to the sidelines while I retrieve chairs from the back of Eden’s car. I return with two, setting them up and gesturing for Paisley to sit.
“Where’s yours?” she asks.
“Klein doesn’t sit during games,” Eden answers. “He’s too high strung.”
“Coaches don’t sit,” I inform my sister.
“Former coaches,” Eden corrects.
Paisley grins widely, far too amused by my sister’s responses.
I spend the next forty-five minutes showing Paisley exactly what Eden meant about me being high strung.
“Can you calm down?” she asks, craning her neck to watch me as I pace behind her.
I throw out an angry arm, gesturing across the field. “The coach is an idiot. Why doesn’t he tell them to stop passing toward the middle?”
Eden looks at me reproachfully. “Maybe he said something to them while they were on the sidelines but you couldn’t hear it because you’re not there? Because you are no longer Oliver’s coach?”
“Maybe I should be,” I retort, growling.
Eden’s eyebrows lift. “What, now you’re going to get a third job?”
“Hold up.” Paisley’s head swivels to my sister. “A third job? You mean because he’s a bartender and also a writer?”
