“Did you finish the game, or did you just get naked?” Evelyn wants to know.
“His father’s sitting three rows behind us,” I murmur.
And the three of them do what you do when you have no fucks left to give in the world, and they all turn and stare.
I should’ve anticipated that.
I blame the mellowing effect of my high-end hot chocolate.
And the complete and utter satisfaction still relaxing my body.
“You’re Fletcher’s dad?” Odette says to the general.
I’m still breathing to build up my own courage to turn around when he answers a quiet but authoritative, “Yes.”
“We like Fletcher,” Evelyn says. “He bought us wine one night.”
“And his dog is the sweetest,” Sheila adds.
“And he’s beensucha gentleman about wooing Goldie,” Odette continues.
“Such a gentleman,” Evelyn and Sheila agree.
Wooing. I’m still stuck on thewooing. And it makes me gulp my hot chocolate too fast, which nearly singes the tip of my tongue.
“Are you single?” Evelyn adds.
And it’s time for me to get over myself. I turn at that and smileat him as if I didn’t have breakfast with him without my underwear on this morning. “Morning again, General Daniel. Good to see you.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods and says, “Goldie,” in a way that makes me wonder if he was contemplating calling meJessica.
“This take you back to Fletcher’s early years in rugby?” I ask.
Something flickers over his face as he lifts his gaze to the pitch, but he returns his attention to me quickly. “My wife did the taxi-driving for the kids. I didn’t attend most practices.”
My brain leaps to conclusions that I don’t question.
The general worked a lot. Of course he did. You don’t get promoted to general in the military if you don’t.
He probably had high standards for his kids. Fletcher’s work ethic is undeniable. And he said that his sister is an orthopedic surgeon. They probably had a regimented childhood with a lot of expectations.
Or maybe I’m projecting after watching what my own father expected of Silas and me in order to earn his love.
“It’s nice that you can be here now,” I say, since I’m honestly out of my element at this point.
I don’t help clients heal relationships with their parents. I help them find the path they want for themselves.
The parent thing is a job for therapy.
Or at least for a coach who doesn’t have her own parental baggage.
I turn around to face forward and find Fletcher watching me from the pitch while he and about half the team stand around one of the coaches, probably getting instruction on their next drills.
A full-body shiver races across my skin.
The man does nothing half-assed, and that includes looking at me when he’s supposed to be practicing.
But this is Fletcher.
