I’d bet the last of my stash of gourmet chocolate bars that he’s listening to every word his coach says while still making me tingle in the lady bits.
“Lord have mercy,” Sheila whispers.
“I haven’t had a hot flash in twenty years, but I’m sweating right now,” Evelyn murmurs.
“Is he picturing you naked?” Odette asks.
“What kind of question is that?” Evelyn retorts. “Of course he is. Look at the man.”
I bite my lip, because honestly?
Him looking at me like that is making me picturehimnaked.
And Fletcher Huxley naked should be classified as one of the greatest world wonders.
I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs tighter together.
And then I blow him a kiss.
He freezes for half a second, then licks his lips, and then looks back at his coach.
Another man makes a noise from somewhere on the other side of the pitch, and I realize we have an audience.
Specifically, my brother.
I locate him on the grass and blow him a kiss too. Where Fletcher is a forward, Silas is a back. He’s made a name for himself as a pretty physical defender. Right now, he’s in the middle of a passing drill.
No, check that.
Right now, he’s flipping me off.
“Eyes on the ball, Collins,” the head coach yells. “You drop it, we lose. And I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
I don’t cackle.
Out loud.
But I definitely cackle in my head, and my smile can absolutely be classified as a smirk.
There’s movement on Evelyn’s other side, and I realize Fletcher’s dad has decided to join us.
“Trying to make up for a lifetime of not being what he needed?” Odette murmurs to him.
He looks at her, then at the ground. “You have a way with words, ma’am.”
“You can’t be a parent and not fuck it up.”
“I’d prefer to be a parent who can fix it.”
My heart squeezes.
I know a little bit about parents not understanding what I need, and I know a lot more about feeling like they don’t care.
Seeing Fletcher’s dad trying?
It’s more than my own father would do.
Unless it’s merely lip service.
