While waiting for Candice to return from wherever she took off to, I watch my nephew run around as he warms up for his game. It's his first year playing soccer and he's been bouncing with excitement for weeks that he's finally playing. He's been watching games with his dad since he was born, and I have a feeling he's going to be a natural.
Not gonna lie, these kids are freaking cute. The little boys on the team are adorable in their matching uniforms and socks that cover half of their little legs. One player's shirt swamps him, hanging down to his knees as he runs to the sidelines presumably to get his uniform tucked in.
"I've got ice coming." Candice sits in her chair next to me adjusting her ball cap. We’ve got the same shade of dark auburnhair, but hers is more manageable in every sense of the word. Sleek, shiny, and short, her low ponytail tickles the collar of her jacket.
We’re exact opposites, her and I. She’s graceful and lean, while I trip over the air and have abundant curves. Straight hair to my wild wavy tresses that I can barely keep contained on a good day. She’s nurture and I’m nature. Ying versus yang or whatever.
"Thanks. You didn't have to."
She waves me off. "What’re big sisters for?"
We catch up on our week as we wait for the game to start while watching Mason run in excited circles around the field. I got here earlier than I thought and I'm enjoying the time I get to chat with my sister.
She teaches nursing courses at Liberty College in Briar Springs, is the president of the PTA, and hosts a monthly book club. I swear, I’ve never seen her relax, but she always has the best stories.
"Someone needed ice?" A man's voice pulls us from our conversation, and I raise my hand like I'm still in school.
"That would be me," I say, still a tad embarrassed by the fact that I can't seem to walk without harming myself. The mid-day sun makes it hard to see the man walking towards me. He’s cast in shadow, the sun shining behind him making him nothing more than an outline.
"I've got a bag right here," he says, holding the zip-lock bag of ice. Shielding my eyes I look up at him. He's young, probably around my age, with a tattoo inked on his upper arm, the dark edge peeking out beneath the hem of his sleeve. He looks like he works out, his long legs toned in his shorts. Aviator glasses frame his eyes but they do nothing to block his kind smile.
"Thank you so much. I'm such a klutz, but you should see the other guy. No,” I rush, after he quirks an eyebrow, “there isn’t another guy. I’m all alone. So alone. It was a hole. My foot. Istepped in it. Not on purpose, of course. Accidentally.” I don't know why I'm telling him all this, but I can't seem to stop myself. "You're my hero," I say, taking the ice he offers and biting my lip to keep myself from spewing another damn word.
What am I saying?
"Twisted ankle?" He asks, and I nod trying to get the bag to stay put on my gigantic ankle. He gestures towards my foot. "Mind if I take a look?"
Fully aware of the word vomit I spewed, I try to keep my answer as short as possible. "Go for it."
He squats in front of me and now I'm able to get an up close and personal look at him. And damn it, he's just my type. Tall, tan, lean, and ruggedly handsome. The sun highlights his light brown hair making it look blonde. He slides his sunglasses off his face as he examines my swelling appendage. "We should get this ankle in the air. Let me go get my cooler and we'll be all set."
"Oh, no. I'm fine,” I stammer. “This isn't my first rodeo," I joke.
"Mine either," he says, and I swear he winks. It was probably the sun catching his eye before he slid his sunglasses back on, I’m almost sure of it. "I'll be back."
And damn it, I watch him walk away, admiring his tight-looking ass. Which is totally inappropriate given we’re at a kid's soccer game. Not the time or the place.
"Um, Candice?" I lean over and tap my sister’s arm to get her attention the moment he’s far from earshot.
"Hmmm?" She’s busy looking at her phone, probably texting her husband to find out where he is.
"Who’s that?" I ask.
"Who?” The man in question slips between a set of parents and my gaze slips over to her where I give her my bestreally?look. “Oh, that's Grant. He's Mason's soccer coach."
Hello coach.
I’vegotto tell Jo about this. A cloud blocks the sun momentarily shading us as I pull out my phone to tell my best friend how hot my nephew’s coach is. "I wish my soccer coaches looked like that growing up," I say to myself as my fingers type frantically in our text thread.
"Ahem."
Oh, come on.
It wasn’t a cloud that was blocking out the sun. It was Grant. And he heard every damn word I said.
How embarrassing.
"Ankle up." He places the cooler in front of me, completely ignoring my comment. Maybe he didn’t even hear me.
