I pull the envelope out of my pocket and study the handwriting again. It’s flowing and feminine. Could be anyone's. Could be a woman I've never even met.
Could be her.
Stop it.
I shove the card back into my pocket and force myself to focus on the training schedule for next month. Perry wants to implement a new drill rotation. Aiden thinks we should do more live-fire exercises. Jasper just wants to know if there will be food involved.
Normal problems. Station problems. Things I know how to handle.
Not mystery valentines from secret admirers who somehow see right through me.
By three o'clock, I've accepted that I'm going to spend the rest of the day thinking about two things: that card, and Sloane Chandler.
And shortly, I’m going to see Sloane in person.
It probably would be best if I called Wade…tell him I can't do pickup this week after all, and make up some excuse about scheduling conflicts or overtime or literally anything that would keep me away from that soccer field.
But that would be lying…and I don’t do that, especially not to my friends.
Instead, I catch myself glancing at the clock every fifteen minutes, anticipation coiling tighter each time.
You're pathetic. Losing your mind over a woman young enough to be your daughter.
Damn, I’m so fucked.
Eventually, I grab my jacket and head for the door.
"Hot date, Captain?" Jasper calls from the common room, where he's losing badly at whatever video game him and Perry are playing. I can tell by his constant cursing.
"Picking up Riley from soccer."
"Ah, Uncle Ike duties." Jasper grins.
"I just killed your last guard," Perry says, staring at the TV.
Jasper's face falls. "What? No. Where?"
I leave before I have to witness the carnage.
I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine, scanning the field for Riley. Practice is still going—the girls are doing some kind of scrimmage drill, their shouts carrying across the crisp February air.
And there she is.
Sloane's on the sideline, ponytail swaying as she paces and calls out instructions. She's wearing those same devastating leggings from yesterday—skin-tight, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I get out of the truck and walk toward the field, telling myself to be cool.
She spots me almost immediately.
A bright smile spreads across her face as she waves…and it hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s as if she's happy to see me.
She's being friendly, I remind myself.She's Riley's coach. This is completely normal.
Practice wraps up a few minutes later. The girls scatter toward the bleachers, laughing and shoving each other and Sloane makes her way over to me.
"Captain Thurman." That teasing warmth is back in her voice. "Two days in a row. People might start to talk."
"Let them," I say, and immediately wonder why the hell I said that.
