"I might. You don't know."
Sloane laughs, and the bright sound of it makes my stomach flip. "She's been working really hard. I think she's earned a burger."
Riley beams at her. "See? Coach Sloane gets it."
"Fine." I sigh, pretending to be put-upon even though I'd already planned on getting her whatever she wanted.
“Awesome!” Riley pumps her fist, then turns to Sloane. "Thanks, Coach! See you tomorrow!"
"Bye, Riley." Sloane's eyes slide to me, warm and amused. "Good night, Captain."
"Night, Sloane."
And there’s that smile again, the one that makes me feel like I'm standing in direct sunlight.
My god, this woman.
"Coach Sloane's pretty cool, right?" Riley says casually, once we’ve pulled onto the road.
I keep my eyes straight ahead. "She seems competent."
"Competent." Riley snorts. "That's such an old person thing to say."
"I am an old person."
"You're notthatold." She goes quiet, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "She moved here from Atlanta. Or maybe Arizona? Somewhere warm, I think. She played soccer in college, but got hurt. That's why she coaches now."
I didn't ask for this information. I definitely don'tneedthis information.
"Is that right," I say, as neutral as I can manage.
"Yeah. She's really cool about it, though. Like, she doesn't complain or whatever." Riley pauses. "The girls on the team asked if she had a boyfriend. She said she was still waiting for the right person."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel."Why are you telling me this?"
Riley shrugs, the picture of innocence. "No reason. Just making conversation."
I glance over at her. She's looking out the window, but I can see the hint of a smirk on her face.
Yep, the kid isdefinitelytoo smart for her own good.
It's after nine when I finally get home.
The house is quiet. Dark. I step inside and the silence wraps around me like a familiar weight.
This is my home life. Empty rooms and solo dinners and evenings spent with nothing but my own thoughts for company.
I hang up my jacket and head to the kitchen for a beer. But instead of cracking it open and settling in front of the TV like usual, I find myself walking to the bedroom.
The card is still in my jacket pocket, but I can see the words clearly in my mind.
I see the way you hold yourself apart.
Someone should take care of the man who takes care of everyone.
I sit on the edge of my bed and pull out my phone, staring at nothing.
Sloane Chandler's face surfaces once again in my memory. The way she looked at me when I offered her my jacket. That deliberate sweep of her eyes over my body. The warmth in her voice when she called mechivalrous.
