Even if the way she's looking at me, like she might see something most people don’t, makes my blood run hot.
"The authority thing," I repeat, deadpan.
"Mmhmm." She crosses her arms, mirroring my posture, and the movement does devious things to her ample cleavage thatI’m absolutely not looking at. "You've got a very commanding presence…an I'll-take-charge-of-this-situation vibe. Fitting for a fire captain."
"I'll put that on my business cards."
She laughs and the bright, lilting sound hits me somewhere south of my sternum. "I'd love to see that."
Before I can respond—and honestly, I have no idea what I'd even say—Riley comes barreling across the field like a puppy who just spotted her favorite person.
"Uncle Ike!"
She throws her arms around me and I catch her easily, giving her a quick squeeze before setting her back. "Hey, kid. Good practice?"
"So good. Well, mostly good. Mackenzie kept hogging the ball during the scrimmage even though Coach Sloanetoldher to pass more, and then she got all defensive when Jenna called her out, and it was like this wholething?—"
She's off and running, a breathless recap of practice drama that I only follow about sixty percent of. But I'm aware of Sloane watching us, her expression soft.
I catch her eye over Riley's head and she doesn't look away. Just holds my gaze with that quiet steadiness, a small smile playing at her lips.
Something hot and uncomfortable curls through my gut. I look away first.
"—and then Coach had us do suicides, which wasbrutal, but I beat my best time, so that was cool." Riley finally pauses for breath, glancing between me and Sloane like she's just now registering that we were talking. "Wait, do you know Uncle Ike?"
"We just met a few minutes ago," Sloane says simply. "I had to make sure he wasn't some creep lurking around my field."
"Uncle Ike's not a creep." Riley wrinkles her nose at the thought. "He's like...the total opposite of a creep. He's the fire captain."
"So he mentioned." Sloane's eyes flick to me, and there's that teasing warmth again.
Riley looks between us with curious eyes, and I can practically see the gears turning in her teenage brain. She's too smart for her own good, this kid.
"I'm gonna go get my bag," she announces, in a tone that suggests she's giving us privacy on purpose.
She's gone before I can tell her to hurry up, jogging toward the bleachers where her stuff is piled.
Which leaves me alone with this young vixen.
The silence isn't awkward, exactly. It's charged. Heavy with something I’m having a hard time ignoring.
"How did you meet Riley’s dad?" she asks, zipping her hoodie up as the night cools.
“High school. We had gym together. Been inseparable since.”
She nods.
“Since it’s just Wade, he sometimes has to take extra shifts…and the less than desirable ones.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “I just act as her chauffeur, get her fed, and keep her out of trouble until Wade comes home.”
"That's nice of you,” she says, like it's a statement of fact. Then she tilts her head, studying me with those sharp green eyes. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain."
The way she saysCaptaindoes something to me. Something I haven't felt in years. But it's like she knows exactly what that word does, dropped from her pretty mouth with just a hint of emphasis—respectful but teasing, acknowledging my authority while also poking at it with a tempting touch.
"Same, Coach Chandler," I manage, and my voice comes out rough.
"Call me Sloane. Please,” she replies, holding my gaze.
Riley reappears, bag slung over her shoulder, water bottle in hand. "Ready!"
