"Good work today, Riley," Sloane says, her attention shifting smoothly. Like the last thirty seconds didn't just short-circuit half my brain cells. "Keep up that footwork—you were really on it during drills."
"Thanks, Coach!" Riley beams, then tugs at my arm. "Come on, Uncle Ike, I'm starving. Can we get pizza?"
I sigh. "We'll see."
"That means yes." Riley grins up at me, then waves at Sloane. "Bye, Coach Sloane! See you tomorrow!"
"See you tomorrow." Sloane's gaze slides back to me, warm and amused. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around this week, Captain."
I nod, awareness prickling over my skin.
I turn and walk away, Riley chattering beside me about pizza toppings. I can feel Sloane's eyes on my back the whole way to the truck.
But I don't turn around.
In my truck, Riley's still talking, something about a group project and how her partner never does any work, but I'm on autopilot. Making the right noises in the right places while my brain runs circles around itself.
Sloane Chandler. New soccer coach. Confident and…witty? Way too young, with legs that could stop traffic and a smile that makes me want things I have no right wanting.
She looked at me like sheknewsomething.
That's insane. She's twenty-something years old. She doesn't know anything about me except that I'm Riley's Uncle Ike.
But damn, the way she saidCaptain...
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and force myself to focus on the road ahead and on Riley's voice filling the cab. Onthe normal, mundane reality of my life—dinner with my best friend's kid, an evening of homework supervision, maybe a beer on the porch while I wait for Wade.
I've spent years keeping my shit locked down tight…burying the parts of myself that don't fit in this small town, that could ruin my reputation. I'm the fire captain. I'm Uncle Ike. I'm the guy everyone trusts to keep them safe.
I don't get to want certain things. Not like this. Nother.
She's too young. Too bright. Too everything.
And I'm too old to be this stupid.
"Uncle Ike?" Riley's voice cuts through my spiral. "You okay? You're being weird."
"I'm fine." I glance over at her, and give her a silly face. "Just thinking about work stuff."
She chuckles, then narrows her eyes at me—that bullshit detector all teenagers seem to come equipped with—but lets it go. "Okay, but you're still getting me pizza, right?"
"Yeah, kid. I'm still getting you pizza."
“Yes!” she cheers, settling back in her seat, satisfied, and goes back to scrolling through her phone.
I keep my eyes on the road and try very hard not to think about a tawny blonde ponytail and tight leggings and my name on Sloane's lips.
It doesn't work.
CHAPTER 2
SLOANE
I’ve gotten used to the drive home from the high school.
Not that it’s particularly hard—left out of the parking lot, straight through town, right at the gas station, wind through the residential streets until I hit the little cabin I'm renting on the edge of the woods.
Since moving to Deepwood Mountain in August I barely notice the route anymore.
