Something in my stomach clenches. Yearns. Aches.
“Is it sore?”
I swallow. Let my eyes fall shut. “Mm-hmm.”
A slow exhale. “Might be for a few days.” His hand smooths over the top of my head. “I’ll keep a close eye on it.”
“This is actually delicious,” I tell Theo, my mouth full of grilled cheese perfection. Crispy crust and the perfect amount of cheesy goodness. Iwish I’d asked for two.
He tucks himself into the other corner of the couch, burrowing his feet under the edge of the duvet, his grilled cheese balanced on a plate on his lap. “You’re saying ‘actually’ like you’re surprised.” Layla sits beside him, already begging for a bite, and he offers her a piece of crust.
“Well, the last time I saw you cook, we were thirteen, and you added crushed potato chips to the pancake batter.”
“Wait, I forgot about that! Those were pretty damn good.” Henods several times like he’s proud of that idea. “Salty and sweet. We should try it again.”
I make a gagging sound. “I’ll pass. The texture alone was awful.”
“Your loss.” He laughs, chews through a few bites, then: “We should talk about the fact that you leave your doors unlocked.”
“Trust me, I’m locking them constantly now. May even install two more locks, just for kicks. Keep out any unwanted guests.”
“Totally. We don’t want them coming in here.”
My eye roll doesn’t seem to bother him. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
“I came to tell you that the youth sports organizer called. They have an open coaching position starting next week.” He tips his head back and forth, looking like there’s more to the story. “Only problem is... it’s not Little League. It’s soccer.”
I snort a laugh. “You don’t play soccer.”
“But mygirlfrienddoes.”
“I do not.”
“Maybe not anymore, but youdid. And you’d make an amazing coach.”
“I would not.”
That stupid, lopsided smile is back. Dimples carve out on his cheeks, and dammit he looks charming. Boyish and excited. “Come on... they’re five- and six-year-old girls. It’ll be fun!”
“No way,” I insist, even as I picture what it would be like to coach Avery and Eloise. Their big smiles and pink cheeks. Clunky shin guards and baggy uniforms. Those two are adorable out there, and if I’m being completely honest, coaching girls their age does sound kind of... moderately... maybe a little...fun.
“Imagine being a six-year-old and finding out your coach is the high school record holder for most goals in a season.” He looks and sounds like I’ve won five Olympic gold medals.“Or the woman who finally got a ball past Nora Lopez—the greatest goalie in the state that year—andthe player with most assists her senior year!”
My brain shorts out. I’m a computer that’s been given too much information and can’t fully process. Istare at him, fingers clamped around my plate. How does he remember all that?
“Orrrr,” I counter, “their coach could be the guy who captained his team to the state championships two years in a row.”
One brow quirks up. “You keeping tabs on me, Fabes?”
“You were first.”
His piercing gaze burrows under my skin and makes me lightheaded.
I have to look away from it, so I set my empty plate on the ground. “How could we compete without keeping tabs on each other, right?”
That’s the only thing that seems to make sense. Why else would he know all these random facts about a sport he wasn’t in?
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t been bickering and competing all through high school?”
