Lucca’s smile falters just a little with this last memory of Wyatt’s. He looks at me. “I didn’t know you had a kid, McCrae. And I never imagined him being mybiggestfan.”
My smile is taut. “He’s not yourbiggestfan, and I’m hisaunt. If I had realized that Wyatt admired you in any way, I would have nipped that bad habit right in the bud.”
“Remember—” Wyatt starts again.
“Whoa, buddy.” I crouch next to my nephew. “Take a breath. I know, it’s an exciting day. But if you’re going to be my best helper, you’ve got to use your listening ears.”
Wyatt’s hops pause, and he makes a motion to zip his lips.
“Have fun.” Mom laughs, entertained by the fact that I’ll be wrangling not only my five-year-old team today, but Lucca, too. How can she be so uncaring? She gives me a thumbs-up before leaving me alone with Saint Lucca and hissuperfan.
To my utter delight,Wyatt is the only kid who knows who Lucca is. No one else is fanning over my dumb ol’ mentor today.
With my kiddos lined up, I stand in front of them, Lucca beside me. “Let’s show Mr. Cruz how great you are at dribbling. Okay?” I say, because I’m certain Lucca is going to be the worst mentor ever. He only knows how to be praised and adored.
“Why are there girlsandboys on your team, McCrae?”
“This is a co-ed rec team,” I tell him, attempting to keep my patience as all parents’ eyes are on us.
“You have nine players. Total.” He scoffs. “We start on the field witheleven. How in the world did you get a refereeing license? No wonder your calls are consistently off.”
I swivel my head from my kids dribbling all over our small field to the idiot beside me. “This isLittle Leaguesoccer, Lucca. Did you never play Little League? They are five years old. We play three on three.”
His face contorts. “Three on three?”
“Yes. They huddle in a group, no one in position, and they chase after the ball. Sometimes, they pause to pick a dandelion. Sometimes, they turn into dinosaurs on the field. Sometimes, they stop playing altogether and peek in the cooler to see what’s for their snack at halftime. They. Are. Five.”
“I don’t care how old they are. You can still teach them proper soccer.”
My eyes may bug out of my head. I may commit a heinous crime, right here, right now, in front of all my soccer parents. In front of all my kids! “I teach them the basics. Maybe you don’t remember being five years old, but I’m guessing you weren’t Pelé as a toddler.”
“Close enough,”he says.
I grind my teeth and look back at my kids. Forcing a smile, I clap my hands. “Nice job, Pink Pandas.”
“Pink what?” Lucca scrubs a hand down the front of his face.
“Maybe you should listen to him,” Blaire says, walking over from the sidelines. She’s been eyeing Lucca like candy since the moment she and Kash arrived. “He is theprofessional.” Why does that word sound like it should be in a dirty movie when Blaire says it? She nibbles on her bottom lip before whispering, “I love your accent,” to Lucca.
“I should listen to him complain about our team’s name, Blaire? The name our kids voted on?” I cannot hide the irritation in my tone. Only Lucca would make me lose my cool during Little League practice.
She sets both hands on her hips, arches her back, as if she were on display for Lucca. “Oneverything.”
Lucca’s eyeing her—of course he is. He’s Pretty Boy Cruz. Why wouldn’t he eye her back? I step between the two, planting myself in front of Lucca. “You are here to mentor the littles, to be nice, not judge their team’s name or how this league sets up its different divisions. Shape up or leave.” I flip my ponytail to look behind me at Blaire. “Andyou, you know what we do here, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t a coach. Get a grip and go sit with the other parents.”
Blaire peers around me at Lucca. She bats her eyes, but after a second of peacocking, she listens.
“Are you going to say anything to them?” I ask him, my tone exasperated.
“I’m letting you lead. You seem to like being the boss.”
I flick my gaze upward. “A referee isn’t a boss. They keep things fair. They enforce the rules. Especially for little boys who throw fits when things don’t gotheir way.”
“I didn’t say youwerethe boss. I said you like to be in charge.”
I grind my teeth and cross my arms. Am I going to have to slug this man? In front of all my kids? “That isn’t what you said.”
Lucca’s eyes turn to slits. He glares at me, and I glare back.
