Maggie steps toward him, but I call out to him, “Come on, Wyatt. You’ve got avocado strength. Kick the ball to me.”
Girls and boys alike start to swarm with my words, the boys encouraged and the girls ready to defend. Though these kids do so like a tangled ball of yarn—no formation whatsoever.
“You haven’t taught them a 4-4-2 formation?” I say, peeringover at Maggie, who seems to be guarding her own team from blocking Wyatt’s kick.
“We play three on three, remember?” she groans, then mutters under her breath, “Dummy.”
Wyatt kicks the ball nowhere near me, but still I jog four steps and snag it. This field is tiny. Three more strides and I’ll be at the net. Only on stride one, Maggie cuts me off, her ponytail whipping into my face as her arm grazes over my chest. Her lips curve up in a grin with the ball now at her feet. She darts forward past her nephew and the slew of boys watching us.
“Get her, Lucca!” one boy yells.
I’m on her heels, but she shifts her hip, shielding the ball. For one second, we’re tangled. The back of her shoulder presses to my chest, and wafts of honey and pear hit me like a brick. With the ball at her feet, she reaches back, her hand pressing against my stomach, keeping me at bay. I’m about to take the ball from right between her feet when she speaks.
“Ashley! Are you ready? Time to take a shot.” She taps the ball to the little girl directly in front of us. Her hips force me back and she holds out her arms, attempting to keep me in place.
I let her because I’m not into taking candy from babies. I’m not stealing the ball or a goal from tiny five-year-old Ashley. By the way McCrae holds onto me, she clearly thinks I would.
Ashley skips with the ball two feet, every boy but me on her heels, then she kicks, sending that ball right into the net.
“Woo!” Maggie hollers. “Girls win!” She turns to face me with a sardonic grin plastered to her face.
“Whoa.” I chuckle, heart pumping, not even close to finished. “The game’s not over. We played for two minutes.”
“Yes, butpracticeis over.” Maggie’s brows lift, so utterly pleased with herself. And while I want to be annoyed—I should be annoyed; this woman is an overzealous officialwho is constantly on her own personal power-trip—I can’t get the scent of pear to leave my senses or the feel of her back to my chest to dissipate. It’s like every part of my body she touched is a current I can’t ground.
“Maybe I should come back again tomorrow.” I lift one shoulder, watching her, unsure of what I’m even saying. “To help.”
But McCrae only scoffs. “You aren’t that helpful. And we don’t have practice tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure you do.”
I’mthe first Red Tail to the van, and I make sure I get the front seat—right next to Callum, who’s driving this team vehicle. When we’ve been on the road for ten minutes and everyone seems distracted, I turn to my friend. “What do you know about McCrae?”
Callum keeps his eyes on the road, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. What do you know about the woman?”
“She’s a woman now? I thought she was anofficial.”
“Come on,” I say, ignoring his jab. “I’m curious.”
He glances over at me before turning back to the road. “I don’t know. She lives in Canyon Falls with her family.”
I study him. “With her nephew.”
“I think. She talked about coaching his team when she set up the mentoring day. He’s important to her. That was clear. But I don’t know the living arrangements.”
“And his parents?” I say, my heart pattering in my chest. I never knew my dad, and when my mother couldn’t care for me, Vovó did. She was my angel. She raised me, loved me, and made her mark on me. She made certain I used my manners and never let me miss soccer practice.
Callum shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Why so many questions?”
I wave it off like I don’t care, like my heart isn’t pounding and my head isn’t taking me back to a poor village in Brazil where Vovó raised me. “I just played with the kid. It got me wondering.”
Callum chuckles. “Wondering what?”
“I don’t know. Just things.”
“Wait,” Callum says, glancing my way. “Do you like her?”
“Who?”
