“Hey, everyone. Geez, I lucked out that I happened to be here for this. You guys look fierce!” The audience whooped in approval. Silas grinned and continued, “Thanks for the invite today. I won’t take up much time ’cause I know you’re anxiousto get the party started. I just wanted to say a couple of things—things you might already know. Football is a tough sport that asks a lot of its players. You gotta do some running, jumping, quick thinking, and it helps if you’re good at throwing a ball…and catching it.” He paused till laughter subsided. “It can be hard work. But it’s fun work. And you might not think about it while you’re chasing a lightning-fast opponent who’s got the ball and is racing for the end zone while you’re huffing and puffing, but you’re learning out there—discipline, cooperation, mental toughness, teamwork. Sports bring communities together. That’s a fact. So have fun, and—oh, yeah…I’m supposed to remind you…no tackling.”
I clapped along with the rest of the town, then secured my flag belt around my waist and approached Wood Hollow’s new celebrity.
“Well done,” I commented, listening with half an ear as Dex explained the round-robin format.
Silas initiated a fist bump. “Thanks. I’ll see you after my team crushes yours.”
I scoffed and leveled him with my sternest dad stare. “Chirping already?”
“You know it,” he singsonged.
“Yeah, well…go easy on me. I’m old.”
Silas waggled his brows, grinning as he stooped, picked up a ball, and then ran onto the field. I made a meal out of stretching my quads, hoping my sunglasses made it less obvious that I was fixated on the visiting football hero introducing himself to his teammates—a group of track, basketball, and football coaches from Wood Hollow High. On average, most of them were in their late twenties and thirties, thanks to the influx of new jobs and affordable housing in the area.
Elmwood’s coaches, on the other hand, were former professional athletes like Silas while Pinecrest’s were personaltrainers who’d probably been specifically selected by a board for their speed and agility. Fallbrook…well, think stereotypical sitcom coaches—middle-aged, balding, beer bellies.
The seven-on-seven play allowed for more participants…or chaos, depending on whose team you were on. This game was Wood Hollow versus Fallbrook. We didn’t stand a chance.
Wood Hollow had a considerable advantage in every aspect of the game. Not only were they faster, they knew each other well enough to assign positions based on ability instead of winging it. Chad Holbrook had been the quarterback his senior year at Fallbrook High, and sure, that had been thirty years ago, but Chad was convinced he hadn’t lost his mojo yet. Maybe the interception he threw that led to a pick-six was a fluke.
On his second fumbled pass, Lynn O’Grady called for a lineup change. She was a fortysomething former college badminton champion who volunteered to coach her kids’ games on the weekends.
“Give the ball to Coop, Chad. He was a QB for the Hornets and I know it grinds your gears, but they were always better than us,” she said.
“Nah, it’s okay.” I braced my hands on my knees, eying my cocky lover high-fiving his teammates after gaining another significant set of downs.
“C’mon. It’s worth a shot,” Lynn cajoled, adding a grumpy, “They may win, but let’s not roll out the red carpet, for Pete’s sake.”
Because this was low-stakes fun, no one cared about the quarterback change. Except…my kids yelling, “Go, Dad!” and “You can do it, Dad!” from the sideline, and Silas, who flashed a radiant smile and whispered, “Just when I didn’t think you could get any hotter” as he sidled by me to join his teammates.
Sidenote: Once upon a time, I’d been a promising quarterback who’d led Wood Hollow to the Four Forest leaguechampionship two years in a row. We’d even been invited to the state championships my senior year. Those were rusty credentials, but I was certainly as qualified as Chad to salvage a little pride for Fallbrook.
And you know, I did okay. Not great, but my long pass connected and we scored a goal.
You’d have thought it was a Super-Bowl-winning Hail Mary. Chase and Ivy and their friends danced and hooted in the end zone, Reg used a police megaphone to announce the touchdown while a veritable who’s-who from my youth cheered uproariously, including my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Flack, and the mailman, Mr. Scott, who told everyone he’d been delivering mail since Kennedy was president…probably a lie, but no one called him on it.
Bottom line, it was fun. And Silas’s pantomimed incredulity was comedy gold. He flopped onto his knees in faux defeat, then collapsed onto his back.
I laughed and offered him a hand. “C’mon, Anderson. There’s no crying in football, and you’re still kicking my ass.”
He jumped up, waved to the audience, and made a show of shaking my hand. “True. And I already won my prize, so…it’s all good.”
“What is this hypothetical prize supposed to be?” I asked.
“Can’t tell you here. I might get arrested.” With that, he winked and jogged away.
My cock twitched in my joggers as I gazed after him.
Me. Single dad, respected boss, community member.
But I couldn’t help it.
Silas Anderson was in my system and under my skin. He’d invaded my hometown, charmed my children, my coworkers, and the whole damn town, and somehow, I was going to have to make sure no one knew it.
I didn’t plan to say good-bye to Silas after the festivities. I knew where to find him, and I didn’t want to give myself away. But Ivy and Chase waved him down in the parking lot and begged him to wait. They each took their backpacks from my truck and hustled to the Jeep in the next row while I trailed behind.
“We have to go to our mom’s house,” Chase announced. “We won’t be back for a whole week.”
