five
Colson
I’mcrossingthestreetafter grabbing the mail, minding my own business—well, trying to—when I hear her voice cut through the morning air.
“Colson!”
I close my eyes. Of course. Of course she’d show up the second I try to disappear back into the house. The last few days have consisted of me binging shows on Netflix; something I didn’t have time for during the season or training. I’m not doing any of that now. I turn around slowly, deliberately, because if I move any faster it might look like I care.
Sadie jogs toward me—ponytail bouncing, cheeks flushed from whatever work she’s doing. While I’m dreaming of coffee in an IV, she’s clearly been up for hours. She looks like the embodiment of morning. I look like someone who could barely survive this one. Fantastic match up.
“What?” I ask, not bothering to hide the rough edge in my voice.
“I, uh… need help,” she admits, and I’m already irritated because she looks nervous about asking me. Like I bite. Which, fine, maybe I do.
“With what?”
“A heavy cabinet in the storage room. Like ridiculously heavy. And the kids can’t get to the equipment until it’s moved.”
I try to get past the interaction. “I’m busy.”
Sadie looks at me with the mail in my hand, and her eyes linger longer on my somewhat disheveled hair. Like she knows I’m going to do nothing but rot in my bed.
“With mail?” she presses.
I stare at her. She stares back, trying to look unbothered but clearly bracing for me to double down on no. Not because she thinks I’m lazy. Because she thinks I’mmean.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend who can help you?” I ask because the last thing I need is some guy getting in my shit over something like this.
Sadie blinks slowly and time stretches between us. It’s like the mention of the word brings her down a notch—almost like a trick I may need to keep in my back pocket.
She breathes in, holding it for a second, before blowing it out—like she’s trying to keep her cool. “No, Colson.I don’thave a boyfriend.”
I don’t know why but that surprises me.
I should say no. I shouldabsolutelysay no. But I hear myself grumble, “Where is it?”
Her whole face lights up like I did something heroic. Christ.
Inside the community center, the air smells like gym floors and craft glue—like a childhood I didn’t really get to have. She walks ahead of me, talking with her hands, and I try not to notice how her hips sway or how she smells faintly like orange slices and something warm.
We step into the storage room and I take one look at the cabinet.
“This thing’s ancient. Why do you even have it?”
“Historic,” she corrects immediately. “And we’re a community based rec center. We take any and all donations… well, almost all. Once, someone tried to donate a bunch of mismatched shoes and how does one even end up with individual shoes—”
I sigh, looking at her, and it’s enough to get her to stop as soon as her eyes meet mine. They’re light, almost the color of brown sugar.
If I use my legs, and my good arm for the lifting, I should be okay. My other arm can simply guide and keep it in control. I was only wearing thesling when I was with the team, needing to protect myself from a rogue ball coming my way.
“Where are we moving it?” I ask, hands on my hips, taking in the orderly chaos around me. Plastic bins with kids’ names on labels, ones that probably change as the year goes on. Shoeboxes with extra socks. A desk off to the side where she probably works every once in a while.
“Like ten feet that way,” Sadie points, past the door to where it will no longer be blocking the door.
Nodding, we crouch down to lift. Slowly we stand, keeping eye contact to maintain the same pace. She smiles through the concentration as we start to move—me walking backward, her forward—and fuck, she’s pretty.
Her face lights up and she says, “This is good.”
