“You’re…Brady Simmons,” Nicole says, glancing past me at the man I was talking to.
Brady grins. “Guilty as charged. Nice to meet you…”
“Nicole,” she supplies. “Nicole Green. I’m a coach for the Siege.”
“Nice.” Brady looks at Otto next. I tense as he holds out a hand, not sure why. “Hey. I’m Brady.”
“Otto Berger,” Otto says, reaching past me to take Brady’s extended hand. His fingers graze my arm—unintentionally, I think—and the brief brush sends shivers dancing along the surface of my skin.
“I thought so,” Brady comments. “The soccer player, right?”
“And you’re the football player.”
I seem to be the only one who catches Otto’s slight emphasis onfoot. I know, from the many times he corrected me in Paris, how ridiculous Otto finds the American nomenclature. But he’s polite—or indifferent—enough not to make a big deal about it now.
“Sure am.” Brady grins. “You work with the Siege too?”
“Only for one more game,” Nicole says, glancing at Otto and turning her lips down playfully. “Then we lose him back to the big time.”
I focus on my glass, running a finger down the rim. Unhappy about the reminder of Otto’s upcoming departure andalso resentful of Nicole voicing my own insecurities. It’s exactly what I told Otto—our careers aren’t on comparable planes. And while that might be the reality, I don’t enjoy hearing others acknowledging it. Especially a member of the Siege organization. We may be a new women’s team, but we’re still professional athletes.
“The Siege is the big time,” Otto says quietly.
“Oh. Of course we are,” Nicole says quickly. “I just meant…comparatively…” She clears her throat, voice trailing awkwardly.
“Is your final game home?” Brady asks.
“Away.” I speak up, worried how much my silence might be saying.
“Too bad.” He gives me a lingering look. “I’m free next weekend. When is your next home game?”
“Not until August. You’ll probably be on Nantucket.”
Brady laughs. “Not if you’re not. Looking forward to seeing your massive stadium, Claire.” He nods at Otto and Nicole, grabs his whiskey, and walks off.
Total silence remains after his departure. I’m dimly aware of the overlapping conversations and classical music in the background, but I’m not really registering any of the sound.
Nicole speaks first. “Brady Simmons is coming to a Siege game?”
I reach for my glass again. “I doubt he’ll actually show up.”
“He will show up.”
I glance at Otto, our gazes colliding with an intensity that knocks all the air out of my lungs.
“I agree,” Nicole says, nudging my arm with her elbow. “He seemed really into you.”
I clear my throat, opting to swallow more soda rather than reply. I view Nicole the way I should see Otto—as an authority figure. I’m not in the habit of gossiping with her, no matter howfriendly she is. Also, I have some one-sided beef, territorial over her interest in Otto.
“We should head to our table,” Otto says. “Eliza sent us over to grab you, Caldwell.”
I nod.
Otto heads toward a table toward the center front. I see Coach Taylor and Coach Jackson already seated, both with men who I assume are their husbands. I knew Coach Taylor was married; I didn’t know Coach Jackson was.
“I tried to keep him from interrupting,” Nicole whispers to me as we walk. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reply.
