We drill on ground balls for the rest of our camp day, which is another half-hour or so, until Benny blows his whistle to dismiss the kids to go grab their stuff and head to their rides.
‘This’ll be a fun game on Friday,’ he chuckles as the campers thunder all up in the bleachers, tugging at duffel bags and shucking off cleats. ‘Jordan’s really good at what she does, I gotta say. My guy at the Reapers was right. She’s got stamina for days.’
I clear my throat awkwardly when I follow his line of sight to Jordan, who waves her campers off enthusiastically with reminders to bring eye black for Friday. ‘Eye black?’ I say aloud, and Benny snorts. ‘Man, maybe I should’ve taken this shit more seriously.’
‘Nah, don’t worry about the scrimmage.’ He cuts his eyes
my way with purpose, his eyebrows rising high enough that they threaten to go into hiding beneath his dark curls. ‘It’s the
cross-camp game we should be thinking about. Declan’s camp just got a big-ass grant from the county. Boston’s going to obliterate us come July.’
‘Gross,’ I grumble. The cross-camp game is played annually versus our rivals, a very well-off Boston lacrosse summer programme, the kind where the kids go on to play for Holy Cross and Chapel Hill. Both the best and worst part of the summer. Best because we hold it the weekend of the Fourth, which means barbecue, a huge cheering section, and fireworks and beer – the only acceptable way to end the summer’s camp session. Worst because I have to see Declan’s ugly mug for the duration of at least three hours. ‘I mean, we can’t speak so soon, right? Our kids got a shot.’
‘I think wecanspeak so soon,’ Benny corrects me. ‘Think. The past four years? Like, I don’t know, ever since we started the cross-camp? Give me one instance where we beat them.’
I suck in a breath. He’s got me there. That one instance is about as nonexistent as my sister’s perception of personal space.
‘Yeah. Not so good. You’d better brief Jordan on it. I haven’t told her how crazy it gets yet.’ Benny winces. For our boss, he’s more like an equal partner in our camp-related stress. Benny’s been working with me since I proposed the idea for a lacrosse camp focused on giving small-town kids a high-impact summer experience, and he jumped on it, back then eager to broaden his athletic training résumé. Since then, he’s started working at Whittaker-Joyce High School as their trainer, but he’s come back for the past three summers as my camp manager. ‘That’s not even accounting for the tiny little big deal that’s on the line. Didn’t want to scare her off. I’ll let you do that. I’m on her good side right now.’
‘You’reonhergood side?’ I lean back incredulously. ‘Dude, you’re her boss.’
‘Bro, that woman is potentially the reason we could win the cross-camp this year, mark my words,’ says Benny with a wag of his finger. He presses his hands together, all exaggerated in a gesture of prayer. ‘If she asks for a coffee, I’ll bring it in a fancy heated mug. If she says she has a hamstring cramp, I’m showing up with a Theragun. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her here, is all I’m saying.’
Around us, the buzz of the kids and parents has faded to a slow trickle, most of our campers on their way out. Jordan joins us, with a juice pop in hand and a smile not yet stained by the pop’s bright red dye. ‘What were y’all saying?’
‘Where’d you get that?’ Benny stares Jordan’s juice pop down all greedily. I can’t contest the reaction. The eighty-plus-degree weather demands a cold treat.
‘Someone’s mom brought me an extra.’ Jordan sticks the pop in her mouth, and I grit my teeth tight as inconspicuously as I can.Don’t look. Don’t look.
‘Man, how’re you winning them over?’ With a glance out of the corner of his eye at the retreating crowd of parents and kids in the parking lot, Benny huffs. ‘Took them a solid month to warm up to me when we started this thing.’
I try my level best to train my gaze anywhere but Jordan’s mouth, her full lips already turning red as she hums happily, sucking on her juice pop before removing it long enough for a one-word reply. ‘Dunno.’ Then, ‘But the perks sure are nice.’
Benny goes to investigate the juice pop situation. I take a beat of silence to decide which I want more: to eat a juice pop, or to be the juice pop.
Jordan tucks the colourful ice between her teeth before strolling towards the bleachers, where she starts throwing her stuff into her duffel bag, unlacing her cleats and kicking a foot back up towards her butt so she can tug the shoe off while standing.
And so naturally,rightas I’m being an idiot and going all googly-eyed, her head snaps back, and she pulls the pop from her mouth. I do a really piss-poor job of looking away as quickly as possible.
‘What?’ she says. Her voice has a hint of laughter to it. I suddenly pray that I turn into said juice pop so I can melt right into the sidewalk.Damnit. My sister is right. It’s been alongwhile since I’ve gotten like this. On second thoughts, I don’t think I’veevergotten like this.
‘Nothing,’ I reply, all strangled and in a way that makes it clear ‘nothing’ is totally not true. Jordan raises an eyebrow. I groan. ‘Do you … do you always take your shoes off like that?’
She leans back and scoffs. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re accusing me of takin’ my shoes off thewrongway, Hot Rod Wilson. Does it matter? Is this a foot fetish thing?’
‘Not at all,’ I scramble. Wait, is she messing with me? She’s not being serious, right? There’s a shit-eating grin on her face that most likely isn’t serious, but I’m tripping over my own feet here.
‘Well,’ remarks Jordan with a dramatic sigh, ‘to think I was just about to share this juice pop with you.’
‘You’re—’
‘Deal’s up.’ She beams, hefting her bag up onto her shoulder as she clambers out from the stands, down the rickety metal steps. ‘I don’t love criticism,’ she calls behind her. Then, withthe world’s mostaddictivesmile, ‘I respond well to praise, hotshot.’
I kind of just stand there, slack-jawed. It is, as I’m learning, the only appropriate response to Jordan Gutierrez-Hawkins.
I can do whatever the hell I want to distract myself, but every little movement, every mannerism she has snatches my attention. Even those dumb juice pop jokes. It’s not even resisting temptation at this point. I’m giving in, and sure. Maybe I’m an idiot in awe of this woman from a totally different world, but I think back to the moment in the garden. It definitely wasn’t just me. The magnetism I felt was on part of both of our bodies.
Maybe – on an off chance – she’s not just messing with me. Maybe, she feels that pull, too.
