Page 53 of Hard to Hold

“Daphne,” his mom says with a quick smile.

“Scottie and Daphne,” I say. “Why don’t you guys follow me and we’ll find someone who can get you guys all set up?”

“Sure,” Scottie says.

“I can handle that for you, Ms. Kincade.” I’m startled by the woman from the MLS public relations team, who steps up beside me and motions for Scottie and Daphne to follow her.

“Thanks,” Rush says with a smile. “I’m also going to need another jersey too.”

“I’ll get that taken care of right away,” she says putting her hand on Scottie’s back and steering them to our left.

I watch the trio as they walk toward the inner part of the stadium. Scottie is bouncing and talking excitedly, while Daphne takes one more glance back to where Rush is now talking to the next person in line. She has the softest of smiles on her lips, and I swear I see a tear slide down her cheek.

Anyone looking at the scene would think this was a planned event. Some well-placed public relations for the bad-boy soccer player whose reputation has taken a hit.

But I’m on the inside of this well-oiled MLS machine, and I know this wasn’t a stunt to garner good press. It was Rush McKenzie showing a softer side I don’t think many have seen before.

A side that he’s not supposed to have. Not because I don’t want him to be a good guy, mind you, but because I know I’m losing the battle with my resolve.

I know if I see much more of this nice, caring Rush, I’m going to cave.

How can you not want to be with a man who treats a kid like he’s gold?

And how can you push a man away when you think everyone else has him pegged all wrong, and you’re obsessed with figuring out why he’s not trying to prove otherwise?

Maybe that’s why I stick around and watch the rest of Rush’s meet-and-greet session when I have a million other things to do, like follow through on two new athlete prospects as well as finalize a few negotiations.

Perhaps I figure if I stand here long enough, there will be something he does that will sour my opinion of him. I’ve seen it a hundred times, where athletes walk out of these junkets after an hour because it’s beneath them, or when the line never ends, they become short with the fans.

But not Rush. I’m more than impressed with how he takes time for each and every kid as if they were the first ones in line. He always has a smile and words of encouragement.

And my inability to leave backfires. By the time he finishes and strolls over to me, before he heads to warm up for the exhibition game, I’m even more attracted to him. Not just because he’s stunningly handsome, but because you learn a lot about someone in how they treat others—and he treated everyone with grace and gratitude.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re still here.”

“As are you,” I say, angling my head to the side, wondering how tired he is from being “on” for the past four hours. Now he has a hard ninety-plus minutes of soccer.

“You’re staying for the match?”

“Nah. Soccer’s not my sport.”

“Exactly. That’s why you need to watch me play. And the proper terms is football.” He winks.

“Football. Soccer. Same difference. It’s not my sport,” I tease.

He sputters over a cough. “What, love? Did I just hear you properly?”

I nod, even though the smile I’m fighting says otherwise. “You did.”

“What do I need to do to convince you otherwise?”

I cross my arms over my chest as I stare at him and roll my eyes at myself for melting at his boyish grin.

“I’m a hard woman to convince of anything, Rush.”

“Are you throwing down the gauntlet? Because I’m pretty sure you just dared me to convince you that football is exciting. And I’m pretty competitive . . . so once I convince you of that, you know I’m going to succeed at convincing you of another very important matter.”

Our grins match and our eyes hold, as people hustle around us to get things picked up before the crowd is let through the gates for the exhibition match. The connection we share is still as strong as ever, but how ridiculous was I to think avoidance would weaken that?