Page 29 of Forever Offsides

I shiver at the gruff way he says that and the feel of his warm, calloused hand on me.

I don’t date athletes. I don’t date sports figures.

They move around a lot.

My father is an anomaly, but when my mother met him, she was already an attending. She could move if he had needed to.

I have one more year after this one left on my residency, and after that, I’ll need a fellowship. I’ve worked too hard and too long, and so has he. I’d never ask him to give up this opportunity.

My stomach pretzels in on itself.

“And what if they had a problem with it?” I shake my head. “Scratch that. They’ll have a problem with it.”

His eyes close. “I… I want to say I don’t care.”

“I care. And you do too. You’re the new head coach, and I’m the new team doctor, and you work for my father and coach my brothers.”

A sigh exhausts from his lips. He looks winded. All flushed and sweaty and out of sorts. “I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s not what I want. But reality is reality. Anything between us would be inappropriate. But more than that, forbidden.”

Right? I mean, that’s how it feels. Like that’s how my brain is telling me it is. But when I look at him… all I can see is that he’s the first guy I’ve liked in four fucking years.

He straightens his spine, and his expression shudders. “From here on out, we’re professionals. No more texts. No more calls.”

I shift my weight to hide the sting. I held back for so long and that night when he FaceTimed me did me in. Still, he’s right. This is how it has to be.

“It never happened.”

He sticks his hand out to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reyes. Welcome to the team.”

“You too, Coach.”

Our hands touch, and with it, the same prickle of heat and energy from that night tickles my palm and raises the hairs on my arm. That’s not a good reaction to have.

He gives my hand a small tug until I’m against his chest. His mouth dips to my ear, and he says, “It all happened. Every second of it. We’ll just be the only two people who know or think about it.”

9

RHETT

Release her hand. Release her fucking hand! I do and brush past her without looking back. It’s like sludging through mud packed with quicksand. Every step I take sinks me deeper and suffocates me further. What the fuck? Truly, what the fuck?

I moved to Boston a few days ago and thought about telling her I was here. In truth, I’ve been too busy between traveling, unpacking, meetings, and getting organized for today. We haven’t texted much. Just a few things here or there. There haven’t been any full conversations since last week.

I never got her last name or learned where she worked, but I told myself those were details I could learn later. It’s not that they weren’t important, but they weren’t as important as the other stuff.

Or so I thought.

Clearly I was proven wrong because her last name and where she works have completely changed our trajectory.

I don’t know how to reverse my thinking, but it seems I have no choice.

I have enough to focus on, like having my star players get to know and respect me as their new coach and cutting a ninety-man roster down to fifty-three by the end of August. Oh, and cultivating a winning season as a first-time head coach.

My relationship with my son has also taken an unexpected and pleasant turn. He’s been more receptive to that than he has been in the past. He’s been returning my calls and texts and has even been willing to discuss meeting up.

I offered to come to see him for a weekend, but he said he’d come up to Boston, which shocked me. With him, I’m always grasping at straws, grateful for any piece I can get, no matter how small. But since he found out I got the job in Boston, something shifted in him. I don’t care what it is. I’ll take it.