part 3
CHAPTER 33
all i see is this girl
DOMINIC
Age 27
September
Arms crossed over my chest,I stand on the sidelines, tracking every movement on the field. The late afternoon sun is scorching, casting long shadows over the field and the bleachers. When Torres stumbles, I grimace. As he stands, jerking his head in my direction, I turn my ball cap around and wipe at the trickle of sweat sliding down my temple.
Though school started weeks ago, the humidity is still through the roof. The air, thick with the scent of cut grass and sweat, feels like a sauna.
I lift my whistle, but rather than blow, I drop it again and let it dangle around my neck. Two seasons ago, Coach McDermott finally talked me into the assistant coach position. This year, I’m filling in as head coach, since his wife has been in and out of the hospital. I know these kids well, and they respect me, which makes my job easier. Miles thinks they look up to me because of our custom motorcycle shop, like they think I’m cool because I ride a Harley. Who knows, honestly.
When Torres falls on the field again, I holler, “Eyes up, Torres. Watch your footwork.”
Jackson trips over his own feet right in front of me, cursing under his breath.
“Wanna say that again?” I ask, using the stern tone I’ve mastered for this role. “If you wanna win, you need to be more attentive.”
Overall, they listen well, and they do what I tell them.
It took some time for me to grow up, and finally, at twenty-seven, it looks like I can set a good example, at least when it comes to being professional…almost.
At the end of practice, I bring them in to talk about what they still need to work on, making sure to also highlight what they did well. While there’s always room for improvement, this team is superb.
When I dismiss them, they scatter, grabbing their water bottles as they laugh and horse around. I chuckle to myself. One of the cheerleaders runs toward Torres, and he catches her with ease, planting a kiss on her lips.
Kids.
I turn away, ready to collect my things, only to find a blonde blocking my path. Her blue eyes are bright, her skin smooth, making her look younger than she is. While she doesn’t look much older than me, she’s got a kid on the team; she was probably in high school when I was born.
“Great practice today,Coach,” she purrs. Her loose tee slips off one shoulder, showing off the strap of a pink bra.
Annoyance flares inside me, but I keep my tone even. “Thanks, Ms. Reed.”
“What’s with the formality? The last time we saw each other”—she lowers her voice, her next words dripping with suggestion—“you weren’t so…professional.”
This is what I meant when I said I’malmosta good role model. Really, I’m more like a fucking idiot.
I blow out a long breath. “That was a mistake.”
“Hm, didn’t feel like one.”
If only that were the truth. But I have no desire to explain to her what happened between us was an unsuccessful attempt on my part to feel something, to fill the gaping void in my chest.
I should know better. Nothing has ever come close. I don’t know why I’m still trying.
Putting space between us, I say, “It was a one-time thing, and I made that more than clear that night. That won’t change.”
“Okay.” She gives me a flirty smile, as if she doesn’t believe me, then walks away.
Thank fuck. Fraternizing with players’ parents is taboo. But, in my defense, I didn’t know she was Reed’s mother when we hooked up. I’ve never seen her at a game, let alone a practice. His granny is the one who always shows up. I felt like an asshole when I realized who she was, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past.
But I can make sure I don’t make that mistake again.
