Page 22 of Kiss Me Tonight

And when I saylove him, I mean they’ve been catering to his every whim and desire all practice.

“Coach, you look like you need some water!” one kid exclaims when he spots Dominic’s temple beading with sweat, right before he bum-rushes two teammates for a Dixie cup at the watercooler.

“Coach,” another one says during warm-ups, while he’s bent over at the waist with his fingers dangling toward his toes, “I want arm muscles like you. What’d you do to get ’em? Like a hundred push-ups a day or something?”

“Coach!” shouts another as he lines up at the scrimmage line, knuckles already planted in the turf, rearing to go. “Watch me hustle this play like the time you caught that sixty-yarder in the Super Bowl!”

It’s sickening.

Downright vomit-worthy.

Especially when you factor in how old these kids are. Even the seniors were barely preteens at the height of Dominic’s career. They’re babies—half of them can’t even legally drive—and yet they watch Dominic, slack-jawed, as though he’s a . . . alegend. A bonafide idol stepped down from the heavens to share his wealth of knowledge with them.

Even Topher’s doing his fair share of hero-worshipping, and he’s spent his entire life around pro football players. Thanks to Rick’s job, Topher’s no stranger to meeting NFL players and coaches and physical therapists—I mean, the kid celebrated his first five birthdays at Pittsburgh’s Heinz Field.

He’s never been star struck . . . until now.

Until Dominic DaSilva stormed into my little hometown like he owns the place, doling out high fives and bicep punches and advice like he’s some sort of sage wise man who knows everything there is to know about everything.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I’m grateful for my job.

I’m grateful Topher didn’t kill us on the way to practice—although the two of us are going to have a nice, long talk about taking responsibility for our mistakes later tonight.

I’mnotgrateful for the way Dominic’s shirt keeps riding up to expose that tightVabove his shorts . . .

Damn it.

My lucky stars trick is not doing it for me.

It’s the first day of summer camp for both JV and varsity, and my blood pressure is already skyrocketing. If I have to hear one more praiseworthy comment tossed Dominic’s way, I’m going to—

“Coach?”

My heart turns over, and sure enough, a fresh-faced kid is standing there, helmet clasped to his practice jersey with dirt caked on his chin. Hope gleams in his dark eyes. “Yes”—I sneak a quick peek at my clipboard, where I’ve printed a photo of every player on the team alongside basic facts about them—“Timmy? What’s going on?”

He’s a few inches shorter than me. A freshman, too. New to London High, new to the team. I watched him play in the scrimmage earlier, while both Dominic and I surveyed the field with a keen eye as we rotated players in and out of positions to determine their natural fit. I’m leaning toward wide receiver for Timmy. He’s lean and fast and shows no sign of being scared to run and keep on running.

Possibly on varsity, if he can hack it with the older kids.

Shifting his helmet from one hand to the other, he rocks his weight onto the backs of his cleats. “Coach Levi, do you think . . . maybe . . . like, I’m just wondering—”

I stare at him, silently urging him on to get on with it.

You can do it, Timmy. I know you can.

I keep the cheerleading to myself and offer him an encouraging smile instead.

In a burst of speed, he spits out, “I know phones aren’t allowed during practice but when we breaked for water, I texted my mom about Coach DaSilva. Sheloveshim. I mean, not that she knows him personally or anything. But yeah. And thenshetexted some of the other moms, and now they’re on their way here. They want to take pictures. With Coach DaSilva. And us kids.” He barely stops to breathe before tacking on, “I’m sorry, Coach Levi.”

Pictures.

With Dominic.

Is that the sound of my soul crying or just my teeth gnashing together in an effort to keep on smiling?

I’m suddenly confronted with the visual ofFinding Nemo’sDory when she sings,Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.Dory knew what the hell she was talking about.

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