Page 4 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps, looking up at me.

“You look like you could use a break,” I say. “I don’t think you’re having fun.” Sam has always impressed me as a woman who plays her cards close to her vest. She’s stern and committed to her career from what I hear. The fact that she’s the coach’s daughter makes her off-limits.

“A break?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it, she asks defensively. “Do you know how much I juggle?” she huffs.

Growing up with divorced parents, it’s the wrong question to ask me.

“I do,” I say, letting my voice soften just a little. “My parents divorced when I was in high school. But just because you can do it all doesn’t mean you should. I bet you’ve not had a night out in a long time. Maybe I can change that.”

Her gaze flickers, but her guard remains airtight.

“I doubt it. I don’t date players.” Her accent on players is disturbing.

“I get it.” I continue. “It’s not fair for you to lump all of us together. I know you’ve got Ellie to think about. But don’t forget that you’re allowed to be happy, too.”

Sam has a serious nature. Her sister was outgoing and Sam seemed to live in her shadow. Maybe she felt she couldn’tcompete with her sister and took a backseat. But, from where I’m standing, I don’t understand why she’s still single.

She has a gorgeous face, long wavy hair, and curves in all the right places. She’s younger than me, but today age doesn’t matter. I wonder if she’d go out with me. I’ve been known to be a bit reckless, what’s one more reckless play?

Her silence stretches for a moment, and I can see the conflict flicker in her eyes. Is she trying to find the right words? Or just deciding whether I’m worth the effort? I shift my weight, tempted to say something, anything, to bridge the growing distance. But before I can reply, someone calls me back toward the game, interrupting our discussion.

I give her a small nod and leave her standing there, but I catch her as her eyes follow me. Her face reads of mixed emotions—like she doesn’t know what to make of me.

I nod at her but feel the weight of her gaze follow me long after I trotted off.

The afternoon is filled with the warmth of family and friends as laughter echoes across the backyard. I listen to stories of past victories and embarrassing moments that are retold with animated gestures. The scent of smoky barbecue lingers in the air, mingling with the sweetness of fresh lemonade.

The hum of cicadas in the late afternoon adds a familiar soundtrack to the easy conversations. Every handshake and every backslap carries a sense of belonging, a reminder of the bonds forged through years of hard work and shared triumphs.

The food table is a kaleidoscope of color. From hand-held edibles, chips and dips, and sweets. Everyone is raving about the ribs and potato salad. There is enough food to feed the Roman army.

The sun’s long gone, and the house is finally quiet when I park myself in a fold-up chair around the fire pit. The party was a success—Coach deserved nothing less—but I can’t stop thinking about Sam. I searched the horizon for her and when I didn’t see her, I hoped she didn’t leave without saying goodbye.

She hasn’t changed much. Maybe she’s a little sharper around the edges, but there’s still that fire in her eyes. I saw it when she looked at Ellie playing football, the same fire I saw years ago when she talked about her big dreams of owning a restaurant.

I glance across the fire pit and spot one of my friends, the quarterback of the team, Travis who is nursing a beer. “Hey, you still keep up with the guys?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

He nods. “Yeah, some of them. Why?”

I hesitate for a moment, then decide to go for it. “What do you know about Sam these days?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sam McAllister?”

“Yeah. She seems different. More guarded.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn't blame her. She's been through a lot. Running the inn, raising Ellie. She probably doesn’t have much time for herself.”

I nod slowly, watching the flames dance. “Is she seeing anyone?”

He smirks. “Are you interested?”

I shake my head, but it’s not convincing. “Just curious.”

“As far as I know, no one's made it past a second date since she took Ellie to raise. She’s picky. But I guess when you’re raising a kid, you have to be. Are you sure you want to piss Coach off?”

What would Coach think? Surely Sam is an adult who makes her own decisions. However, his words settle in as the fire crackles. Sam McAllister. She’s always just out of reach. But maybe, just maybe, it might be different if the man in her life is me.

Years ago, I would’ve done anything to impress Sam. But Igot the impression she was always too smart for guys like me—guys who left town chasing big contracts and bigger cities. And if that’s not enough, there is a stream of available women at our beck and call.

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