Page 29 of Major Penalty

I sit on one of the blankets, watching the kids settle in, watching Ares double-check everything, making sure each kid has what they need.

And then, he glances at me. Our eyes lock, and for one single second, I feel it.

That shift, that heat I feel every time he’s near.

The kids eat, talk, laugh, and wipe their hands on their shirt. Everything is perfectly normal, but I’m not. I am not okay. I can feel his presence, movements, and every time he glances at me.

“Alright,” Ares’ voice cuts through the chatter.

Immediately, the kids stop talking.

“We’re playing a game,” Ares announces, tossing an empty juice box into the trash bag. “I want you guys to pick teams.”

Instant chaos. Kids scramble, shouting names, pulling at each other, debating strategies like this is the World Cup.

“What’s the game?” I ask, setting my sandwich down.

“Keep away,” Ares says, tugging out a soccer ball out of his bag and flashing me a wink that hits me square in the chest.

The kids are running everywhere, screaming, laughing, and colliding with each other. The ball gets stolen, dropped, kicked too hard, and sent flying all over the place. But they’re having fun. And Ares is making them work for it. He dodges and fakes them out, letting them think they have a chance before stealing the ball right out from under them. But he lets them get small victories; he lets them steal the ball back, take him down, push him around. I don’t miss the way he compensates, favoring his left hip as he plays with them.

Tommy charges at Ares before bouncing off his side.

“Again,” Ares tells him with a nod. “Come on. Show me something.”

The boy attacks again, and this time, Ares lets him win. He lets Tommy push him back half a step to make the steal.

The boy whoops in victory, running off with the ball. I watch, stunned. I’ve seen Ares throw his entire body into a fight like he doesn’t care what happens. Now, he’s something else entirely. Still powerful and untouchable but also gentle and patient. The kids adore him. They follow his lead, listening to every word.

And I…I can’t stop staring. I don’t realize the ball is coming my way until it’s too late. Ares intercepts it first. I gasp, whirling to chase him. He lets me for a second.

I lunge, but he dodges me, twists, and suddenly I slam into his chest hard.

Ow!

My fingers grab onto his hoodie, and his hands land on my waist. I freeze, and so does he. The kids are still running, shouting, and scrambling for the ball. But I can’t focus on anything but his scent enveloping me. He smells clean and sharp, with a dark undertone. I look up, and he’s already looking down. His fingers press into my waist like he’s making sure I feel it.

“Should I go easy on you next time?” he murmurs, his lips curling slightly.

I shove at his chest, chasing after the ball, because I need to move, I need to do something, I need to break whatever this is before I fall into it completely.

The game winds down only because Ares allows it to. He grabs the ball, spins it in his hands, and plants himself on one of the blankets, exhaling like they’ve exhausted him.

He leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him and tilting his head as if he’s actually worn out. The kids flop onto the grass around him, breathing hard.

“Alright,” Ares drawls. “You got me. I’m dead.”

Some of the kids cheer. Some collapse dramatically. Mandy crawls into his lap and pokes his cheek.

“You’re not dead, Ares!”

Ares cracks one eye open. “Pretty close.”

“No, you’re not.” She pokes him again.

“You won,” Ares sighs dramatically.

“We won!” Mandy yells, scrambling off Ares to go cheer with the other kids, her curls bouncing.

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