Page 80 of Racing Heat
“And you’re happy?” He throws the question out and leans back in the chair like he’s studying me.
For a second, I wonder if he’s picked up on something, but I push those panicked thoughts aside. “Yes, I’m happy.”
He watches me for a moment. “Okay, just making sure. I know it’s a big adjustment.”
“Everything is fine.” I lie easily, because it’s the easier answer. The more complicated one includes things he can know and can’t at the same time. Like how lonely I’ve been since moving over here. How hanging out with Danny and August certainly does help, but meeting and getting to taste the right midfielder has made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time. But just as quickly as it started, it might have ended.
“Good, glad to hear it. The wife says we should invite you over to the house for dinner. But that’s up to you. I’m thinking of having all the coaches over.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” I mean it, too. It would be nice to hang out and get to know Nate a bit more. He has small children, so that’s made it difficult for him to really spend any extra time with us outside of practices, games, and team meetings.
“Great, I’ll get that set up.” Nate rises. “Let me know what colors you decide on for the uniforms or how many times you have to send August back to the drawing board.”
I move the mouse to wake up the computer that sits at my desk. I barely use it. I’m not sure why August spent the money on them. Usually, the only thing I use is my iPad. It can handle the filming software, the practices drills I develop, and any emails I’m required to respond to.
“I’m going to do some searching and see what I can find,” I tell him. “There was a company I dealt with in the UK that I want to reach out to and see if they have any connections in the US.”
“That’s fine with me. Just make sure August signs off on it.” He taps my desk, signaling the end of our discussion as he moves toward the door. “You sure you’re good?”
I look at him for a moment, my throat growing dry, wondering what he’s noticed and what’s giving away the sadness I’m feeling over her no-contact days. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
My phone dings beside me and I can see that it’s a text. Without fully looking at it, I can almost make out that it’s Cassie who has sent the text. Only theCin her name can be seen from this angle.
“There’s a smile,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m guessing that’s a woman. Only thing that can make a man’s eyes light up like that.”
He misses nothing. I pick up my phone and, sure enough, she’s messaged me. I just nod, confirming his assumption.
“I’ll leave you to it. See ya out there in a bit.”
“Thanks. Bye,” I say to his retreating form.
I immediately pick up my phone and look to see her message.
Cassie:Thank you for the rose. That was sweet.
It’s good Nate left, because I’m sure I’m grinning like a fool right now.
Jase:You’re welcome, pretty girl. Have a good game.
Text bubbles appear, then disappear. I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning, stomach somersaulting at what she’s going to reply with. Hoping that it’s not just a thank-you but something more—at least permission to keep texting, talking, and seeing her.
Cassie:Thanks. I’ve missed you. I’m not avoiding you on purpose. Sure, I was pissed but I was busy. Don’t take it personally.
Her response makes me happy and also feel a bit daft. Why was I stressing out so badly about this? I knew I pissed her off. I just wasn’t sure it earned me so much silence, if that’s even what it was. I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is the first thing I’ve started since my divorce. Why did I have to make it so complicated?
Jase:It’s kind of hard not to after the way we left things the other day. I didn’t realize how addicted I could be to one person
.
I hit send before I have a minute to second-guess myself. The seconds feel like hours until the bubbles appear again, but nothing comes. Instead, I’m rewarded with a knock on my door. I look up and there she stands, game day ready in her blue uniform with the yellow accents. Her hair is pulled up into her signature braided ponytail.
God, I’ve missed the look of her, and it hasn’t been that long. She’s addicting, like a drug I can’t get enough of.
“Hi” is the only thing that I can say to her. The word slips out with such relief. I’ve missed the sight of her.
“Hey.” She looks around before heading into my office. “I just wanted to come up and say thank you for the rose.”
“You did that,” I remind her, holding up my phone.
