Page 70 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Never watched anything about anything.” I shrugged. “Sports aren’t really my thing.”
She smiled, deep dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Then this should be fun.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Wren, by the way. If any of the guys bother you, please let me know.”
“Eh, should I expect that?”
Wren looked me up and down again. “Yes.”
“Oh, goodie.”
She laughed at my dry response, and I let out a beleaguered sigh and followed her toward the large double doors. When she pulled one open, I stopped short, mouth falling slack.
It was massive, which ... duh, it was a fucking football field, but the sheer scope of the space—filled with absolutely huge men running and laughing and lining up and throwing things andwow—was so much more than I’d expected.
People were everywhere, players in ripped T-shirts and tight white pants, some in helmets, some not. Cameras were set up off to the side, and a white backdrop covered in pastel-colored flowers held upa fluorescent-pink sign that spelled outMidfield with Maggie. Two chairs sat in front of the backdrop, yellow velvet wingbacks with a small yellow enamel table between them. It looked more professional than a fucking movie set.
And this was for a ten-year-old because they thought she was funny. The sheer amount of money that went into an operation like this threatened to make my head explode.
“This is not normal,” I said under my breath.
Wren glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
A football whizzed overhead, and instinctively, I ducked, covering my head with my hands, even though it cleared the top of my head by five feet and bounced harmlessly onto the emerald turf of the field.
“Holy fuck, death by football,” I muttered. “That’s how I’m gonna get taken out, isn’t it?”
“Heads up,” someone called about four seconds too late.
“Oh, no shit?” I called back.
He looked suitably chastened. “Sorry.”
Wren laughed. “You’ll be just fine, I think.”
In the center of all the organized chaos was Barrett, wearing that fucking quarter-zip that did unholy things to the shape of his biceps, along with a dark hat molded to his head. His eyes were locked on to a clipboard. Another tall man in a backward cap, with a long black beard and tattoos on his neck, stood to his side, pointing at something that made Barrett nod. His jaw was covered in stubble, which I’d also never seen, and a flurry of ticklish anticipation had me dragging my feet as I followed Wren.
Maggie got to Barrett first, and his mouth softened at the sight of his daughter. They talked for a few seconds, Maggie excitedly pointing things out on the set. Then she pushed up on tiptoe and cupped her hand around the side of his face as he leaned down. Whatever she said made his entire frame go still.
Then his head snapped up, eyes locking on to mine even though they were under the shadow of his hat’s brim. His jaw tightened, and in response, so did my stomach.
Barrett hadnotknown I was going to be there, then. That always made our interactions extra special, didn’t it? And now it was public. Even better.
He said something to the man off to the side and passed him the clipboard, then settled a hand on Maggie’s shoulder before she scampered off to the set waiting for her.
Wren glanced from Coach’s inscrutable face to mine as he strode purposefully in our direction, then cleared her throat. “Right. I think I’ll ...” She gestured to the set and took her leave.
I swear, I almost clutched her elbow and swung her around to shield me from the intimidating approach of the massive man commanding this massive space.
It wasn’t until he came close enough to touch that I got a clear view of his eyes under the hat, and I fought the irrational urge to knock it off his fucking head because I didn’t like that I couldn’t see him clearly.
I glared at it instead.
“What are you glaring at?” he asked.
“Your hat. It looks terrible on you.”
His sigh was loud and long, but he must’ve been feeling charitable because he didn’t call me on my bullshit. Nothing Barrett had worn thus far made him look anything other than stupid hot.
