Page 5 of I Got You

They shuffle closer, not answering. I survey the field, spotting a girl sitting in the bleachers a few rows up.

Great. Just what we need. Girlfriends or jersey chasers staking out practice causing distraction or worse.

“Finish stretching if you need to, then we’ll start drills. Coach is wrapping up a meeting. We’ll split when he’s ready.”

They spread out, getting to work. If we’re going to make things happen this season, we can’t have girlfriends hanging out during practice.

“Whose girlfriend is holding down the cheering section?” They continue to move about, but I hear some snickering. “We don’t allow guests at practice, so I suggest one of you go tell her to find something better to do with her time.”

They get back to business, no one moving to tell this poor girl that they have better things to do than make googly eyes during practice. I give it a minute, but when no one heads in her direction, I do.

I climb the steps into the stands, and when the woman’s piercing blue eyes hit mine, I see what looks like just a hint of a smile. She otherwise doesn’t move a muscle, apparently waiting for me to speak.

“Sorry. Practices are closed. Whichever one is your boyfriend out there, I gave him an opportunity to tell you himself. Apparently, he didn’t want to disappoint.”

She tips her head to the side, still staring at me. “Boyfriend?”

That slight smile creeps just a little higher as if something I said is amusing.

I don’t have time for this. “Sorry, but you need to pack up and head out. They don’t need distractions.”

“Annnndddd I’m a distraction?”

I’d really like her to quit responding with questions. I settle my hands on my hips. This isn’t helping me get down to business.

She rests her elbows on the row behind her like she’s settling in and making herself comfortable. “You don’t need to be all grizz. CC hasn’t had an issue with it in the past.”

It’s my turn for questions. “Grizz? And who the hell is CC?”

“Coach Cavanaugh. For all you know, he could have asked me to check the team out. And you don’t need to act like a big grizzly bear whose cave was disturbed. I was just going to watch for a few minutes.”

I see a fire ignite in those blue eyes. I rub my hand over my face, exasperated with this exchange. Seriously, why? I’m just here to do a job, coach, not chase away smart-mouthed…wait, did she say who she is?

“Coach Cavanaugh asked you to check out the team?”

Her response is to continue to stare me down, her eyes narrowing. Her former ease has turned into irritation, and I can see it beginning to boil the more I question her.

After a second of looking me over with a glare of contempt, she grabs her phone and keys and starts making her way down. She stops on the bleacher right in front of me, so we’re basically eye to eye.

Her oversized white t-shirt falls off her shoulder, revealing a purple bra strap. She’s pretty. No, she's strikingly beautiful but has an attitude that sets me on edge. Strands of her light brown hair fall down around her face from her short ponytail, and I can understand why one of the players would want to keep her close, but right now, she’s way too close to me.

Her mouth moves to something that looks like a smirk and pushes every single one of my buttons. “Because there’s no way I could possibly know anything about what it takes to be an elite athlete or have anything of value to contribute here, right?”

She tips her head to the side again, searching my eyes like she knows me. I scratch my neck, which burns with discomfort.

I’m struck dumb. When was the last time anyone made me feel uncomfortable? My skin literally feels two sizes too small. My irritation now matches hers. What…the…hell?

When I don’t respond, she hops down and makes her way to the field confident and unbothered, which pisses me off.

As I turn to follow her, I see most of the team spent this time watching our exchange instead of getting to work. I see extra sprints in their future.

I trail behind her down the sidelines, hearing a couple players say something to her, and she gives a slight wave in return. Up ahead, Matthews jogs out from the locker room with Coach Cavanaugh following behind. She slows as they get closer.

Matthews holds his arms out to the side. “Mags, what’s up?”

She tosses a look at me over her shoulder. “Evidently, practices are closed. You so owe me,” she tells him, her irritation crystal clear.

Cole looks over at me and then back at her, not saying anything.

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