Page 58 of The Long Game

Cameron murmured something, or maybe he shouted it, I didn’t know. And I didn’t—couldn’t—care. I was too busy jumping into knee-high freezing water to make sure a blind six-month-old goat named Brandy, whose poop I was covered in, didn’t drown.

Cameron Caldani and his stupid flannel jacket would need to wait.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Adalyn

If I thought Cameron had been exasperating when he’d been indifferent toward working with me, that was because I had no idea how Cameron was when he was actually involved.

“You’re being stubborn,” he told me with that annoying arch of his brow.

“Me?” I scoffed. “You’re the one who’s been complaining about the color scheme for the new uniforms for a full hour. Honestly, for someone who dresses in technical wear that comes in colors like Smolder Blue, Northern Black, or Rocky Gray, you seem very keen on deciding what shade of green the socks should be.”

He let out a grunt.

The fifth one in the last hour. As if he was some… bear-man.

“What’s wrong now?” I asked. “Did I offend your fashion sense by saying the truth?”

“These bloody stands we’re sitting on.” Cameron shifted in his seat. “They are worse than I thought,” he muttered, turning right and left as if the bleachers had anything else to offer but a hard surface and an iron structure that had seen better days. “How do you manage to sit here for two whole hours, three days a week?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, the audacity of men to doubt a woman’s capacity to endure pain and discomfort.”

Cameron scowled. “Pain?”

“Can you please focus? I need to close this today. We said we would discuss it on Monday after practice and got nowhere. Wednesday’s meeting was fruitless too. Now it’s Thursday, the second game is this coming Saturday, and the girls will play in the old uniforms again. Do you see the rush?”

“Not really,” he had the nerve to answer.

Now that outright pissed me off. “I have reports to fill and a success story to create. For that I need a narrative I control, a social media presence to get eyes on the team, a strategy to win the Six Hills, and a team dressed in decent, up-to-date sponsored uniforms. So far I have none of that.”

“You have me.”

That stupid blush returned, and I made myself give him a bland look. “Yay.”

But as ironic as I intended that, something heavy and unexpected settled deep in my belly. I really did have Cameron’s help after that sudden change of heart during last Saturday’s game. I’d seen the shift in how he ran practice this week. Cameron had been a lot less resignedly patient and more… assertive. Bossy. And to my surprise, instead of rebelling or complaining, the chaotic ragtag team that had been the Green Warriors had gone so far as to look disciplined.

For like ten percent of the time.

Cameron’s large body shifted again, sidetracking me when the side of his knee collided against mine. An unexpected shiver crawled down my spine at the warm contact of his skin against the thin fabric of the chinos I was wearing in an attempt to look less scary and more approachable. My gaze fell on his bare knee, thanks to the workout shorts he religiously wore to practice. My eyes trailed upward, along his quad. The fabric had ridden up and his skin was on display, smooth-looking and—

Ugh. I was doing it again. Ogling this man’s body.

“You’re cold,” he stated from my side. “Again. When are you going to finally understand that you’re not in Miami and these flimsy clothes are not enough?”

“I’m not cold,” I lied. I was simply affected by the brief contact of his leg. “I’m annoyed. And my clothes are not flimsy.” I lifted up the forgotten binder from my lap. “If you want to participate in the decision process of the new uniforms”—and the matching tracksuit he didn’t approve of but I was ordering anyway—“we settle on one now. Otherwise, I’ll look for someone else’s input.”

“You don’t have anybody else.”

I didn’t.

Besides Josie, and maybe Grandpa Moe, not a single soul in Green Oak was remotely interested in talking to me, much less working with me. Diane was still doubling as a PTA vigilante. But I wasn’t complaining. I would also be hesitant to befriend the sicko who attacked a mascot and went by the name of Lady Birdinator online.

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages app.

Cameron craned his neck. “Who are you texting?”

I kept my eyes on the screen, ignoring how near he’d moved, and selected a few of the pictures I’d taken during Saturday’s game. “Someone who might actually help.”

---