Probably all the dust and dirt.
I couldn’t do anything but furiously pat at my face with the hem of my shirt, outraged and confused, focused on showing him I didn’t need anyone to do this. I only needed myself.
Cameron hummed deep in his throat before standing up, and only then he said, “Perhaps we’re not so different.” The green in his eyes darkened. “Maybe I’m also trying to prove a point.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cameron
“Those are the uniforms?”
I nodded. “The very same.”
Adalyn muttered something under her breath before mumbling, “But—But they—”
“Look like they’re on their way to an eighties theme party?”
“Yes.” A huff left her, and I couldn’t say I didn’t relate to that defeated puff of air. “When did—”
“Josie was here early. She came bearing gifts.”
“But how—”
“Remember the story about her mother and the team back in the day?” Adalyn’s eyes widened and I gave her a nod. “Yeah. Those are the uniforms they used. God knows why they kept them this long.”
“Were they even—”
“Washed? Yes,” I said. “It was the first thing Josie said.”
Adalyn’s eyes narrowed. “Do you read minds now?”
“No.” But I was beginning to understand how hers worked. I turned toward the girls, who were scattering across the field. “Nothing we can do now.”
“This is my fault,” Adalyn said from my side. “I should have checked them beforehand. Just like I said I would. But Josie is so convincing when she wants to be.” She huffed. “I’ll need to see how fast I can order the new ones. But for that we need to get everything sorted. Jerseys, shorts, socks, shin guards, cleat boots, not sneakers. We need a color scheme and a style for the numbers. Everything. Maybe I—” A pause. “Oh my God. What is Chelsea doing with that tutu? What if they disqualify them? What if—”
“Darling—”
“Adalyn.”
“Adalyn,” I relented, just so she wouldn’t get any more worked up. I really had no energy to deal with any extra sassiness right now. The crowd the Grovesville Bears had brought to town was larger than I’d expected, and it was starting to get to me. “This is just a game, yeah?” Her face scrunched up in disagreement, but I lifted a finger. “Chelsea refused to take the goddamn thing off, she’s the bloody Black Swan or some age-inappropriate shit María convinced her of. But the ref said it’s fine when I asked, and she’s also just a kid. They all are. Forget about the tutu and the uniforms and try to get through the game without giving me a headache. This is just little league. It’s child’s play. Literally.”
Adalyn frowned, and I thought for a foolish second that she’d leave it alone. I was obviously wrong. “But the team looks ridiculous.”
I sighed.
She went on, “They’re warriors, they should look fierce. Imposing. Serious. It’s not even the fact that they’re all in pink. We changed the Flames’ third kit to a similar shade that was very popular among fans. But this?” Her hand stuck out. “They’re ugly and dated and the team looks… unserious.”
I didn’t disagree. “Try to ignore it. Close your eyes. Look away. Maybe go away.” She narrowed her eyes at me, and I faced the grass again. “There’s nothing you can do now, so you either stop nagging or go home.”
“You know I’m right.”
“I also know I’m getting a headache.”
“Just look at the other team,” she pressed, but I didn’t really need to. Adalyn continued, “They look like a miniature MLS team. Even their coach has a matching tracksuit.” A pause. “I wonder if anyone is sponsoring them.”
“I thought that binder of yours had all the answers of the universe,” I said dryly, but I turned to the right and looked in the direction of the Bears’ coach.
The lady in the tracksuit in question locked eyes with me across the field. I gave her a nod, even opened my mouth to extend a good luck, but then her eyes were narrowing and her arms were crossing over her chest. I frowned at her. And in response, she mouthed, You’re going down, bitch.
“What the fuck,” I muttered.
“Language,” Adalyn whispered loudly. “You really need to stop swearing around the kids. It’s unprofessional.”
I glanced back at her, finding her engrossed in her phone. “But she just called me a bitch.”
Adalyn’s gaze lifted off the screen for an instant, looking in the direction of the woman, and then returned her attention to it with a sigh. Her fingers started flying across the device. Typing neurotically. She paused, lifted the phone, and started snapping pictures. Unconvinced, she took a few steps back, pointed her phone forward, and snapped a hundred more.
I blinked at her. “What in the world are you doing now? The game is about to start.”
She returned to my side with a shrug and resumed the lightning typing. “What kind of question is that? I’m obviously working.”
“You’re going to burst a metacarpal at that speed.”
“Is that a bone in my fingers? If so, I’m not. I’m used to typing fast when I’m brainstorming.”
“Brainstorming,” I repeated slowly. “For what? New ways to drive me up the wall?”
“Ha,” she deadpanned. “For the new uniforms. I might also order a few banners with the new logo I can give away to people that come to the games.” She bit her lip for a moment, dragging my eyes there. “I can forward you a copy of my notes. We can go over everything on Monday. After practice. Is that a good time?”
I remembered the last meeting we had. The button bursting open. Her scent in my lungs. The lavender satin. My jaw clenched.
Without lifting her head from the screen, she said, “Don’t look at me like that, Coach.”
I ignored that Coach. “How do you know how I’m looking at you?”
“Because you operate in two modes. Self-important and annoyed.”
A snort escaped my mouth. She was probably right. “I thought we agreed on meetings on Wednesdays.”
“Monday won’t be a meeting.” Her thumb swiped up and down, switching apps at an impressive speed. “It’ll be a casual get-together to align ideas.”
“Putting the word casual in front of get-together doesn’t make it less of a meeting, darling.”
Her index finger tapped one last time on the screen. She lifted her head, finally looking at me. “How about you call me boss?” Her eyebrows arched. “I’m not a huge fan of defined hierarchical systems, but I think I can make an exception here.”
I stared back at her under the brim of my cap. Her hair was up in a tight bun again. Only this one was at the top of her head, making her features look sharper under the sun. The suit was back as well, this one a pale shade of beige that was paired with a blue glossy-looking top I wished that blazer wasn’t covering.
It was possibly the dressiest she’d ever been. Even the heels she had on seemed higher than usual. Adalyn was dressed to impress today. Prim and ready to bulldoze over some poor soul. Me, most likely. And yet it was a welcome contrast to how she’d looked the other night on her porch. Covered in dust. In yoga pants. Strands of hair sticking out. I still hadn’t figured out which version of Adalyn I found more disconcerting.
The skin in my palms tingled at the memory of the feel of her face under my fingertips.
I flexed my right hand.
“Where’s the ring?” she asked, bringing my attention back.
I felt myself frown in surprise, but I patted my chest. “I’m used to taking it off for games. I have it on a chain.”
Her cheeks flushed, but if she thought anything of it, she didn’t say. “And what’s with the hat?” She gave me a skeptical once-over. “Is this your game look? I could get you a hat when I order you a matching coach tracksuit. I could ask them to print COACH (RELUCTANTLY HERE) on the front.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why are you here, again?”
“I’m the manager of the Green Warriors, where else should I be?”