Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
CHELSEA
My phone dings just as I’m closing up for the day. I turned the open sign around in the front window and fish my phone out of my apron pocket.
I smile when I open it and see some photos of Mom and Dad having a great time in Florida. I’m so happy for them, as it’s been a while since they had a break.
Today has been manic, especially with having Marlene down with the flu.
That’s the only thing with a small team; if one person gets sick, then the whole team could go down.
So it’s best she stay home until she gets better.
Luckily, I don’t seem to have any symptoms, but Deaton is always coming home with the sniffles.
I’m planning on going over to watch the last little bit of Deaton’s soccer training. They always have a little practice game at the end and I don’t like missing it.
Deaton really loves it, and he’s actually pretty good with his feet.
The team has been fundraising for a new uniform because, let’s face it, the ones they have currently are years old.
Unfortunately, like most things with the school, it’s the parents who are left to rally around for new things because the school budget only stretches so far.
I’ve helped by having a bake sale, and volunteered at the car wash the kids did last month, but with printing costs and apparel at an all-time high, it could be a few more months until the team sees anything new.
Not that the kids know any better, but it would be nice for them to have a new winter set with the team logo on it when the cooler months drop in.
I pull my mini-van into the lot and take a breath.
I didn’t do anything fancy before I left the bakery, just changed my shirt and headed out the door.
But when I look in the rear vision mirror and see my slightly unkempt state, my eyes widen.
Eep. Pulling out my scrunchie, I ruffle my hair a little…
when that doesn’t work; I tilt my head and shake my hair, that helps some.
I even smudge on some lip balm and smack my lips together — then stop.
Why am I so concerned about how I look all of a sudden?
I mean, I’m not a complete slob. Most days I try to put myself together to some degree.
But sometimes I haven’t washed my hair — thank god for hats — other days I’m running out the door with cake batter all over myself, and not realizing until later on I have most of it stuck to my face.
After a few seconds of fluffing, I give up and tie my hair back up in a ponytail, how it originally was.
I reach for my deodorant and give myself a quick quick spray.
Grabbing my thermal cup full of caramel latte I made earlier, I head out.
I’m not one of those sideliner moms who screams at her kid, or gets into altercations with other parents. I encourage Deaton, but I’m also always cheering on the other kids as well.
When I get to the field, I immediately look for Brad. The kids are already running around on the field, and I spot Deaton right away. He sees me and waves; I wave back, headed to the sideline, but I still don’t spot Brad. Where is he?
I check my phone to see if he’s texted me, or if he had to leave — which would be very unlike Brad because he’s the most reliable person I know — but there’s nothing.
Frowning, I look around, using my hand as a shield because the sun is still high in the sky.
That’s when I stop. My eyes bug wide, and not because Lorelei Matthews has her hand placed on Brad’s chest and is laughing like a hyena — noting several other moms standing around with similar awed expressions on their faces — no, no.
It’s when my eyes drop to his attire. The man who basically owns every single suit from Hugo Boss, Armani and Versace, is standing on the sidelines of my child’s soccer game, wearing sweats.
Not just any sweats. As he turns his back to me, I see The LA Wanderers pasted on the back.
What in the heck is going on?
And since when did the team have brand new sweatsuits?
He certainly looks comfortable surrounded by a gaggle of women, but that’s nothing new.
Brad has always been a charmer. As I zone in and then begin to move towards him, he suddenly shifts.
Our eyes lock. For a few fleeting moments, we just stare at each other, but then his small smile turns into a fully fledged grin.
I half expect him to do a twirl, considering his audience, but instead he crooks his finger, indicating that I keep moving toward him.
I roll my eyes, because duh, my feet are still moving, and as I get closer, some of the women turn to look at where he’s staring.
I pique a brow when I reach them and mouth, “Wow.”
The man they call Mr. Grumpy around the office at Lucas Property Brothers certainly seems quite at home on the soccer field.
The sweats? Divine. They’re gray, of course, with dark blue writing on the hoodie; there’s a smaller emblem on the front left side, and then the larger logo on the back.
He has his hair styled as per usual perfection, a five-o’clock shadow, and his glasses.
I’m surprised he doesn’t have women fainting at his feet.
To make matters worse? He rolls his sleeves up as I approach, and several of the ladies glance at his tattooed arms. Oh, brother.
I may need help prying them away from my best friend, but it’s doubtful I can take them all on my own.
“Oh, hi, Chelsea!” Lorelei, still touching Brad, coos. “Didn’t see you there.”
I smile as sweetly as I can muster. “I just arrived.”
The other moms greet me and Brad moves away from Lorelei and her clutches.
“Hello, Chels.” Brad smiles. “Got a second?”
“I’ve got lots of seconds, as it happens.” I finger wave to the other women as Brad puts an arm around my shoulders. I don’t know why I did that, or why I feel a little smug that I have his undivided attention.
“Thank god you’re here,” he mutters. “There was about to be a mutiny on the bounty.”
“Right, but more importantly, you’re in sweats.”
He looks down at himself. “So I am. You like?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Yes, it looks good on you. As you know, I’ve never ever seen you out of a suit. Not since we were kids, anyway. I think the ladies back there seemed to like it.”
“The question was, do you?”
“I think sweats are quite becoming on you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“So, how the heck did you get hold of that sweatsuit, anyway?” I ask suspiciously.
“Well, I heard a few weeks back the kids were needing some new gear, and didn’t quite have all the money raised. So I pitched in the rest.”
I blink once, twice, stopping in my tracks. “You did?”
He shrugs. “Why not? I admit, I had to forgo my Pilates class for the entire month, but the kids will be happy when they get their new shirts and sweatsuits when they finish.”
“You don’t do Pilates.”
He ignores that. “I have a set for you in my trunk. We can all be matchy.”
I laugh at the thought of us in matching soccer sweatsuits. “Please do not use that Pilates line on any other woman.” I shake my head. “But thank you, B, that was so unusually thoughtful of you.”
“Unusually?” He laughs.
“You don’t usually like kids, that’s all.”
“I like your kid, ooh, that reminds me, Deaton was kinda upset about the Daddy slash Buddy day thing at school, and I said I’d ask you if I could go as his buddy instead.”
The hits just keep coming. “W-what?” I blurt. Then, I press my palm to my forehead. “Oh, god, it slipped my mind for a second.” I feel like the worst mother in the world, though I did only just find out about it myself.
“That’s the one.”
“And you offered to go for him? Why?”
He seems surprised, his eyebrows shooting up as he folds his arms over his very broad chest. “Because I’m his friend, and it’d be nice for him to not have to think about why he has a dead-beat Dad who doesn’t give a shit about him.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude of me asking why.”
“No, but you’re also not jumping off the rafters to say yes.”
I pause. “It’s not that… I just…”
“You’re worried that I’m getting too close to Deaton, and that I’ll end up leaving, too?”
I swallow hard, lowering my voice. “Not in so many words. He has my dad, who is reliable and responsible, but I think it’s a good thing that he likes hanging around you. I just don’t want him to get hurt.”
His face turns serious when he says. “I’m never going to hurt him. Or you.”
“I know that.”
“But you’re biting your lip; you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried, I’m protective.”
He takes his hands to my shoulders, and time seems to halt right in its tracks. “I know you’re a mama bear, I get it. But he was pretty down about it in the car. He wants to show his friends that he has someone else in his corner too when Grandpa isn’t around. It’ll be fun.”
I nod, tears welling in my eyes that he confessed to Brad, but he said nothing to me. I mean, I would have figured something out, even asked Brad myself.
“Okay, if you’re sure you can get off work—”
“I dictate my own hours at work.” He grins, tipping my chin up. “No sad faces. You’re an amazing mom, you’re doing a great job with him.”
I smile, despite how I’m trying to keep my crying at bay.
How does he always know what I’m thinking?