Chapter 10
TEN
LUCAS
I jog across the stadium field, as the stands empty after the disappointing loss for the Forge. The final point was scored because I couldn’t block the ball quickly enough. My knee has been screaming in pain the entire game. When I get into the locker room, Coach is speaking to everyone.
“Hensley,” he says to me. “If you can’t give it one hundred percent, you shouldn’t be here.”
I nod. “Understood, Coach.” I keep my expression neutral, but inside, my shame burns as much as my knee. I let the entire team down. No matter what I do, it’s not enough. The game had been going well until that final moment when the strain of playing so hard finally caught up to me.
A few of the other players are throwing me dirty looks, but I ignore them.
“Hey, man,” Jace says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We can’t win them all. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I grunt in return and head to the showers. Jace catches up next to me. “I saw Anabelle was here with her kid and family tonight. You invited them?”
And paid for their tickets. I like her parents. They made me feel welcome.
Her dad was a little quiet at first, but I can’t fault the man for it. He did warm up to me by the end of the night—asked me about the Forge, about Nolan’s progress, even about my knee.
Not that I’m great at talking. I just . . . showed up. And I guess that was enough.
“Yeah.”
“So does this mean you’re getting serious with Anabelle?” Jace presses.
I grab my soap and head to shower before I have to answer.
The thing is . . . it’s been, what? Four weeks since I started mentoring Nolan? And somehow, somewhere between soccer drills and porch repairs, I began looking forward to seeing her.
That should probably scare me more than it does.
After I’m toweled off and dressed, Jace resumes his interrogation. “If you’re not sure, you must be at least considering it. Because if you weren’t, you would have shut it down.”
“You’re thinking too hard about this,” I mutter.
“You deserve to be happy.” Jace wads up his towel and shoves it into a Forge-logo duffel. “Even if it comes wrapped in boutique-owner chaos.”
“I am happy.”
“Riiight,” Jace says. “That’s why you’re always smiling and laughing.”
“Some people express their joy differently.” I shrug a shoulder.
My phone buzzes. I’m meeting Anabelle after this for food.
I asked her yesterday when I gave her the tickets.
The truth is, I’ve been thinking about her ever since we almost kissed.
I have to see her again. She’s haunted my dreams and every moment when life slows to nothing.
Anabelle: Where should we meet?
I give her some specific directions to the hall outside the locker room, and something brushes my ear. I swat at it and hit someone in the face.
“Oof, what was that for?” Jace asks.
“Why are you reading over my shoulder?” I ask, glaring at him accusingly.
“You’re meeting up with Anabelle tonight? You dirty scoundrel, you are involved with her! I knew it!”
“It’s not what you think. And mind your own business,” I growl.
“You should take her up to that overlook where you go all the time,” Jace suggests. “You’ll definitely get some action if you do that.”
I sigh. “You’re exhausting.” And so is this night. Honestly, I don’t have the energy for the overlook. It’s my favorite place to sit and think, but I’d like to go home and ice my knee. With Anabelle along. And some delicious take out we don’t have to cook.
I leave the locker room, and Anabelle is right where I directed her to meet me.
She’s wearing a black Forge jersey with her hair up in a ponytail, skinny jeans, and bright pink athletic shoes that match her lipstick and fingernails.
Yes, I’m taking in every detail because I can’t help myself.
I’m studying her like I’m preparing for my next game.
Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. She’s making me crazy with those pink lips of hers.
My fingers ache to reach up and slip the band from her ponytail so her hair cascades around her shoulders.
“You were amazing,” she gushes as soon as she sees me. “Seeing you in action like that . . .”
She’s not about to start fanning herself, is she?
She blushes. “I’m sorry, you’re probably used to women falling all over you after a game.”
Actually, I’m not. That ship sailed back when I tore my ACL a year ago. “You’re fine,” I rumble. Her behavior was the last thing I expected after making the team lose.
“We were cheering so loud for you! Nolan was going all out. And my parents were, too!” Her smile warms me. “Thank you for inviting us and providing us with the tickets. It meant a lot to Nolan.”
I smile, and it’s genuine this time. “You’re welcome.”
“Do you know where you want to go?” she asks.
“My place. I need to ice my knee,” I tell her. “Maybe grab some takeout?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Your place, huh?”
“Uh, is that okay?” I’m not pushing this too much, too soon, am I? I honestly just need to put my knee up.
“It’s fine with me.”
“Do you like Chinese?” I ask. “I know of a good place.”
She nods, and her ponytail bobs. “Beef and broccoli is my jam. That and a good cashew chicken.”
“Both solid choices,” I rumble. I reach out to take her hand. “Ready to go?” I’m being bold, but considering we almost kissed, it feels like a safe move to make.
She takes my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine, causing my stomach to leap into my chest. Her small hand is soft and warm, and we walk together to the parking lot that way.
“My parents drove, so would you mind dropping me off at home after we’re done?” she asks.
Bold move. She must be into me—something that confuses me.
She’s been so careful around Nolan, so protective, like she’s got a mental checklist of what’s “safe” and what isn’t. And dating her kid’s soccer mentor? That doesn’t exactly scream safe.
So, what is this? A signal? A slip-up? Or maybe she’s just as confused about all this as I am.
Either way, I’m not letting go of her hand yet.
“Not at all,” I say. I’m parked in a VIP parking lot behind the stadium, and I lead her through the maze of the stadium until we reach the door that leads to the VIP parking lot.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“This is where the team parks.”
“Oh, fancy!”
I’ve felt like a “no one” for so long, and this woman acts like I’m a big deal. Unbelievable. “This isn’t that impressive.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You’re a celebrity! It wasn’t obvious to me before, but seeing you here tonight has really shown that to me.”
“That wasn’t my intention when I offered you the tickets. I just thought it would be fun for Nolan.”
“And it was fun for him. But I’m also impressed. Both can be true,” she insists.
“My truck is this way.” I lead her over to the left.
“You always do this,” she says, her voice soft.
“Do what?” I’m genuinely stunned.
“You change the subject when something gets too emotional.”
“It’s ingrained in me.”
“I can understand that,” she admits. “Sometimes I do the same thing. Only I usually do it with a big smile. Stay positive! Say my affirmations.”
“Those are good things to do,” I point out. “I don’t see the problem.”
“I use my positivity to hide what I need to face. What I may need to change or address.”
“You’d be surprised how many people do that. They think they’re helping themselves by being upbeat all the time when they need to face the bad stuff, too.”
“Toxic positivity,” she says and then laughs. “Sorry, is this a therapy session? How did we get on this deep topic?”
“I don’t mind being deep,” I say.
She doesn’t answer right away. She looks off in the distance, toward my truck.
“I used to smile through everything. I thought if I stayed positive, it would help me get through the hard moments. I smiled when Nolan’s dad walked out, and when I was so lonely, I couldn’t sleep at night.
I never let anyone see my pain. Not my family and not my friends. ”
I glance at her. The air between us shifts—slows.
“It felt safer that way,” she adds, almost like she’s talking to herself. “If I kept it light, maybe I wouldn’t fall apart.”
I stretch my fingers as I walk. “Yeah. I get that.”
“You do?”
“When I was a kid, my dad left. I figured if I didn’t cry, it wouldn’t hurt as much. I decided it didn’t matter, except it did. And I carried that mindset into every aspect of my life.”
The air grows warmer between us.
“Well,” she finally murmurs. “Maybe that’s something we both need to work on.”
I glance at her. “Starting now?”
She gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Starting now.”
I open the door to my truck when we arrive, and she climbs inside.
Once I’m settled beside her, I call the restaurant and put in an order for delivery, getting her choices as well.
“It should be there ten minutes after we arrive,” I say.
We have to drive forty-five minutes to get back to Maple Creek.
“How’s your knee?” she asks.
“It’s fine.” It’s an automatic response.
“No, really. I saw you limping in the parking lot.”
She’s an observant one. I’d been so focused on the conversation that I’d let my guard down.
“I need to put some ice on it. It’s really swollen,” I admit.
“Maybe we can watch a movie while you prop it up and we eat our dinner.”
“I like how you think.” I back out of my parking space and head to the main road.
“I like going out to restaurants, but this sounds nice, too.”
“Are you hinting that you’d like me to take you to dinner?” I ask.
“Well,” she says in a flustered voice. “I meant in general, not you specifically.”
“I’d love to take you out,” I say in a serious voice.
“Then we should do it,” she says. “Have you been to Hadley’s?”
“No. Isn’t that the restaurant the actor owns?”
“Owen Hadley? Yes. He was in a bunch of blockbuster movies. We went to high school together. He and his wife spend most of their time in LA, but they still have businesses and loved ones in Maple Creek, so they come back often.”
“Speaking of businesses, how is yours going?” I ask.
“Not great,” she admits.
“Did you try the half-off sale?”
“I did, actually. But I ran paid ads for it, and I only lost money. No one came to the shop for the sale outside of a few of my regulars.”
“You have to know the right ads to run.”
“How do you know so much about this?” she asks.
“My grandmother owns a chain of beach stores in North Carolina, and I helped her run them when I was younger. I started out at the register and slowly worked my way up until soccer took over.”
I pull up to a stoplight as we head to the interstate.
Her eyes go wide. “Is that why you were rearranging my store like that?”
I keep a straight face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can’t help yourself?” she teases.
Her teasing me like that does funny things to my insides and makes me want to take her in my arms and kiss her for real this time. It’s not the first time I’ve pictured such a thing in the past few days.
“Not when I’m around you.”
“You know,” she says in a soft voice. “You used to infuriate me, but you’ve grown on me.”
My heart does this strange, traitorous lurch. “I must be doing something wrong,” I deadpan, my voice low.
She laughs. “No, I’m serious.” Her smile fades a little. “Speaking of being serious, I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
Her gaze collides with mine, and I go warm all over. Before speaking, she looks away like the contact is too much. “Why do you keep playing soccer when your knee hurts so much?” The tenderness in her voice sparks something in my chest.
I stare straight ahead, jaw tightening. That question hits a little too close.
“I’ve worked my whole life to get to a certain level. I want to get back to that point,” I say.
Her voice is tender. “And it’s not going well?”
I turn my focus back on the road. “Not lately.”
She shifts in her seat, her knees brushing mine. Then slowly she reaches for the hand I’ve left resting on the console. Her fingers slide between mine, thumb brushing across my skin like she’s memorizing me.
“Kind of like me with my shop,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
I don’t say anything. I just hold her hand tighter as the engine rumbles. If I weren’t driving, I’d want to close my eyes and savor her touch.
By the time we arrive at my home, my knee is throbbing. I may have overdone it tonight. I’ll find out in physical therapy tomorrow.
“Welcome to my home, sweet home,” I say, leading her to the threshold like a newlywed.
I unlock the door and let her in. “The food should be here soon.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
So am I. And not in the way she means, because her pink lipstick is begging to be . . . removed.
We sit on the couch together, and my heart is pounding. I haven’t done this in a while. I haven’t dated anyone since my injury. And before that, it was nothing serious for years.
Her breathing picks up, and she fidgets with her hands. “Should we watch a movie?”
“Sure.” I grab the remote. “Any recommendations?”
“That depends. What are you in the mood for? Action? Drama? Romance? Comedy?”
“You just listed the categories on every streaming service.”
She laughs. “I guess I did.”
“You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” I say.
“I’m not nervous! You’re the one tapping your foot over there.”
I stop tapping my foot. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been doing it.
“What are you so nervous about, Anabelle?” I scoot closer to her.
“Do I make you nervous?” Our gazes lock, and she inhales a sharp breath.
This close, her warm vanilla scent surrounds me.
Her lips part, and I lean in, brushing my nose against hers, bringing a hand up to her hair and pulling the elastic holding it back loose, allowing her hair to fall gently around her shoulders.
Yep, just as satisfying as I’d pictured.
I bury my hands in her hair, my fingers cradling the back of her head, all the while keeping my mouth inches from hers.
She waits, allowing me complete control over the situation, which is enough to drive me wild. When the tension becomes unbearable, I take her mouth in mine, finally tasting the sweetness of her lips, the sharp mint of her breath intertwining with mine.
She melts against me, reaching up to the back of my neck and pulling me toward her. I bite back a growl and kiss her more passionately, until we pull apart, both out of breath.
The kiss was pure perfection except for one thing. My heart wants to be involved, and I don’t plan on sticking around this town.