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Daughter?

No fucking way.

Her cheeks go even redder as she steps forward, sticking out a hand. “Hi.”

Her voice is soft, high-pitched. A little squeaky, but in a cute way.

I take her hand, and it’s so small it almost disappears in mine. For a second, I just stare at it. Her skin’s warm, her nails painted a pale pink.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice coming out lower than I meant.

She glances up at me, her green eyes wide. “Yeah. You, too.”

Her hand lingers for a second longer than it should, and then she pulls it back, looking anywhere but at me.

“What’s the problem now?” Coach asks, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

“Some idiot knocked over my cookies,” she says, waving the folder around. “I’ve been working on them all day and he just fucking...”

“Careful with the language,” Coach warns.

“Sorry,” she mutters, glaring at the floor.

I can’t help but grin. She’s flustered, and it’s kind of adorable.

“Sorry about your cookies,” I say. “Sounds like a rough day.”

She glances at me again, her cheeks still red. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Coach clears his throat. “Sienna, we’ll talk about it later. Right now, I’m with Eli.”

“Right. Sorry.” She backs toward the door, still avoiding my gaze.

I stand, grabbing my bag. “No worries, Coach. We can finish this tomorrow after tryouts.”

Coach raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Got the gist. Show up, work hard, don’t piss you off.” I flash a grin, and he shakes his head, smirking.

“Smartass.”

I glance at Sienna, who’s watching me like she’s trying to figure me out. “Nice to meet you, Sienna.”

Her lips twitch like she’s about to smile but doesn’t. “You, too.”

As I walk out, I can’t stop the thought that Blackridge just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

Outside, I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s a message from Maria.

How’s it going? Settling in okay?

I smile, typing back.All good, Maria. Just registered for classes and met my coach. Staying in a hotel for now, but I’ll figure it out. Thanks for checking in.

Maria’s been my nanny since I was a kid, and she still worries about me like I’m twelve. She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a mother.

I pocket my phone and head to the hotel. A shower sounds like a good idea, and I’ve got a meeting with the real estate agent later.

As I drive, I think about Coach’s daughter. With the curls, the freckles, and that little squeaky voice.