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“Is Daddy coming?” Grady asks, shuffling through his bag, his hair soaked, water dripping from his nose. “He promised he’d be here for this game.”

Yeah, well, he promised to be faithful too and look how that turned out.

“I don’t know, honey. He said he’d try, but he’s in a meeting.”

Tori snorts, as though she knows. I sigh, shaking my head when Cash glares in the direction of the parking lot, and then the field and walks toward the other players warming up.

My shoulders roll forward, that ever-present churning in my stomach returning, and I reach for my phone to see if Austin’s called or sent a message.

Nothing. I know what’s going to happen, don’t you?

Same thing that happened at the open house before school started. Austin said he was coming and then didn’t and I had to deal with the consequences of his promise to Cash.

When I signed the boys up for football over the summer, I thought, hey, it’s California, the weather will be perfect. And now here I sit in the rain on metal bleachers hiding under an umbrella.

I look to Tori beside me, her blonde hair stuffed under a Cubs hat, drinking her coffee and frowning. “Where’s the sun, damn it? I hate the cold.”

Ada’s at her feet, bundled up for the cool morning. Tori’s holding onto the hood of her jacket as if that’s going to keep the rambunctious toddler from getting away.

I zip up my jacket until it’s choking me, and then pull the zipper down just a bit. I don’t like anything around my neck unless it’s a man’s hands and he’s. . . well, you get it, right? Wink, wink. I’ve mentioned it’s been a while, right? My mind is constantly on sex. I feel like a teenager again. “You and me both.”

Tori takes a slow slip of the coffee, then tilts the cup Ridge’s direction. “Think the races will get canceled?”

“Probably. It’s not looking promising.”

My eyes drift to the one presence here I can’t possibly ignore. Ridge. He’s on the sidelines, his black and green Calistoga Cubs rain jacket beading with drops of water. With a clenched jaw, he pulls the hood up. From here, his eyes look so dark. Ridge doesn’t make eye contact very often. It’s not from intimidation as most would think. It’s from vulnerability and his indifference to most around him.

Henry’s next to him, holding a clipboard, and Ridge’s gaze never drifts to mine. I think back to yesterday in the classroom and the way his attention never left mine. Now he hasn’t looked my way yet.

“Henry said he met with his mom this morning,” Tori says conversationally, like this isn’t alarming news to me. It is.

My eyes widen. “Really? Did he say what happened?”

“Just that she wants the track, but he told her it wasn’t for sale. Can you believe that bitch hadn’t talked to him since he left?”

“I’m not surprised.” Drawing in a deep breath, nerves settle in my belly. I can’t imagine what Ridge’s dealing with, and how shitty that she’s only in contact with him because of the property.

The game starts after the boys run through the banner the little cheerleaders made for them. Cutest thing ever. Even when they trip over one another. Have you ever watched eight-year-olds play football? While there’s some structure to the game and plays, the boys still seem somewhat clueless when it comes to sticking with a play.

Henry’s on edge, having been the star quarterback all through high school and college, he expects the kids to be pro by ten, I’m sure of it.

Ridge, he’s the jokester and constantly rousing Henry with shoves and provoking the kids with distractions. He’s trying to lighten the mood as the boys are down by two touchdowns going into the third quarter.

During the fourth quarter, Ridge’s behavior changes when he glances over his shoulder at me for the first time. His eyes, so dark, so perfect, mark me, claim me in ways and control me and my thoughts. The rain lets up and he shed’s his jacket, to my delight. His black and green T-shirt clings to his tight, muscular frame.

His stance, with his hands loosely on his hips, nodding to something Henry’s telling him, so confident and mysterious makes my stomach dip like I’d just gotten on a roller coaster.

He looks distracted, and if I had the courage to believe, I’d want to believe he’s thinking about me.

Other women—even the married ones—they take notice of him, but notoncedoes he look any direction in the stands but my way. I smile to myself, like I own him in some way. Ridiculous concept. Like this rebel, who’s now yelling to Brennan from the sideline, looking animated, looking perfect, is thinking of me and only me.

It’s not so farfetched to think, right?

Tori nudges me, setting her empty coffee on the metal bleacher in front of us. “You’ve got some drool there.”

I snap my eyes from the field. “Shut up.”

She laughs, our attention shifting back to the field when there’s a whistle called. The Colts scored another touchdown on the Cubs, to which the boys hang their heads, trudging back to the sidelines with hunched shoulders.