Page 27

As much as I appreciate my team for supporting me and my brother by participating in this fundraiser every year, it dredges up so many horrific memories and puts me in the worst headspace possible.

It’s two weeks away and I’m already in a shit mood. I can’t imagine anyone will want me around by the time the event starts, not that I could blame them.

None of it should matter because I have a job to do, and hopefully, pouring myself into that will be enough to keep me busy and the time will fly by. Unlikely.

Mrs. Purrito jumps up on the couch, swiping her little grey-and-white paw over my cortadito , nearly knocking it off of the armrest.

I grab for it before it can topple over, but of course, four little hairs are now floating in the foamy surface. “You’re a freaking terror,” I grumble, standing and heading to the kitchen to pour the coffee down the drain.

She jumps off the couch, meeting me by the sink and rubbing her long, chubby body against my ankles. I roll my eyes at her, grabbing a can of wet food from the cabinet, dishing some out into her tiny pink ceramic bowl, and setting it on the ground for her.

She purrs loudly, as her name would suggest, and decidedly, I’ve become another forgotten relic now that her salmon is in the picture. “Traitor,” I whisper, grabbing my duffel bag from the hook by the door and heading out for practice.

By the time practice is over, I’m beat, but my shower will have to wait because the Blaze are already out here warming up.

Jelani bumps into my shoulder and shifts to walk backward toward the locker rooms. A broad smile stretches across his face, dark eyes meeting my own. “What’s up, Hazzel?” I ask.

“Just checking in on you, man. It’s getting hot out here, and with the way you’ve got your eyes stuck to Coach’s daughter, I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting overheated,” he says, his grin shifting to a smirk.

I shake my head at him. “It’s not hot out here, and I glanced at her once. You’re reaching, and you know it.” That’s a total lie. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of her, and Jelani is the most perspective person I’ve ever met.

“You can lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.” He tsks with a deep chuckle, turning back around and sprinting off for the lockers. I need to get it together.

I shake myself out, sprinting over to where the women are getting ready for practice.

Elise has these tiny pink shorts on, and I wish I could scream at her to cover up so it’d be easier to stop myself from looking, but my guess is that wouldn’t win me any brownie points with the team, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Listen up, ladies,” I shout, clapping my hands together to get their attention off of the asses of my teammates.

These men are some of my best friends, but I want to strangle them sometimes.

They’ve taken to wearing the shortest shorts they can fit their asses in, and it’s all for the sake of the twenty-year-olds who can’t keep their eyes to themselves.

“Yes, Coach,” a few of them grumble, and Elise has the decency to cover her mouth, stifling a laugh. The motion has the corners of my lips twitching, but I shut it down, scowling instead.

“We’re going to do some new drills today,” I say, going on to explain what each component entails, and when ready, they line up with Letty at the goalpost. Chelsea starts the drill, moving around the mannequin at the centre line, pretending as if it were a defender.

She checks the mannequin's shoulder, sprints in front, and pins it while calling the pass.

Elise is up next. She plays a pass to Chelsea, who holds off the mannequin and maintains control of the ball.

I know that this is a drill, but it’s still damn impressive to see how seriously these women take the sport they love. They’re forces to be reckoned with.

And Letty, I swear, she’s this high-spirited spitfire off the field, but the moment she’s locked in as goalkeeper, she’s in it. A mask overtakes her face, and there’s not a single thought in or out of her head that you’ll see coming.

Chelsea spins around the mannequin and into the penalty box, going head-to-head with Letty. Chelsea shoots the ball past Letty, but Letty still manages to throw her entire body into it, keeping it from her net by a breath.

Letty smirks at Chelsea, who tackles her playfully, and I look away on instinct, having seen first-hand how those two play-fight. It usually ends up with at least one of them missing an article of clothing, and I have zero interest in seeing that.

“Cut it out—Coach looks like he’s about to be sick,” Elise tells them, soft laughter slipping into her voice.

I look up when I hear the catcalls and laughter of the team, shaking my head.

Chelsea runs to the back of the line, and Elise starts the drill the same as she had. Her movements are maddeningly quick, and with every motion, her ass jiggles in those tiny spandex shorts I love so much. Or hate . I’m undecided. They’re like a cruel form of modern torture.

When Elise gets to Letty, she fakes her out, hitting the ball in the opposite side of the net she had her body angled at. It’s not a clean shot given the poor positioning, but it’s enough to slip by Letty.

“Hell yeah, baby!” Elise shouts, pumping her fist in the air, and this time, I’m unable to hold back the smile that takes over my face.

Elise glances at me before I can school the expression, but before she can hassle me about it, Letty teases her with her hands on her hips as she shouts, “Back of the line, hotshot.”

The rest of practice goes on like this. Some of these women have the speed and agility most professional players would kill for, and it’s honestly unbelievable to witness. It’s even more incredible to experience as their coach, though I know it’s not forever.

It makes me miss playing football, but in the same way, it also makes me a little miserable because with that thought is the memory of why I’d wanted to stop playing in the first place.