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Thirty-Three

My breath hitches as the icy cold water spreads over my bare legs and abdomen. Ice baths aren’t my favorite, but I always feel better afterward.

Zev climbs into the tub next to me without even flinching as the ice water sloshes over his skin. “So, you’re going out with Fran tonight?”

“I am,” I say, unsure how he knows as much.

“Franny!” Tru says as he walks by, only a towel about his waist. I blame Lucca—that guy is a bad influence.

“Good,” Zev says, unfazed by our friend. “I like her. And I think you like her too.”

“We’re friends. You know that.” And I’m trying really hard to remember that, so shut it, Zevulun.

“Right,” he says, resting his head against the metal tub, eyes closed, relaxed, as if he were in a hot tub. “Except that you like her.”

“Of course I like her— we’re friends .” I wisely leave out the fact that I kissed the heck out of that girl four days ago .

Zev’s eyes blink open and dance their way over to me. “Only you like her.”

“You already said that. Are you on repeat?” I grip the sides of the basin and lean my head back, pretending to relax.

“You like her a whole lot more than you like your friends. Well, with the exception of me. You love me, but I’m just not into it.” He laughs, his eyes finally opening to look at me.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m right.”

I choose to ignore him. If I don’t give him a reaction, maybe he’ll be quiet.

“You should take her to that summer soirée that your mom always puts on.”

And I’m apparently all done ignoring. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you know your mom’s opinion means everything to you,” Zev says.

“It goes—” He holds one hand high in the air.

“Kristina.” Zev chops the air with Mom’s name.

“Me.” He chops one inch below Mom’s space on his imaginary scale.

“And now Fran.” He chops the same space he did for himself.

“So, take her home. See what Kristina has to say about our Franny.”

I stir in my ice bath. I do love my mother. I’m not one of those guys afraid to admit it. But that doesn’t mean Mom and Fran need to meet. The last time my family met a girl, they stopped hearing from me regularly. That won’t happen again—ever. But I don’t want to worry them.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love that you’re a mama’s boy.”

“I’m not—” I start.

But Zev cuts me off. “Just see what Kristina thinks of Fran and her… antics .”

I huff. “Why would I need to do that?”

“To give yourself a better perspective, Cal.”

“Simone met my mother face-to-face once. It wasn’t fun.”

“Well,” he says, rising from the tub, “it’s a good thing Fran isn’t Simone.”

I’m stewing over Zev’s suggestion—I’m not even sure why. I’ve made up my mind. I wasn’t considering inviting Fran to Mom’s soirée before, so why would I now?

I’m not.

Only… I am.

And I don’t know why.

Just because Zev made a suggestion? Or is it because now he’s got me thinking, and I am curious what Mom would have to say about Fran? What Fran would think of my mom.

“Callum,” Jet Jacobson, coach of the Reno-Tesoro Red Tails, pokes his head from his office. “Do you have a minute?”

Seeing how I’m standing near the exit, unmoving, unsure if I’m coming or going—yeah, I probably have a minute.

I step into Coach’s pristine office and glance over the displayed photo of him, his wife, and their two kids before taking a seat. “What’s up?”

“You did well today. You seem more focused.”

His words couldn’t be more ironic. Before Fran, all I did was focus. Now, I’m allowing myself to think about something other than the game.

“What’s changed? What do you need from me? ”

Jacobson is hands-on. He’s involved, and he knows things about each of us. We’re more than his players, we’re people too.

“I’m good, Coach.” I swallow. “I’m actually trying some new things… things outside of soccer, and I think it’s helping balance my headspace.”

Jacobson’s brows lift—that’s not what he expected. That’s never been my go-to. Just ask my ex. Less soccer was never the answer before Fran.

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

Keep it up.

As in—take what I’m doing home to my mother in a week?