Initially, he had agreed to coach the junior football team because it looked good on paper. Community involvement, leadership skills—it all made the right kind of noise for a college recruiter or a lenient manager trying to forget the chaos of that infamous summer party he'd orchestrated. That was the plan. One season, smile for the parents, kick a few balls, and move on. But the reason he was still here—why he’d added a second training session, why he stayed longer than anyone else—was her.

She wasn’t a soccer mom. Not exactly. Maybe just barely out of high school herself. The first time he saw her, it was week three of practice. She’d shown up ten minutes late, apologizing with a quick wave, jogging across the grass in a soaked t-shirt, courtesy of the automatic sprinklers. She laughed about it, brushing her wet hair back, not embarrassed in the least. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in that kind of effortless, unbothered way that made everyone else seem like they were trying too hard—it was that she didn’t seem to care if anyone noticed. That made him notice more. The kid she came for—Cameron—was probably the most hopeless player he'd ever seen. Tiny, bony elbows and knees flying in opposite directions every time he ran, like a deer on ice. He had zero coordination, a tendency to trip over nothing, and always looked like he’d been in a minor tornado. But when she called his name, the kid lit up like he’d just scored in the World Cup.

That was the second thing he noticed about her: the way she smiled at her little brother. Real, unfiltered affection. Not the forced kind parents faked for coaches. There was a warmth there he didn’t see often. And suddenly, keeping Cameron on the team—no matter how many times he faceplanted or forgot which direction to run—became a top priority.

She wasn’t a soccer mom. Not exactly. Maybe just barely out of high school herself. The first time he saw her, it was week three of practice. She’d shown up ten minutes late, apologizing with a quick wave, jogging across the grass in a soaked t-shirt, courtesy of the automatic sprinklers. She laughed about it, brushing her wet hair back, not embarrassed in the least. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in that kind of effortless, unbothered way that made everyone else seem like they were trying too hard—it was that she didn’t seem to care if anyone noticed. That made him notice more.

He didn’t even know if she knew his name.

But today, he had a plan. He had moved heaven and earth to obtain some information and thanks to Adam, he learned that she was taking sculpture classes. So like her. If that was true, he had an excuse—hell, he could wander in, ask about enrollment, pretend to need an elective. Anything to bump into her where she wasn’t guarded by her little brother and a field full of sweaty kids. Practice was dragging. Cameron had just kicked the ball into his own goal again. He sighed and ruffled the kid’s hair.

“No, no, not like that,” he said, crouching down beside him. “To break left, you’ve got to shift your weight like this—watch my hips.”

Cameron blinked at him like he was speaking ancient Greek, then tripped over his shoelace mid-turn and landed in a heap. Again.

He stood, stretching out his back just in time to hear the familiar, breathless voice.

“I’m here!”

She came jogging across the turf, soaked from the sprinklers again, shirt clinging in all the wrong places. She tried to pull it away from her chest, laughing as she did, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of what she was doing to him. His jaw tightened. Without thinking, he pulled his own shirt over his head and held it out to her, ignoring the part of him screaming not to stare.

"Here. Before you catch pneumonia or something."

She paused, surprised, blinking up at him. Her hand brushed his as she took the shirt, and the contact sent a jolt through him. He cleared his throat, looking away, trying to cover the sudden vulnerability.

“You’ve gotta tell the groundskeeper to time the sprinklers better. Or just start wearing a poncho.”

She smiled—actually smiled—and for the first time, he felt like he wasn't completely invisible. Maybe she wasn’t so untouchable after all.