“I thought they were your buddies?” She tilts her head, and the moonlight catches her cheekbones.
“Technically, yes, but it’s different now that I’m their coach.”
I’m trying to keep them at arm’s length, just like the other coaches do.
She shoves her hands in her pockets. “Then how serious are we playing this tonight? Some of your friends know the truth. But most don’t.” Her mouth quirks. “Asking for a friend.”
“A friend, huh?” I lift a skeptical eyebrow.
“A very close friend.” She nods solemnly like she means it, but her eyes are playful.
I should keep my distance. That would be the smart thing to do. I know how she affects me, and I can’t let it become anything more.
But tonight I have to sell it to the entire team. Only six guys know the truth. The other eighteen don’t. And if they don’t buy it, then word gets back to my uncle and our entire plan falls apart.
“Tell yourfriend”—I cross my arms, letting my gaze lock with hers—“that we need to make it obvious that we’re into each other for the players who don’t know.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. You sure you can handle that level of performance?”
“I can handle anything you throw at me, Rossi.”
Her throat bobs. “That almost sounds like a challenge.”
“It is.”
She studies me for a second, then puts her hand out. “You said you wanted to make it clear we’re into each other, right?”
That’s when I realize how serious we’re playing this. “Exactly what I said.”
I take her hand and pretend this doesn’t affect me. I can be totally unaffected by Scarlett Rossi. Those are the rules I have to live by tonight.
But as her fingers interlace with mine, energy pulses through my arm like a current.
Her hand squeezes mine before we make our entrance. “We’ve got this, Coach Marco.”
The sports bar is noisy and crowded—all the things I hate about generic establishments that cater to everyone and nobody at the same time. The area near the bar is crammed with mismatched tables and chairs, while the opposite corner has beenclaimed by a dance floor overflowing with bodies and loud music. A narrow hallway in the back leads to an arcade with a dozen video games and an air-hockey table, all fighting for attention.
The overstimulation is enough to make me want to escape right now. Then Scarlett glances back and grins, and I know I’m staying, overstimulated or not.
Lauren spots us approaching, her eyes immediately dropping to our joined hands. “Look who’s here!”
Gabriella, who is next to Miles, waves us over. “You two are so cute together.”
I’m not sure who’s more excited—the two women who are clearly loving this display of affection, or the guys who can’t believe I actually showed up.
“I must be seeing things,” Rourke teases. “Because that looks like Coach.”
We slide into seats next to Lauren and Tate, where most of the inner circle has already claimed their spots.
“Wait, did hell freeze over?” Jaxon calls from the far end. “Coach doesn’t hang out after games.”
I place an arm on the back of Scarlett’s chair, my fingers accidentally brushing her shoulder. She’s wearing her Crushers sweatshirt from the game, while I’m suddenly feeling overdressed in a game-day suit. The waitress brings waters, then comes around to take our orders. While everyone else orders dinner, Scarlett only gets a plate of fries.
I frown. “Are you sure you don’t want something else?”
“I love fries.”
Something tells me she’s ordering the cheapest thing because she’s worried about money. There was food available in the staff box, but I didn’t see her eating the entire game.