But she couldn’t deny the easy camaraderie they’d shared tonight, afterward. Thankfully, she hadn’t acted like a spaz or drooled on his arm. She’d been relaxed—or so she hoped—and in between catching her breath from the emotions that being in his presence caused, she had enjoyed his company. Had he felt the same?
Laney was smirking, seeming to read her thoughts. Time to go on the offense here. She poked a finger at her sister. “Aren’t you supposed to be here to make me feel better? I almost died tonight.”
“You’re right.” Laney’s thin shoulders sagged. “I’m only going to say one more thing on the subject.”
Allie managed not to snort at the obvious lie. “Uh-huh.”
“If you think my reaction to him was harsh, just imagine what you’ll hear from my mom if she gets wind that you and the infamous Sam Fratto are spending time together.”
Allie winced. Unfortunately, she had a pretty good idea of the resulting furor.
Armageddon came to mind.
…
Saturday morning dawned bright and early. Allie knew that because she’d spent the night reliving those moments in the basement and analyzing all the worst case scenarios. She didn’t think she’d slept more than five minutes total.
Though she hadn’t discussed it with Sam or Laney, she was worried it hadn’t been an accident.
But with the sun shining bright on her, Claire, and Molly as they watched the boys of St. Andrew’s varsity soccer team play East High, she was willing to push the dark thoughts aside and enjoy her morning.
And the view. Again.
She was glad she’d kept her sunglasses in her purse yesterday instead of dropping them on the seat of her car, which was still parked at the school. With the oversized shades perched on her nose, she could watch the field from behind the heavily tinted lenses, and no one could catch her ogling. At the magnificent, tight butt and strong, muscular thighs that every woman under eighty-three was admiring that morning.
Who knew St. Andrew’s newest English teacher would have such a fine figure after so many years off the soccer field?
Da-amn. He still could fill out a pair of shorts nicely.
“Now that’s something I’d like to tap,” the copper-haired eighty-two year old seated at her right murmured with a leer.
“Grandma,” Allie chastised in a hushed voice. As was usual for Saturday mornings during soccer season, the women had stretched out on a large blanket, watching the action. Much to the delight of the observing audience of females—mostly moms, but also a few of the female students—Sam was running a few drills with the boys before the start of the game.
Had she mentioned he’d been on the varsity soccer team in high school?
“What?” her grandmother protested innocently. “Hey, I’m old, not dead, and he’s got a booty I haven’t seen the likes of since Herbert Volkman took me ballroom dancing back in ‘94. And his was pretty spectacular, I can tell you. What I would give to be locked up in a basement with that fine specimen of a man—without the fire, of course. He’s single you say?” Molly asked, eying him speculatively. “You’d better get a move on, chickie.”
“Sheesh. You sound like Peg.”
“Bite your tongue. Just because I want to see my only granddaughter happy and in love doesn’t make me anything like that woman.” She returned her gaze to Sam’s posterior. “The babies you two would make? Mm-mm. And the baby-making wouldn’t be too bad either, what with those thighs—”
“Got it, Gram,” Allie interrupted when a few amused faces turned their way. Claire cracked up, and Allie glared at her.
Sam came to a halt along the edge of the soccer field and stood talking to Tim Allred, the head coach of the team and Janine’s long-time boyfriend, as though they were old friends.
Wait. That’s right. Tim and Sam would have been on St. Andrew’s varsity soccer team around the same time. So they were old friends.
Sam was wearing well-worn, cut-off navy blue sweatpants that hit just above his knees. Even from where Allie was sitting, she could see the sinewy muscles that rippled up his legs. He knew she was there, too—he’d waved at her when they arrived. But other than the informal greeting—if you could call it that—he hadn’t come over to say hello or see how she was doing.
They had almost died together. You’d think the least he could do was ask how she was freaking doing the next day.
“Where’s that boyfriend of yours, Claire?” Molly asked as the game got started with the opening kick. “Mike? Mitch?”
“Rick,” Claire said, her attention on the game. She didn’t bother to clarify that Rick was her fiancé, as she usually did when Molly started in. “He had to fly to Chicago this morning for business.”
Molly grunted and continued to watch the field. To say Molly wasn’t a fan of Rick was putting it mildly. Allie wasn’t all that impressed with the guy, herself. There was loving and caring about someone, being interested in what they did…and then there was obsession. Rick could come on pretty strong, and he seemed threatened by anyone who took Claire’s time that wasn’t him. Allie had considered talking about it with her friend, but with Molly as vocal as she was, she figured Claire had already heard it all. And she wasn’t exactly asking for opinions on the subject. So Allie had kept it to herself.
“And what about you?” Molly asked and turned her perceptive brown eyes on Allie. “When are you going to get off the benches and put yourself out there?”