“Coach Walker said there’s half an extra credit point in it for us if he actually sees us at the game.”

Ah, the illustrious Coach Walker.

According to my son, Coach Walker sounds like a combination of Captain America, Eddie Vedder, Chris Hemsworth, and Albert Einstein. The day Jason told me he plays in a band, I almost asked him if the name was Amber Sound, just to torture myself.

“What does football have to do with calculus?” I ask.

Jay smirks in that way kids do when they think adults are being ridiculous.

“He says we need to expand our horizons.”

I smile too. “Can’t argue with that.”

Jay’s phone pings again.

“But I’m not gonna go to the game,” he says.

“Why not?”

He lifts one shoulder. “I’d rather stay in tonight. Home. With you.”

Oh boy. When a fourteen-year-old is canceling plans because he’s worried that his pregnant, losing-loser of a mom has zero offline social life and is basically a hermit when she’s working on a project—that’s some Holy Batman level pathetic, right there.

“Jay—”

“It’s fine, Mom. We’ll watch a movie, it’ll be fun.”

My sweet Jaybird can be stubborn—he gets that from me—so there’s no point to arguing. Instead, I change tactics.

“I was actually thinking about going to the football game tonight too.”

Jason’s eyebrows dart hopefully. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean basically the whole town goes, right? It’ll be good to get out. You’ll get your half-point extra credit and the nugget and I will get some fresh air.” I put my hand on my stomach. “Why not?”

~ ~ ~

Football is a big deal around Lakeside. The high school stadium is larger than I expect and immaculate—with rows of fan-packed concrete bleachers, a freshly painted blue and gold snack stand, and a top-of-the-line score board. The October air is damp and crisp but not too cold, so I wear a long-sleeved black thermal top, comfy denim overalls and a knit black beanie with my hair down in curled waves around my shoulders.

Jason and I arrive midway through the first quarter, and as we walk around the outer fence, the whole Lakeside section rises to their feet, cheering, as the band strikes up a soaring victory tune when one of our players dives into the end zone.

Three of Jason’s friends catch up to us about halfway around the field.

“Hi, Jason! Hi Miss, Burrows!”

“Hi, kids.”

“That’s a great hat, Miss Burrows. Did you crochet it yourself?”

Before I can answer, Quinn, a chipper, dark-haired girl, with darting, bright blue eyes, just keeps right on talking.

“I crochet too, especially when I can’t sleep and I almost never sleep. It used to drive my Mom crazy hearing me walk around the house at night so she said I had to stay in my room, but now when I can’t sleep I just crochet and it works really well. I was going to make us all Christmas sweaters if I have the time and—” she looks at Jason “—do you celebrate Christmas?”

It’s amazing that she can get all that out in one breath.

Jason smiles, because he’s used to Quinn’s run-on sentences.

“Yeah, Quinn—we celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh.” She smiles, nodding, and seems to remember to close her mouth. “Cool.”

“Come on, Jay,” Louis says. “Keydon’s on the other side of the field, where he can pick up Wi-Fi, working on this new algorithm that chooses the best plays based on the opposing team’s player’s stats. It’s lit. We’re going to show it to Coach Walker after the game.”

Jason glances at me hesitantly.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine. I’m going to find a seat and watch the game.”

“All right. Thanks, Mom.”

As the kids walk away, Louis turns back to me. “There are a few seats left at the top, Miss Burrows!”

I wave a thank you and head in that direction.

The crowd cheers again, standing as I make it to Lakeside’s end of the field. The band plays a song and the cheerleaders do a quick track-side routine. The air smells like leaves and wet grass—with a hint of pizza that makes my stomach churn. I’m out of breath by the time I make it to the top of the bleachers, but when I look around, there isn’t anywhere to sit.

Just as I turn to head back down the steps, a whirlwind warm little body collides with my leg, holding on tight. He’s about two years old with baby soft brown hair, big onyx eyes and a devil of a smile.

“Boo!”

Automatically, I cover my face with my hands and quickly peek out—because when an adorable little boy boos you, you boo him back.

“Boo!”

He lets out a delighted belly laugh—until a voice calls out from behind him.

“Will!”

Will’s eyes go wide and he bounces up and down like a monkey who wants out of his cage.

“Up, up, up, up, up!”

I scoop up the little runaway—and his warm, solid baby weight feels beautifully familiar to my arms.

Then I make eye contact with the smiling blond woman coming down the row. She’s about my age, with soft, pretty features.

Tags: Emma Chase Getting Some Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net