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  I find her on the side of the field, sitting cross-legged in the grass. A lot of the other parents are clustered together in camp chairs, talking, not watching the game but for a perfunctory glance or two. Sam’s eyes sweep up and down the field, following Wyatt’s every move. She yells a few words of encouragement and I see a shy little grin cover his face as he runs by.

  “What’d I miss?” I ask, joining her in the grass.

  She looks over at me in surprise. “When’d you get here?”

  “Just now. Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re not. They’re just starting.”

  We’re silent for a moment, the rare sunshine beating down on my forearms. Finally she sighs. “I take it you noticed the hair.”

  I can’t wipe the grin off my face. “Yeah. Where you think he got that?”

  She pushes me. “You know exactly where he got that.”

  “You don’t think it has anything to do with the tour video I sent, do you?”

  “Why on earth would I think that?”

  I chance a glance at her face—she’s watching the game but the corners of her mouth are turned up more than a little. I feel a little thrill of triumph, happy as hell to make her smile.

  “That kid’s off-sides,” she grumbles, her smile turning to a scowl. “Bad call, ref. How are they going to learn the rules if he doesn’t call them on it?”

  I squint across the field, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. “Uh, yeah. Totally off-sides. How will they learn?”

  She glances at me and snorts. “You have no idea what off-sides is, do you?”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t really a sporty kid, you know?”

  So she spends the next ten minutes explaining the game to me, the positions and the rules and what plays the coach is trying to make. “I take it you played?” I ask when she pauses.

  She nods. “My whole life.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  She doesn’t answer for a moment. “I shouldn’t have.”

  I curse myself for bringing it up because there’s that sad note in her voice and I haven’t heard it in a while. I hate when her voice sounds like that because I know there’s absolutely nothing that I can do to help, to make it go away. But then she turns to me and she’s smiling a little. “It’s fun to play with Wyatt. He’s very good.”

  “I can tell,” I say quickly, and she raises her eyebrows. “I mean, I know absolutely nothing about soccer but I can still tell.”

  She laughs and the remnants of the sadness in her eyes is gone now. “If you think I’m going to argue with you complimenting my kid you’re crazy.”

  We watch the game for a few more minutes and then Sam tenses beside me. Before I can ask what’s wrong she’s standing, pulling me up with her by the elbow. “I want you to meet someone," she says, clearly nervous. I glance in the direction she’s looking and see an older couple walking toward us. I’ve never seen their faces but I’m pretty sure I can guess who they are.

  “Hi Alice. Hi Bruce,” Sam says, her voice faltering only a bit. She hugs them each and I notice immediately that they’re real hugs, not the lame backslap thing my dad always does when he hugs us.

  “Sam, honey, how are you?” the man named Bruce asks, kissing her forehead.

  “I’m really good. He’s doing great.” She nods at the field and they all look out, identical looks of pride on their faces. I wonder if a kid has ever been as loved as Wyatt Warner.

  “I want you to meet my friend,” she says, and there’s that waver again. But her gaze is clear when she turns to me. “This is Cash.”

  “Ah, Cash,” Bruce says, holding out a hand to me. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I think our grandson has an infatuation,” Alice says, taking my hand once Bruce releases it. She doesn’t shake it, merely holds it in hers for a moment, squeezing, a very motherly kind of gesture that makes me feel at ease right away.

  “He’s a great kid.”

  They both nod at me and I remember what Sam said about complimenting her kid. Looks like the Warners have a similar philosophy.

  “Cash is going to be helping me with my senior project,” Sam says, sitting again. To my surprise the Warners move to join her on the grass. I’m not sure how old they are—they both have graying hair but they seem pretty fit and together. Alice crosses her legs just like Sam.

  “Is that so?” Bruce asks, looking between the two of us.

  “I’ve decided to hold a fundraiser,” she says, peeking at them through the hair that hangs long and loose around her face. Is she nervous? Or maybe she’s hoping they’ll approve. “To benefit the Wounded Warrior Project.”

  “Oh, Sam,” Alice says, reaching over and taking her hand. “What a wonderful idea.”

  “I’m hoping it will show that I’m able to do these kinds of events, maybe give me a leg up on that internship.” Alice nods, looking like she might cry. “And it’s a good cause, of course.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Bruce says, his voice gruff.

  “Well, Cash and his brothers are going to help,” Sam says. “They’ve volunteered to give a concert to help raise money. And help me to find donations for a silent auction at the event.”

  Both Alice and Bruce look at me. Alice’s eyes are wide, approving. But there’s something in Bruce’s expression that I can’t read. Almost like he’s just realized that I might be worth keeping an eye on.

  I shake the thought away. They’re both being perfectly friendly. Besides, Sam and I are just friends.

  Sam tells the Warners her plans for the benefit, seeming to get more and more excited as she talks. I’m so happy that she decided to take Daisy and Paige up on their offer to help her—and not just because it means she’s spending even more time at the cabin.

  Sam suddenly cuts off in mid-sentence, staring at the field. “Yes,” she whispers, her eyes intense. “You’ve got it.”

  I follow her gaze and see Wyatt moving behind the play. I can’t see what has her so excited—he’s not even touching the ball. But then the yellow-shirted kid goes to pass and suddenly Wyatt is right there to intercept. Sam lets out a loud woot as he moves down the field, his little legs running hard, somehow managing to hold onto the ball until—

  “He scores!” I yell, jumping up from the grass. Sam is right next to me, jumping up and down, yelling.

  “Yes! Good job, Wyatt!”

  Wyatt’s teammates have surrounded him, hugging him and slapping his back. As they move away he glances over at us, a huge grin on his face. He swipes some loose hair off his forehead, jogging away from the goal, trying his best to look cool and nonchalant. But he shoots a little wave in our direction just before we’re out of his sight.

  “That was amazing!” I tell Sam, my heart still pounding with excitement. “I mean, I know I don’t know soccer, but that was a great goal, wasn’t it?”

  “It totally was,” Sam agrees, laughing, her face about as free as I’ve ever seen it. Without thinking much about it either way, I reach out and give her a hug. She returns it, squeezing my shoulders, still laughing, and then releases me, plopping back down to the ground with a huge smile on her face.

  I brush the hair out of my eyes and move to join her. As I sit, I happen to glance over and see Alice and Bruce, watching me. That look I had seen on Bruce earlier, that weary, searching look, is now on both of their faces. Like they aren’t entirely sure what to make of me.

  ***

  We have ice cream with the Warners after the game to celebrate Wyatt’s goal. This time we go to Juliano’s and the sundaes are on me. “Whatever you want, kid,” I tell him, and his eyes widen as he points to the row of chocolate and sprinkle dipped waffle cones in the display case over the ice cream.

  “Even one of those?”

  I shrug. “Why not?”

  The cone, filled with three scoops and a pile of whipped cream and hot fudge, is about as big as his head when the clerk hands it to him, and his grin is maybe a little bigger than th
e ice cream. “I’m never allowed to get those fancy cones,” he says, looking at the dessert with something like awe. “Mom and grandma always say it’s way too big for me.

  I wonder if Sam is going to be annoyed with me when she sees the treat but she merely rolls her eyes a little and ruffles Wyatt’s hair. “I think you’re about to get a lesson in how too much of a good thing can end up making you feel bad.”

  “I won’t get a stomachache,” Wyatt says, going to work on his dessert with an admirable determination.

  I’ve noticed the Warners shooting me that same weary look on several occasions since Wyatt’s goal and I’m wondering if this outing is going to get uncomfortable. Luckily, Wyatt keeps up a running commentary on the game, breaking it down in minute detail, play by play. The Warners seem to zone out after a while, and I really don’t blame them, eight-year-old soccer is not the most thrilling thing in the world, but Sam listens with rapt attention, pointing out her own commentary on their various plays, as if she’d memorized every minute of the game.

  To Sam’s bemused surprise, Wyatt manages to finish the entire cone after all. He leans back in his chair, rubbing at his belly, looking both proud of himself and a little sick to his stomach. “Not bad, dude,” I tell him, fist bumping him across the table. “You tackled that thing like a man.”

  Wyatt’s resulting grin is a tad cocky. In fact, he looks a little bit like me.

  “I think it’s about time we got the superstar striker home,” Alice says, handing him a napkin to wipe his face. “You still have homework and you need to get some real food into your belly before bed.”

  He groans loudly at the proclamation but stands when instructed by his grandparents. I note that they don’t invite Sam and I home for dinner. If it strikes her as odd, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, when she stands to hug Alice and Bruce, she’s still smiling, her face not yet taking on that stricken, pained look. Even when she reaches down to hug the kid, lifting him up in the air to squeeze him tight, she still looks peaceful. Happy even.

  “I am so proud of you,” I hear her whisper in his ear. “I’m sure that’s just the first of many goals this year, kiddo.”

  “You’ll be at the next game?”

  She sighs a little. “I suppose I could make it, I guess. But ice cream is on you next time.”

  He giggles and kisses her face, her eyes closing at the contact, before she releases him and sends him on his way. The Warners tell me it was nice to meet me, not shaking my hand this time, and with a last somewhat worried glance over their shoulder, they usher Wyatt out of the ice cream parlor.

  To my very great surprise, Sam is still all grins as she reclaims her seat across from me. “That was the coolest thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

  I laugh, letting her good mood wipe away the slightly cautious feeling I have about the Warners reaction to me. “It was pretty damn cool.”

  “And did you see how happy he was? God. I should have recorded that whole game. That smile could light up a room.”

  “That smile was all for you.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me. “It was?”

  I nod. “Do you not see that? The way he looks at you?”

  She shrugs, starting to look a little uncomfortable. “We get along pretty good. I’m lucky.”

  I shake my head. “Seriously, Sam. It’s more than that. Kid is crazy about you.”

  She stares down at the table but the hopeful note in her voice makes my gut clench. “You think so?”

  “I know it. Don’t you see the way he’s always looking at you? Waiting for your reaction to everything? God, even the way he talks is because of you.”

  That makes her look up. “What do you mean?”

  “That whole grown-up, mature vocabulary thing he does—that’s totally you. He’s mimicking you, trying to be like you.”

  Her cheeks fill with color and I swear to God it’s the damn cutest thing I’ve ever seen—the little hopeful, pleased beyond measure smile. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely yeah.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, fiddling with the straw of her soda. “Sometimes I worry that he might resent me. Because of…everything that happened.” She’s never filled me in on the exact details of why she doesn’t have custody of Wyatt, just a vague explanation that she couldn’t take care of him and deep and profound guilt over giving him up. I desperately want to ask her what happened, want to understand that self-loathing look that comes into her eyes sometimes, usually when she drops him off.

  But Wyatt has been gone for a few minutes and that look has yet to appear, so I decide I’m not pressing it. If she actually feels okay after saying good-bye to him, there’s no way I’m going to be the one to mess that up.

  “I don’t think he resents you,” I tell her, and it’s the absolute truth. I see the way he looks at her, like she’s the best, coolest thing in his life. I’ve seen him look worried when he senses that she’s sad. I’ve seen him look sad himself when he says goodbye to her. But I’ve never seen anything like disappointment or resentment on his face. And the kid has an expressive face. I don’t think he’s ever hid an emotion in his life.

  “How could he not?” she asks. “I wasn’t able to keep him with me.”

  “Because he knows exactly how much you want him now.”

  When she looks up at me her grin is so happy, so relieved, I feel my chest expand with pride. I was able to give her that.

  “So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” I ask, hoping to keep the good mood going. Hoping even more that her plans include me.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Sam glances down at her watch, a delicate silver one that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her not wear. Except for that night at the bar, I can remember every detail of how she looked like that and a watch had definitely not been part of the outfit.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Paige and Daisy and I are meeting at the cabin for a fundraising meeting.”

  I glance back down at my Coke so she won’t see how relieved I am to hear that—I’d been hoping we’d spend the evening together and it looks like I was going to get my way. “Hey.” I hold up my hand and fix her with a mock stare. “Don’t you mean a Totally Awesome Help Sam Get Her Internship Fundraiser meeting?”

  She giggles at the elaborate name Paige has been trying to get everyone involved to use. For some reason, it doesn’t seem to be sticking. Sam leans across the table. “Paige is a little crazy, isn’t she?”

  I nod. “A little. But she’s the best thing that ever happened to Reed. You should have seen him before he met her—total stick up his ass.”

  She scrunches up her face, as if she couldn’t quite picture it, and I realize that Reed really has changed over the past year. “Oh, yeah. He was basically obsessed with work all the time, never had any fun, pretty much had an ulcer at twenty-four. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Wow. I really cannot picture that. He seems so laid back. What happened?”

  I find my eyes drawn to her, even as I realize it’s a pretty cheesy thing to do—somehow, I can’t stop myself. “He met a girl who changed him.”

  Her face immediately colors and she looks down, no longer meeting my eyes, but not before I notice the little smile on her face.

  It hits me like a punch to the gut—she likes me. And not just in the bullshit, friend way we’ve been pretending to be satisfied by for the last few weeks. She likes me. I have the power to make her blush, to make her smile, her eyelids fluttering as she looks away. To make her embarrassed. What if it wasn’t one night for her? What if, complicated or not, I might actually have a chance of having something with her?

  The thought fills me with so many conflicting emotions I actually have to stand up from the table, excusing myself to the bathroom. Safely in the locked room, I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering what in the hell is going on.

  I don’t do relationships. That’s been a simple fact of my life for as long as I’ve been old enough to like girls. Making an effort to be friends
with Sam has been completely out of character for me. An anomaly. It’s also been completely goddamn fantastic. I think about her when I wake up and I think about her when I’m going to sleep. I think about her when I’m writing songs, when I’m messing around with my brothers, when I’m sitting outside, staring at those mountains that surround our cabin. When she’s not around, I wish she was, and when she is, I’m so damn happy.

  And I can’t get that one night out of my mind. I think about that a lot, too, the sights and the sounds of it. The way it had felt, like all the running I’ve been doing for the past few years was pointless and meaningless. Like I could be still in her arms. I’m fully aware that these sentiments make me sound a lot more like one of my lame brothers than like myself, but I don’t care. The sex was fantastic, physically and emotionally. I don’t think I’d ever had something like that, not in all of the messing around I did.

  What if I could find a way to combine these two parts of our relationship? The amazing physical part that still made me hard as hell every time I remembered it, and the comfortable, challenging, crazy fun friendship part.

  Pretty sure you’re describing dating there, buddy, I think to myself.

  And would that be so bad? For the first time in my life I’m starting to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t. If maybe Sam is different enough from all the other chicks I’ve known to actually make this possible.

  Of course, there’s the fact that she told me flat out that she wasn’t interested in any of that. But she’d come around on the whole friendship thing, hadn’t she? Who was to say that she might not do the same about taking it to the next level.

  I wash my face, trying to calm the heat that seems to have jumped to my skin the moment I saw her blush like that and look away. As I raise my head, I catch sight of one of my tats in the mirror. It’s a tribal design that Carlos, my favorite tattoo artist, had done for me the last time we were in New York. It’s one of my favorites, twisting and turning, dark against my olive skin, covering most of my shoulder and trailing up my neck. I think it’s pretty badass, that tattoo. It’s also pretty obvious, unable to be hidden under anything except a full turtleneck, which I hadn’t been caught dead in as a child and will certainly not start to partake in any time soon.