Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

from his belt and throws it to the ground. Then he grabs his white polo shirt and slips it over his neck.

A loud gasp escapes from my throat.

Luckily, Wyatt is too distracted chatting with the boys to hear me.

I fan my face as the heat in my cheeks grows unbearable. It’s almost like the moon has abruptly acquired the sun’s blazing power. I knew that constant training had to chisel his muscles, but I didn’t expect Wyatt to look this…uhm unsettling and…hot without a shirt. His abs are carved out of marble, and his pectorals are beyond expression.

The kids and Wyatt scurry into position to start their game.

Just before the ball is launched, Oliver exclaims, “The guys at school won’t believe me when I tell them I played with Wyatt Harrison.”

“After the game, we’ll all take a selfie together,” Wyatt says.

Oliver’s cheeks press his eyes into two curly lines as he shouts, “Yippie!” and the others cheer as well.

As in regular American football, they play until each team has four downs per series. Wyatt counts the points loudly and inserts a pause when needed to correct the boys or give them suggestions on how to do better next time.

A warmth brews in my stomach as I observe Wyatt moving across the field, leading, directing, teaching, and entertaining the kids—all at the same time.

But besides this mushy scribble in my belly that the sight of Wyatt’s bare flesh induced in me, there’s also something else I feel. A fluttering in my chest. A spark that’s small but frighteningly familiar.

I squeeze a hand on my chest and breathe in.

I must be careful. A scintilla is all that’s needed to start a devastating conflagration.

Chapter 18

(Wyatt)

After finishing the game, Oliver, Max, and the others accompany us to the park’s exit.

“We’re here on most Fridays. Come by whenever you can,” they shout behind us.

“I’ll try,” I yell back to them, waving.

Their faces light up like the sugar plum fairies in the magical holiday drive-thru Candy Rush I took Mom on when she visited me in Atlanta last Christmas. Seeing their joy, I promise myself that I’ll squeeze in one more game in the park before heading back to my team.

Ellie smiles at me as we merge onto West Encanto Boulevard. “You made their day. Or probably their entire year.” There’s an appreciative edge in her voice and an unusual warmth in her gaze.

“You think?” My chest swells with pride as I think about not only the grins on the kiddos’ faces but also Ellie’s approval.

And all that, while I was having the time of my life.

Ellie bobs her head. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t you see their joy? I bet they’re going to print that picture I snapped of you into a poster, and each of them will tape it above their beds.”

The image of my old room in Kingman flashes into my mind. “I had a picture of Rich Gannon.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think I ever heard of him.”

I snort. “I imagined, but don’t worry, he’s been sort of overlooked, even by big NFL fans, though he brought the Raiders to Super Bowl XXXVII. And he also won the Most Valuable Player award in 2002.”

“That’s a prize you aspire to also, right?”

“Yeah. Or at least I used to.”

We amble past a large villa covered with creeper vine. There’s a bushy tree in the garden, adorned with vintage tungsten lightbulbs that create a whimsical ambiance. Ellie stops and turns to me. The delicate, golden light shimmers in her green irises.

“Why ‘used to’? Is it not anymore? That night after the Russian ballet, you told me receiving the MVP was your fantasy.”

Ellie naturally mentions our shared memory, obviously forgetting that she’s now violating the rules she set up for us.

I shrug. “It’s still on my bucket list, I guess. But I’m getting farther away from it with each season.”

Ellie’s brows jump up. “You don’t sound as disappointed as I expected. How come?”

She’s right. The same bitterness that spreads in my mouth every time at the thought that my career might end without ever achieving the MVP isn’t there.

Weird. 

Ellie studies my face. “You were great with the kids in the park. And you seemed like you had fun.”

“I did. Loads of it. These kids…they just—” I pause because I want to make Ellie understand what’s going on in my chest. “Their eyes glistened with sheer, uncontaminated enthusiasm for football. They didn’t want to win the Super Bowl or get a fat sponsorship through their performance. They just wanted the thrill of the game—like I used to. Being among them made me remember what I truly love about football.”

Ellie’s eyes widen, then she smiles. “I think you’d be an exceptional coach. Perhaps this could be your path once you stop playing for the league.”

“Now you sound like Joe,” I murmur.

“Then he’s a smart man, besides being the third quickest running back who ever played with the Kites.” She winks.

My jaw drops. “Have you been brushing up on your football facts? “

Ellie runs a hand through her curls, and her fingers get stuck on a small knot. She unwinds the strands while answering, “As your therapist, I wanted to know a bit more about Joe since you mentioned you two are friends.”

She’s so darned cute as she justifies herself.

I grin at her. “I’m glad you’re interested in my life. For whatever reason.”

Relief floods her face. “While we’re at it…are there any other influential people I should check out? You know, just to understand your situation better?”

“Guys?” I prompt her.

“Guys…or gals.” She waves her hand nonchalantly, but her expression is flustered.

“Are you asking me if I’m seeing someone?”

“No…yes. I mean, it could be useful to know for treatment purposes.”

“I see.”

She blushes. “So…are you?”

“No.” I tilt my head to the side. “And what about you?”

Her eyes widen. “Me? Why would you ask?”

“Out of curiosity. Not professional, but personal.”

“Personal?” Her features pull into an alarmed mask, and it slaps me in the face.

What am I doing? I’m on an excellent road