Walter manages another bout of petulance. “No.”

I grin, grabbing a ball from the mesh bag set on the sidelines. “Watch this.” I drop the ball and start dribbling. Belatedly, I realize I maybe should have clued Beck into my plan a little bit more, but all of a sudden, he’s there, right beside me. A spin, and he’s blocking my path to the goal. He’s not guarding me as aggressively as I know he’s capable of, but I’m having to work for every inch of ground I gain.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Maybe he’s annoyed with me for turning this into a spectacle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that everyone on the field is watching us. Thankfully, the photographers departed after a half hour. I can only imagine the headline that might accompany a picture of this.

Beck steals the ball from me but dribbles rather than steps over, and that’s when I know he’s playing along. He’s not going to hand this to me, but he’s going to let me prove my point. Help me, even.

I spin, and he jostles his forearm against my lower back. A textbook stop and go, and he’s behind me. I don’t hesitate, sending the ball flying. It wallops the white netting with a satisfying smack I imagine being the equivalent of a mic drop. I turn to see every single kid has their gaze laser-focused on me.

Walter looks appropriately abashed, but more importantly, Mila is beaming. I walk back toward the kids, meeting Beck halfway.

“Thank you,” I tell him quietly.

He walks alongside me silently for a few seconds. Then, “I was wrong before.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” I reply. “About what?”

“You would know what to do with a kid.”

The annoyance I felt when he told me he hoped he hadn’t knocked me up was nothing compared to the swell of emotion those nine words prompt. If I were the sentimental type—which I’m not—they might have even made a crack in the plaster my heart is encased in.

* * *

My phone won’t stop vibrating on Beck’s bedside table. After the soccer camp ended, I went with him to drop off the station wagon, and then we ended up in his bed. I finally grab it and answer.

“Hello?” I mumble. If this is Hallie calling me to talk to Matthew Jr. again, I’m going to kill her.

“SAYLOR! OH! MY! GOD!” Emma shouts.

“Emma?” I drape an elbow across my eyes. “What is it?”

“You met Adler fucking Beck and didn’t tell me?”

“What?” I ask, shedding some of the orgasmic haze I was enjoying.

“Cress just showed me an article with photos of you at some soccer field with kids. With Adler Beck.”