He shook my hand and smiled. “Jamie Hamilton. You’re here with the girls from church, but I’ve never seen you before. That means you’re new.”

“I am new—just moved in a couple weeks ago—but I opted out of the singles scene this time around.”

“What does that even mean? Opted out? You aren’t single?”

“Funny. I’m asking you about soccer, and you’re asking me very personal questions.”

He grimaced. “Noted. Sorry for prying.” He gave me the once-over. “You don’t really look dressed for soccer.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t know there was going to be a game. I promise I know how to play. Maybe someone has an extra set of shin guards?”

He scratched the back of his head and looked back at his brothers. A group of guys had collected around them, but it still didn’t look like enough for a full team. “I really think we’re all set.”

I did a quick count, then shot him a look. “Come on. You’re down three men. At least let me play outside defense.” I motioned across the field to the other team. “They look like they’ve got a full lineup. You’d rather play outnumbered than have me on your team?”

He huffed. “That’s not what I said.”

“Okay. I’ll play, then.”

He glanced back at the bleachers where Chloe and the others still sat. “Look, things may look casual, but . . . we play tough. Are you sure you won’t be in over your head?”

In over my head? Sure, it had been a few years since I’d played in a real game, but who was he to discount me so quickly? I took a step backward. “You know what? You’re probably right.”

He held up his hands. “Look, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t. I totally get it.”

“We can kick the ball around later if you want. After the game?”

For a second, I wondered if Chloe would have considered that a victory. It was almost like he’d asked me out. But I didn’t want a sympathy sorry-I-hurt-your-feelings date. “That’s kind of you to offer, but I think I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” With a final wave, I turned and jogged across the field right into the middle of the other team’s huddle. “Okay, who’s in charge over here?”

Beyond a few raised eyebrows, no one responded. I huffed. “Seriously? You’re all going to stare at me, but no one will talk?”

“Hablamos español, chica. No comprendamos.”

I rolled my eyes. Fine. “Quién está a cargo? Capitan del equipo?”

At least that got a response. A guy motioned behind him with his head. “Hey, Carlos?” he said. “Está encargado?”