Chapter 8

“You know I’m dying to hear about the ‘Macarena,’ but I want the man news first.” Randi didn’t even say hello when I answered her call in the middle of my drive home, just launched right in.

“How can man news be more exciting than a bride and her entire wedding party doing the Macarena down the aisle?”

“I can’t even wrap my brain around how ludicrous that is. Stay focused, Lane. I have twelve minutes until my cream puffs are done, and I need to know details. Name? Profession? Is it serious? Is he gorgeous? Is he Mormon?”

I laughed. Randi wasn’t Mormon, but she knew me well enough to know it was something that would matter to me. “His name is Jamie Hamilton. He works in app development. Grew up in Virginia. He is Mormon. He has a twin brother.”

“Hold up. Back up and tell me what that means.”

“It means when his mother was pregnant, instead of having one baby, she had two.”

“Thanks for that, Lane. Your faith in my intelligence is astounding. App development. What does that mean?”

I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car, then grabbed my purse and headed up the stairs to my apartment to change clothes. It was the last day of the soccer clinic, and the evening of the now-infamous soccer rematch. “You know the game LogiX? The puzzle game thing you can put on your phone?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I also don’t play Candy Crush or Farmville or Words with Friends. I know. I’m a walking freak show.”

“What do you do with your spare time?”

“I cook.”

“And the world is better for it.”

“Clock’s ticking, Lane. Get to it.”

“He and his brother run this company that designs and develops apps. It started with the two of them, but I think they’ve hired a few other people now, and . . . I don’t know too much about the logistics of how it all works. They’ve been in talks with this company in California, and if stuff works out between them, Jamie says it’s going to be huge.”

“So he’s stable and responsible and makes a nice living for himself,” Randi said. I thought of her college boyfriend who’d spent an inordinate amount of time bumming around our living room, skipping class, talking about the next big break he knew he was moments away from discovering. It took Randi six months to decide the guy was too lazy to ever discover anything but the underside of our couch cushions. Their breakup ratcheted up Randi’s vigilance in making sure guys she dated—and I dated—were far away from the “maybe I’ll still be living with my parents in five years” track.

“Yes. This guy’s definitely a grown-up.”

“How does he feel about soccer?”

Ha. She did know the right questions to ask. “He plays. That’s how we met. And he’s good too. Played in college and everything.”

“Sounds like a great match.”

“I think so. It’s a good story too. He totally blew me off when we met and didn’t want me on his team. It was only a pickup game in the park, so I approached the other team and played for them instead.”

“You did not. Oh my word, please tell me your team won.”

“Let’s just say it was my third goal that gave us the victory.”

“You are so hard core. Okay. Soccer, money, good job, Virginia, twin brother. What else?”

“Hold on. I’m texting you a picture.” I sent a photo I lifted off Jamie’s Facebook profile, then switched over to speaker phone so I could dig through my laundry to find my shorts. Me and laundry. We hadn’t been getting along lately.

“Oh. My. Word. You have met the perfect man.”

“Right? I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

“Ugh. It’ll never happen. That would require me to leave the kitchen and have a social life.”

“How’s it going?” After college, Randi decided her true passion in life was pastries. She’d gone back to culinary school and become a pastry chef for a fancy restaurant in Atlanta. She complained about the hours, but I knew in her heart she loved it.

“It’s going. Just got one of my original desserts added to the menu, so there’s that.” A buzzer dinged somewhere in the background. “Gotta go,” Randi said. “That’s the cream puffs.”

“Hmm. Enjoy one for me.”

“Will do! Love you. Talk again soon!”

* * *

I’m not going to lie. For a minute, I considered letting Jamie win. He’d been acting like the stupid rematch was so important, which bugged. But once I was on the field, my competitive edge took over. I mean, we were all still smiling the whole time, but there was no way I was coddling Jamie’s ego. The rematch was his idea. If he won, fine. But it wasn’t going to be because I held back.

I really did end up with Simon on my team and a few other guys who had been helping out with the clinic. But Jamie kept both Cooper and Dave on his team. It was maybe a slightly unfair advantage, but my team won anyway. So much for worrying about that.

After the game, everyone congregated on the sidelines. “Ready to admit defeat?” I asked Jamie, my tone playful and light. “Bow to my skill and prowess? Kiss my cleats, maybe?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have never seen Simon play like that.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. “Oh, I see how it is. Simon gets the credit for winning, huh?”

“No. You were amazing. Of course you were amazing. You guys beat us fair and square. But seriously. Simon was . . .”

“What was I?” Simon joined the group, grabbing a water bottle out of the cooler at Jamie’s feet.

Jamie turned and rummaged through his bag, pulling out a miniature soccer ball—gold with black detailing that looked like it had all but completely flaked off. It looked like a Nerf ball I would have played with as a kid. He tossed it at Simon. “Take it, man. You earned it.”

“Behold,” Dave said, his voice hushed and reverent.

Cooper copied Dave’s tone. “The king has been dethroned.”

I looked from Jamie to Simon, then back to Jamie again. Finally, Dave had mercy on my confused state. “It’s Hamilton family tradition,” he said. “That gold soccer ball has been passed around from brother to brother since we were all playing youth league soccer at the YMCA. When one of us had a good game, scored a hat trick, made it to a championship game, or whatever, the ball was ours.”

“Until someone else did something amazing,” Cooper said. “Then it was passed on.”

Okay, that was an adorable tradition. The fact that as grown men the brothers still passed it around? Also adorable. “So why is Jamie the king?”

It was Simon who answered. “Because no one’s had this thing as frequently as he has. And it’s been years since it’s changed hands.”

Jamie reached for a water bottle, grabbing a second one and handing it to me. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said to Simon. “Next time we’re on the field, I’ll get it back.”

Dave started to cough—a loud, fake cough. “Dude, I think I’m getting sick. I don’t think I’ll be playing soccer again for a long time. How are you feeling, Coop?”

Cooper threw his hand to his forehead. “I think I’m coming down with something too. And wait . . . look . . . yep. I think my ankle’s broken.” He started hoping on one foot, hanging his arm over Dave’s shoulder. “I’ll be out for weeks, months even.”

Jamie sloshed the contents of his water bottle toward his brothers, splashing them both. Cooper dodged most of the spray, even standing on one foot. “Simon?” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Simon looked at his brothers, his face passive. “I feel great,” he said.

“Thank you,” Jamie said. “At least I have one brother who isn’t an idiot.”

“But I’m pretty sure I’m working that day,” Simon said.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “You’re all morons.” He looked my way. “You want to get out of here?”

“Sure. Is food involved?” I said.

“I could eat,” Cooper said. “Are we going to go eat?”

Dave elbowed his brother, then said something under his breath too quiet for the rest of us to hear. Jamie didn’t even respond, just scooped up his bag and offered his free hand to me, leading me toward the parking lot.

“It’s cool,” Cooper called after us. “I’ll just get something at home, then. Y’all have fun.”

Jamie chuckled. “The youngest Hamilton isn’t always the most astute.”

“He’s kind of cute in his innocence.” I turned my head and caught a glimpse of Simon climbing into his car on the other side of the parking lot. I waved. “Great game, Simon,” I called.

He nodded and waved back. “You too.”

“Seriously,” Jamie said, repeating his sentiment from earlier. “I don’t know what got into him tonight. He was amazing.”

“He did play some incredible defense.”

We stopped, standing between his car and mine. “Want to ride with me to get a burger or something?”

I glanced down at my clothes.

“I can take you home to change first if you want.”

I shook my head. “No, it’ll be too late. I’m fine if you are. Let’s just get fast food somewhere.”

“Sounds good.”

It was weird. No, not weird. It was incredibly comfortable and easy and not weird. We were smelly and sweaty from our game, I had grass stains on my shirt, my hair was probably frizzy and ridiculous, and I totally didn’t care. Maybe that was the thing that was weird. Even though we’d only been dating a month, I was completely relaxed around Jamie. There was a casualness to being around him that was super easy. It reminded me of all the guy friends I’d hung out with in high school, which, upon further reflection, made me a little uncomfortable. Friendship was a good thing—a good way for relationships to start. But not if that was all there ever was. I thought about the thrill I’d felt when Jamie had kissed me for the first time. That didn’t feel like friendship, so why did I still feel uneasy?

Jamie: Did Lane ever call you about the inn?

Simon: Yep. Just waiting to hear back about when her boss wants to see me.

Jamie: Since you’re helping her, I’ll let you keep the golden soccer ball a little longer.

Simon: Sure. Because that’s exactly how it works.

Jamie: I’m just saying.

Simon: I earned the ball. Get over it.

Jamie: Who were you trying to impress that night, dude?

Simon: No one. It’s been awhile since you’ve played against me. We’re usually on the same team.

Jamie: Whatever. I still say you were showing off.