Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,28

sleep. It used to drive my Mom crazy hearing me walk around the house at night so she said I had to stay in my room, but now when I can’t sleep I just crochet and it works really well. I was going to make us all Christmas sweaters if I have the time and—” she looks at Jason “—do you celebrate Christmas?”

It’s amazing that she can get all that out in one breath.

Jason smiles, because he’s used to Quinn’s run-on sentences.

“Yeah, Quinn—we celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh.” She smiles, nodding, and seems to remember to close her mouth. “Cool.”

“Come on, Jay,” Louis says. “Keydon’s on the other side of the field, where he can pick up Wi-Fi, working on this new algorithm that chooses the best plays based on the opposing team’s player’s stats. It’s lit. We’re going to show it to Coach Walker after the game.”

Jason glances at me hesitantly.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine. I’m going to find a seat and watch the game.”

“All right. Thanks, Mom.”

As the kids walk away, Louis turns back to me. “There are a few seats left at the top, Miss Burrows!”

I wave a thank you and head in that direction.

The crowd cheers again, standing as I make it to Lakeside’s end of the field. The band plays a song and the cheerleaders do a quick track-side routine. The air smells like leaves and wet grass—with a hint of pizza that makes my stomach churn. I’m out of breath by the time I make it to the top of the bleachers, but when I look around, there isn’t anywhere to sit.

Just as I turn to head back down the steps, a whirlwind warm little body collides with my leg, holding on tight. He’s about two years old with baby soft brown hair, big onyx eyes and a devil of a smile.

“Boo!”

Automatically, I cover my face with my hands and quickly peek out—because when an adorable little boy boos you, you boo him back.

“Boo!”

He lets out a delighted belly laugh—until a voice calls out from behind him.

“Will!”

Will’s eyes go wide and he bounces up and down like a monkey who wants out of his cage.

“Up, up, up, up, up!”

I scoop up the little runaway—and his warm, solid baby weight feels beautifully familiar to my arms.

Then I make eye contact with the smiling blond woman coming down the row. She’s about my age, with soft, pretty features.

“I’m guessing he belongs to you,” I tell her.

“Yes, thank you.”

I hand the bouncy boy over. “He would’ve been all the way to the other end if you hadn’t grabbed him. Running is his favorite thing to do.”

“No problem.”

“No!” Will frowns, his little brows squeezing together. “No sit!”

“Yes, sit,” his mother tells him, kissing his chubby fist. “We’re going to watch the game. You don’t want to miss it.”

I look toward the steps as everyone in the bleachers stands up again, cheering over something on the field.

“Were you looking for a place to sit?” She cocks her head toward the announcer’s box. “There’s a spot at the end by us, you’re welcome to join us.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

I follow her down the row and she sits beside an older couple wearing matching Lakeside High School sweatshirts.

“I’m Callie, by the way. And this,” she tickles the toddler’s stomach, “is Will.”

I press a hand to my chest. “Lainey Burrows.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Are you new in town, Lainey?”

“Yeah, my son Jason and I moved here a few weeks ago from North Jersey. We’re in the old house on Miller Street.”

Callie’s eyes go wide. “Really? That place is . . .”

“Haunted.” I nod. “So I’ve heard. Haven’t seen any 18th century ghosts yet, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled.”

She laughs. “It’s an old legend around here.”

“I’m getting that. You’re from Lakeside?”

“Born and raised.” Will stands up between her legs, holding her hands and bouncing. “It’s a great town—a nice place to grow up, raise kids.”

I look down toward the field at the wall of large, padded football players’ backs and ask Callie, “Which one is yours?”

She points. “The tall, dark-haired one with Coach Daniels written across the back of his jersey.”

I follow her pointed finger to a handsome guy wearing a headset, talking animatedly to two players about to take the field.

“Garrett coaches and teaches history and I teach theater here at the high school.”

Next to Garrett Daniels, facing the field, I spot my son’s teacher-hero from his jersey—Coach Walker. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing his own headset and jeans, which he fills out very