Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

“You’ve got something you wanted to discuss?” I prompt kindly.

Terrance clears his throat. “Yes, Coach Harrison. I’d like to speak to you about the off-season training camp.”

I raise my brows. “Do you have a problem with the timeline?”

“No, not at all,” he exclaims. “I actually came over to ask if I could do some extra hours on top of the daily sessions you proposed? You said that the practices would begin at 9:30 and be over by noon. But I’d love to invest more time in honing my skills.”

I set up the timeframe to ensure my players will enjoy their summer besides getting in shape for next season.

Still, Terrance’s question warms my heart. He’s a freshman, but I can see him moving to the varsity team faster than any of the older teens in the junior varsity team. His dedication reminds me a lot of myself. I always begged my high school coach to assign me homework and extra conditioning so I could advance faster.

Perhaps, precisely because of this, I answer, “Our training sessions, though not extremely long, will be power-packed, don’t worry. If you avoid video games and just hang out with your friends for the rest of the time, you’ll be in top form, I promise you.”

“But I want to become the best,” Terrance says, “so I need to focus on football and football only.”

I level his gaze. “Look, take it from me. You don’t need to dedicate every waking minute to football. You’re young. Use your free time also to be young. Only this way can you have a happy life and keep a level head on the field.”

As I’m saying this, I’m surprised to realize that I actually mean every word of this wise statement.

A gratifying glow spreads through my chest as I imagine what Ellie would think if she heard me giving Terrance this speech. She’s the reason I learned what a balanced and joyful existence is.

She made me understand that football is just one thing I love and that playing in the league wasn’t the only way to live out this passion.

Strangely enough, this realization didn’t diminish my performance in my last season for the Kites. In fact, the games of my last season—even if our team dropped out during the conference championship—had been my best ever.

In his farewell talk, Coach Fielding had called my achievement worthy of an MVP title—which was almost as satisfying as if I’d actually been granted that by the NFL.

But it’s not just my shifting view about football’s role in my life for which I have to thank Ellie.

I think back to last weekend when Dad came to Phoenix to deliver me Grandma Harrison’s ring. He and I spent an afternoon together bonding, and I can hardly believe the fun time I had with the man I thought I’d never want to see again.

Ellie taught me the strength to forgive my father and gave me the courage to embark on the journey of building a relationship with him.

She’s the most fantastic and lovable creature on this planet. That’s why I can’t wait to pop my question to her tonight.

“My friend has a birthday party this weekend. You think I should go?”

Terrance’s phrase jerks me out of my reverie.

He eyes me with arched brows, squinting as if he’s not sure whether my previous words were a test about his zeal or my actual opinion.

I pat the boy’s head. His hair is silkier than I expected, considering it looked like a bunch of unkempt hay after he took off his helmet. “Of course. Have fun. Just stay away from the booze. That’s really detrimental to a player’s stamina.”

A grin spreads on his face. “I will, Coach Harrison. Thanks for your advice.”

He looks thrilled.

This is evident in his cheery turn and the jubilant grit he puts into his steps while he dashes toward the locker room.

While I go to my car to head over to Encanto Park, Terrance’s elated stride is still swirling in my mind.

When he handed over his team, Coach Jenkins warned me that my most challenging task won’t be to develop a winning strategy, but to build high-character, young people from my players. He said my job would involve being as much their counselor, chauffeur, meal provider, confidant, fundraiser, and advocate as being their trainer. I guess the old guy was right.

I park my car near the entertainment park and hurry to the ice cream parlor. As the table in the snug corner beside the ice cream shop comes into view, my heart speeds up.

It has two chairs and is covered with a simple but elegant white tablecloth, just as I requested. I even drew a map for Monica to show how to set it up. I tipped her very generously to ensure she wouldn’t skip any steps, not even measuring the geometrical middle with a ruler to find where to place the vase filled with pink peonies.

Monica has respected my instructions to the letter.

Let’s hope the special cone she promised to fabricate for Ellie’s sweet avocado cayenne is also ready. I dropped off the ring on my way to work this morning to give enough time for the server to experiment with how best to hide it.

I want to go inside to ask Monica about it when Ellie’s voice calls from behind me.

“Sorry, honey, I’m a bit late,” she says and flings herself into my neck.

I lift her, and we kiss.

Sometimes, I greet Ellie with a desperate, ‘I couldn’t wait to see you’, kiss, which I perfected during my time spent on the road with the Kites, when she would fly in to visit me. But this time, it’s a brief but tender, ‘we belong together, and we know it’, lip brushing, which is fast becoming my preferred salutation because of its implied intimacy and trust.

When I lower Ellie, she blinks at the table and furrows her brows. “What’s this?”

“It’s uhm…”

“—my boss’s new expansion plan.” Monica’s jovial comment saves me. “He wants to build an