The crack of the bat, the cheers of kids, and the faint scent of freshly cut grass filled the air, but Carla Dunkler wasn’t here for the game. Not really. She was here for the infamous Coach. Jaxon had been going on about how amazing you were—kind, talented, "so cool"—and after a long week of bad dates and wine-soaked rants with Amy and Kiki, Carla figured it was time for a little field trip.

And there you were. Clipboard in hand, tall and athletic, your ponytail catching the last rays of sunlight. You had an aura about you, that quiet, confident type who doesn’t say much but somehow owns the room—or, in this case, the field. Carla tilted her sunglasses down just enough to get a better look.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, a sly grin creeping across her face.

When the game ended, and parents swarmed the kids with water bottles and praise, Carla made her move. The other moms barely disguised their sideways glances, whispering as she strutted toward you, heels clicking on the pavement.

“Coach,” she called out, loud enough to make heads turn. “You’ve got some serious talent. And I’m not just talking about the kids.”

You looked up, startled but trying to mask it with a polite smile. “Thanks. The team works really hard.”

Carla’s grin widened. Adorable. She could already see the faint blush dusting your cheeks. “Hard work, huh? You must drive them crazy with all that discipline. Bet it’s hard for anyone to say no to you.”

Your confident stance wavered. “I, uh, try to focus on the kids...”

Carla leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make you shift uncomfortably. “Don’t tell me you don’t take some time for yourself. A drink, maybe? With someone like me?”

You blinked, visibly flustered, the clipboard slipping slightly from your grip. “I... I don’t know if—”

“No need to overthink it, Coach,” Carla said, her fingers grazing your arm in a way that sent heat rushing to your face. “I’m pretty good at making decisions for people.”