Chapter 30 – A Sideline "Hat-Trick" Invitation
Because Alan was the designated snack dad for this week's match, he still had to hit the supermarket and stock up on treats.
That left Sean to get Jake into one of the parent-pool cars.
Luckily, Sean rode shotgun, so he didn't have to endure the kids' back-seat chaos.
Behind the wheel sat a blonde woman in a wide-brimmed pink sun hat; her profile was attractive, her skin fair with a healthy California glow.
A fitted pink polo—classic cut, crisp collar—clung to her upper body in all the right ways.
Gloria's gaze locked on Sean like a heat-seeking missile, the curiosity and interest of a predator that had finally spotted intriguing prey.
Her smile was magazine-perfect, her eyes scanned his face for information. Her opener carried playful intimacy and a hint of teasing:
"So… you're the 'notorious' Uncle Charlie?"
Sean's head snapped side-to-side on reflex, as if dodging something contagious.
"No! Not me!"
His tone was adamant, almost urgent.
"Technically I am Jake's uncle…"
He stressed the relationship carefully.
"But I'm Sean—Sean Horace."
He enunciated his full name, desperate to establish a firewall between himself and his womanizing train-wreck of a cousin, Charlie.
He refused to be lumped in with Charlie's infamous reputation on first meeting—he wasn't exactly a choir boy, but next to Charlie his own exploits were amateur hour.
After all, Aunt Evelyn's prediction for Charlie's future had been:
'Dead at fifty from cirrhosis and STDs!'
Far from disappointed, the blonde beauty nodded as if a theory had just been confirmed, her smile widening in enlightened delight.
"Oh, Sean."
She rolled the name like honey off her tongue.
"I'm Gloria. Judith mentioned you."
She paused, studying his reaction, then dropped her prepared bombshell:
"She said you and Cynthia—Judith's best friend—hit it off so well the first night that when she called Cynthia the next morning…"
Gloria tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief:
"…you were the one who answered the phone?"
The memory hit Sean like a freight train.
Cynthia?
Judith's hot best friend?
The scene flashed back in vivid detail. Yet his face stayed calm; he slipped straight into denial mode, brows knit in theatrical confusion:
"Oh? Really? Did that happen?"
He shrugged, gaze unflinching—at least on the surface.
"Sorry, I've got no recollection of that."
A master of selective memory never blushes; his poker face is flawless.
Gloria watched Sean's Academy Award-worthy amnesia act, a knowing smirk curving her glossed lips.
She let it slide, sipped from the cup in the holder, flicked back her hair and gave a soft, conspiratorial chuckle.
The smile said it all:
Sure, play dumb—I know the truth.
They soon pulled into Sherman Oaks' community soccer field. Sean hopped out to open the rear door; the kids spilled out like a clown car, Jake already racing off with friends, barely acknowledging the uncle holding the door.
Seeing Gloria step from the driver's seat, Sean did a double-take—this woman had to be pushing six feet. Tall even by LA standards.
As he turned toward the field, Gloria caught his arm. The determined grin she wore looked all too familiar.
She didn't mince words:
"Look, Uncle Sean, I find you attractive. I've got three kids, a useless ex-husband, and I run my own travel agency fifty-plus hours a week. I'm in my prime—Wednesday nights, while the kids are at karate, I've got three free hours."
Sean decoded it loud and clear: she was proposing a no-strings, physical arrangement.
Guided by the principle of neither refusing nor committing outright…
…he gave her a contact number.
Watching the noncommittal Sean, Gloria pressed:
"So—what do you say?"
Straight-talking women get bonus points; business is business, no romantic window dressing.
Just like listing a price tag upfront—call it what it is; don't dress it up as true love.
Sean's reply was simple:
"If you're interested, call 310-9…"
A woman who, regardless of your bank balance or reputation, simply wants some fun.
How could Sean possibly say no?
Hearing him rattle off the digits, Gloria knew the deal was done.
Her grin widened—she was one step closer to getting what she wanted.
"Make sure you pick up when I call!"
The community soccer field sat under a brutal ten a.m. California sun, bright enough to require sunglasses.
Thick surrounding trees provided some shade for the crowd.
The air smelled of fresh-cut grass, coconut sunscreen, and the faint dust kicked up by hordes of excited kids.
Parents cheered from the sidelines, coaches' whistles shrilled, and children shouted—the quintessential weekend youth sports soundtrack.
From the bleachers Sean watched Jake's age group and thought:
If they wanted a brawl, why bring a soccer ball?
Four kids mobbed every possession; no one kept the ball longer than five seconds—basically organized chaos with a ball.
Chaotic, yes, but thankfully no serious injuries yet.
Behind him sat Gloria; to his left a petite blonde woman, hair in a low ponytail, delicate silver watch on her slim wrist.
She wore a blue-green-white striped long-sleeve tee and matching denim shorts—clean, athletic lines.
White ankle socks and pink sneakers completed the unmistakable 'sporty-cute soccer mom' vibe.
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