The Game of Love (11 page)

“Well.” He cleared his throat, gave Will a jarring slap on the back, his palm stinging from the contact with shoulder pads. “Good job. I’m proud of you. Now stop loafing around and go back out there.” He gave Will’s back a gentle shove to push him out on the field.

With a grin and a salute, Will was off to join his team.

Not for the first time, his mind replayed the scene in Chris’s classroom. How he’d cut her off before she had a chance to say anything. How he’d never asked her what her plan was. He could see her face, now understanding the hurt that was probably covered up by the Ice Queen act.

The crunch of pads, the grunts and shouts, the trill of whistles started to fade as his vision tunneled. He staggered the few steps to the first row of bleachers and sat down with a metallic thud, his keys clanging on the seat.

He’d assumed she would pick out a tutor for Will, or give him a retest. He didn’t think she’d give up so much extra time, when teachers had little to spare to begin with. Damn it, when would this woman ever stop throwing him off-balance? He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it over his face.

Now more than ever, he realized how different she was. She was something special. And he was more determined than ever to find out if her brand of special worked with his life, in one form or another.

But before he even worried about that, he was going to have to find a way to show her how sorry he was. And unfortunately, that would most likely take a large amount of groveling and ass-kissing.

Not that he would mind getting his lips on that behind of hers…

She was still shivering with cold sweat when her team pulled up to the courts of Napa High School. She hated driving the damn athletic department’s van. It shook when she hit fifty-five, making her think the thing was held together with duct tape, chewing gum and a prayer. And it smelled awful, like dust and industrial strength cleaner. Add that to the fact that she was responsible for the welfare of sixteen teenage girls who just
had
to listen to Taylor Swift at full volume—and sing along, badly—made the ninety-minute drive feel like three lifetimes of hell.

No, hell probably has better transportation. I bet that handbasket is in good working order.

The only reason they’d driven so far out was because Napa was in their conference. Definitely not a choice she would have made for an away match. Even most of the parents wouldn’t have time to make it to a match this far away. So they were, in essence, on their own. The girls tumbled out of the van, grabbing gear and sweats all at once, the sound drowning out Ms. Swift’s insistence that at fifteen you knew it was everlasting love. Chris managed to hold back a snort…barely.

Gray clouds loomed overhead, blocking out any hope of sunlight. The wind whipped hair into their faces, making their eyes tear up. The conditions would make lobs and lighter ground strokes a serious problem, not to mention complicate serving for those who already struggled.

After a quick bathroom break and a few instructions, her girls were zipping up their windbreaker jackets against the cold. As the season wore on, staying warm and loose on the court was becoming more of a challenge.

Added to the miserable turnout in support of Northeastern—two sets of parents who were huddled under blankets—and Chris could see her girls’ enthusiasm waning. Not good.

Just as they were heading out to their designated courts for warm-up, a loud gunning sound split the air, all heads turning toward the parking lot. Around the corner of the bleachers came an eco-destroying SUV that she recognized very well, followed by a few more cars and a shiny Northeastern High athletic van. One that did not, in fact, appear to rattle when it hit highway speeds.

They whipped into the available parking spots. Boy after teenage boy climbed out of the vehicles and poured into the stands, not unlike watching clowns squeezing out of their too-small car. Assistant football coaches—including T.J., her admirer from the first coaches’ meeting that summer—ran herd on the boys. They kept coming until the stands were practically full. She did the math in her head and figured almost half the football team had shown up.

Then Brett stepped out of his SUV and looked her way. She could almost feel when his eyes fixed on her. He stood still for a moment, his jacket billowing in the wind, then lifted his hand in a wave.

The cavalry, for whatever reason, had arrived.

Chris felt light-headed. He had to have cancelled practice to get out here in time. And he’d have to reimburse the school for the van since it wasn’t a real athletic event for his players. He was showing up, guns blazing, in an unmistakable sign of support.

She looked around and saw how the girls responded. Their feet moved just a little quicker, their smiles were wider—and more than one girl fixed her ponytail.

Despite the biting chill, her heart melted into a puddle at her feet. She couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to. It felt good to be warm and gooey inside while her fingers were frozen. She’d enjoy it while it lasted.

With her heart in her throat, she left her team to finish their warm-up routine and walked over to the bleachers as casually as she could manage. The wind could easily explain the tears swimming in her eyes, but her shaking hands were another matter.

She stopped just in front of him, over to the side, sheltered by the bleachers from the wind and prying eyes. “So…nothing good on TV?”

Brett smiled, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the side of the stands. “Nobody likes making this drive, and I figured the combination of distance and weather would keep your fans away.” As he glanced at the four parents holding their own, the left side of his mouth quirked up. “Guess I was right.” He shrugged. “I have a lot to apologize for, starting with the way I acted a few weeks ago.”

It was a peace offering. She placed her palms on his chest. The man felt like a space heater, and she just barely managed to stop her fingers from curling into the warmth.

Lifting on the balls of her feet, she brushed a chaste kiss across his lips. As her heels touched the cement, her eyes caught his, and she saw the hunger there, clawing to break free from the hold he must have had on it. The puddle that used to be her heart quivered.

His large hands gripped her elbows. She didn’t resist when he raised her up for another kiss, this one just a little longer. His lips were warm on hers, killing the cold.

“Later,” he whispered against her lips. “We’re finishing this later.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, her chilly nose bumping his. He smiled, kissed the corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out for just a fraction of a second to tease. He let go of her arms.

She had no clue what to say, and the twitch of his lips told her he knew very well that she was beyond speech. But she was saved by the whistle indicating warm-up time was over, and with one more quick glance to make sure he was real, she darted around the seats to meet her team on the grass.

Later, he says. Later. Like I’ll be able to concentrate on the match now.

God, she was adorable.

Brett watched as she jumped around with her team in their huddle, most likely to get the blood flowing on the cold, dreary day. But the smiles and high-pitched girlish laughter told him she was doing it because it was just plain fun, too. She did that often, he noticed. Put aside the competition to have fun, to inspire. It wasn’t a win-or-die thing for her, this coaching gig.

That was rare, and a welcome change.

He got the chance to sit back and relax—as much as a man could relax while his ass was freezing to aluminum bleachers and he attempted to not shiver in order to keep up a manly façade in front of his team—and watch her work. She moved so fluidly, like she was born in motion. Her long legs sometimes tore up the grass in ground-eating strides moving from one court to the next. Other times she stutter-stepped in place out of excitement or anxiousness or frustration with the match she was watching.

She called the girls over to the fence during breaks—what’d that parent call them, changeovers?—and her tone never let anyone in the stands know whether the girl was about to receive praise or a correction. She spoke low, but with authority that the girls listened to and responded to without hesitation.

The girls, the misfits that two months ago he would have sworn would rather set fire to the school’s van than travel for an away match…they worshipped her. The trust of a teenager was not easily won, and she’d done it in a few short months.

His trust was hard to give, but every time he saw a new side of her, something else made him want to give up the fight and surrender. To see where things went. God knew she was no Lilith.

No, she was as opposite as they came. At times it even seemed like his stint with the Liberties was a strike against him. Though God knew why.

It would probably be best if he avoided showing her his trophy case in the office when she came over.

One by one, her players finished their matches, eagerly bundling back up the instant they shook hands with their opponents. It wasn’t looking good, and though the girls kept tight smiles on their faces as they joined their schoolmates in the stands, he knew they were upset. Nobody liked to lose, especially after coming all this way.

He left the stands and made a quick phone call.

When the last Northeastern player exited the courts, dejected in their shut-out loss, he was glad he’d made the call. While Chris huddled with her team, he spoke to the other coaches and the football players who had come with them.

He waited until he heard the girls’ huddle break up. Chris was stuffing her clipboard into a bag when he sauntered over, leaving his boys to explain the situation to the girls.

“Rough loss, Coach.”

Chris looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. God, she really cared about these girls. “Yeah. It’s always encouraging to drive ninety minutes for an ass-whipping.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. He knew better. She was covering up her disappointment, hiding her vulnerability in case she cracked. He couldn’t fault her for it.

“Look, the guys are wanting to switch things around a little with the ride home. Mind if some of the guys ride back in the van if the girls are safe with us?”

“Oh, hmm.” She chewed on her bottom lip, already red from cold. She gave him an apologetic look. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I’m responsible for them. I shouldn’t pass the responsibility off onto someone else.”

“Totally understand.”
And respect you even more for it.
“But as Northeastern coaches, we have all signed contracts saying we are capable of driving athletes around. That doesn’t just mean the ones that wear a cup. We’ll all be together. And I don’t think the girls have any objections.” He chuckled. The boys and girls had already started to mix up. Some girls stayed on the tennis van while others piled in the one the football team had borrowed.

“Oh. Well…” She looked trapped, like it wasn’t her first choice. He didn’t take it personally. “Okay. But the girls have to be in a vehicle driven by a coach, not one of the boys.”

“No problem.” He kept his grin to himself, watched as she checked to see that all the girls were in a vehicle driven by a coach. She started walking to the van she’d driven.

He cupped her arm at the elbow and gently—but firmly—redirected her toward his own vehicle. He smiled when she sputtered and tried to pull away. “T.J. agreed to drive that rust bucket they call a van. You can ride with me.”

She sent one more forlorn look toward the crap-mobile before allowing him to lead her over to his Escalade. He opened the door and waited for her long legs to carry her to the elevated seats. The door snapped shut before she could say a word, cutting off the protest he knew was coming. He jogged to the other side, opened the door, slid into the driver seat and let the engine roar to life before looking at her.

She looked in the backseat. “There are no kids in here.”

“I know.” He gave her his best
I’m a good guy
grin before he remembered she hadn’t been fooled the first time he used it on her either. “I just thought you might like a little peace and quiet on the drive home to decompress. I know I usually do after a loss.”

She opened her mouth—probably to argue—then snapped it shut like a trap. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared out her window while the caravan of vans and SUVs pulled out of the school parking lot.

Ten minutes into the drive, without looking away from the scenery, she asked, “How long ago did you plan to kidnap me?”

“Kidnap? Harsh. After I realized the team wasn’t going to make the come-from-behind push. Like I said, I guessed you might want a little bit of time to just be quiet. And God knew that wasn’t going to happen in a van full of girls. The noise they made just deciding who would sit where was deafening.”

A hint of a smile curved her lips before she caught it. “Yeah, well, you should have heard the ride down.” She deigned to look at him then. “Taylor Swift. Accompanied by sixteen tone-deaf girls. It was ugly.”

He gave a fake shudder, and she loosened up enough to laugh, then slouched in the seat a little. “Don’t these kids know anything about music?” he asked.

“I just thank my lucky stars it’s not rap. Nothing like listening to a bunch of curse words.”

“Yeah. Bad.” Good thing the radio had been off when he started the car. Hey, rap was motivating, good to get in the mood before a bone-crushing game. Nothing got you revved up to hit something—or someone—like angry rap music.

“You’d never listen to that awful stuff, right?”

“Hmm.” Desperate to change the subject, he was relieved to see the exit he wanted. “Are you hungry?”

“Mmm. Yeah, actually. But it’ll be so late by the time we get back I’ll probably end up with a PB and J on stale bread.”

“Nah.” He followed the caravan down the exit ramp.

She sat up straight. “Where are they going? Where are
we
going?”

“Well, I figured since we were going to be so late getting back, and everyone would be starving by then, and the girls would need a pick-me-up…” He shrugged as the family restaurant crept into view on the long stretch of road. “I called ahead and asked them to have some pizzas ready so we wouldn’t have to wait.”

Chris stared up at the neon Tratelli’s sign with the “tel” burned out. “A few pizzas…you do realize you have well over two dozen teenagers, many of whom are bottomless pits known as teenage boys. A few pizzas will last approximately seven seconds. And that’s without my girls sharing.” She turned to him, her face unreadable in the dim light from the restaurant sign and parking lot lamps. “Intimately familiar with this place?”

He shrugged and found a parking spot. “I traveled this road a lot going back and forth to see family while I was still playing. I stopped here a time or two. Ready to go in?”

As he reached out to shut off the ignition, the soft grip of her hand on his bare wrist stopped him. Hands not unused to hard work, gripping a racket, but still feminine and dwarfed by his own. He couldn’t help but think of all the other ways she was soft and feminine…

Ho, boy. He had it bad if just her hand was turning him on. He looked at her, and she smiled. “I just want to check something first…” Her right hand darted out and flicked on the radio. Jay-Z filled the interior of the car with his bass, shaking the change in his cup holder and vibrating the seats.

“Mmm.” She released his hand and turned the stereo off. “Thought so.” Another knowing, sly smile curved her lips in a way that had his gut clenching and his groin tightening. She slipped out of the car. “Ladies, line up for a quick headcount before we go in!”

He let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and gave a slow whistle. God, he was in deep.

Twenty-seven pizzas. The team and coaches had, in total, consumed twenty-seven pizzas.
Bottomless pit
was too neutral of a phrase to describe how those boys went through food. The moment those pizzas hit the table, it was like feeding time at the zoo.

Chris had tried to calculate how much her own team had eaten, but the owners—a surprisingly young couple—insisted the bill had already been taken care of by Brett Wallace. And no, he wouldn’t let her pay him back, don’t bother insulting him by offering again.

She turned down the road that led to her townhouse, Brett’s headlights a reassuring beacon behind her. When they had arrived back at the school, she watched her girls leave with their parents or in their own cars. But before she had taken off herself, he’d informed her he would follow her home, because it was dark and he just wanted to make sure she was safe.

It was cute. No, adorable. Nope…wonderful.

Pulling into her designated parking spot, she watched Brett inch his gas guzzler into the guest spot and hop out of the SUV.

Later.
He’d said later. And here it was. God. Should she invite him in for coffee? Or a drink? Okay, all she had to drink was water. That wouldn’t work. And oh good Lord she was seriously rambling.

With all fairness, she hadn’t done the “date” thing much. Like, at all. Dax had been a set-up through their agents. And she hadn’t dated much in high school. With “much” being code for “never.”

Was this what she wanted? Chris let her head drop to the steering wheel with a thud. She had no clue. So maybe having him in for coffee wasn’t right. At least not yet.

She turned off the car and got out, digging in her bag for her keys as she headed toward her front door. She didn’t harbor false hopes that it would be a lasting love, or love of any kind. Men like Brett—pro athletes…jocks—wanted a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a
Playboy
centerfold. Maybe the small town was just short on Playmates at the moment.

But it could be good for as long as it was…whatever it was.

The sound of his footsteps was comforting as he came up behind her. And though she tried her hardest, she couldn’t ignore the little electric pulse that shocked through her system with every heavy step. She unlocked the front door, but didn’t push it open. She just wasn’t sure enough in herself to trust her own judgment. She needed more time. Safer to keep the thank-you on the porch.

He stopped a few feet away, not crowding her but close enough to touch. The space didn’t manage to muffle the waves of desire she felt pounding out of him. Instead of reaching for her, though, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So…”