17. Baby Blues and Lace
seventeen
Baby Blues and Lace
S hit. Dammit. Hell. I groan and shake my head. I’m two minutes from school and what do I spot in my rearview mirror? A lacy blue bra dangling in the side window. Fuck me.
I make a quick turn on a side street, hop out of the truck, and snatch the bra off the backseat hook.
Jesus. Her panties are wadded on the seat.
My head tilts and I pause before retrieving the crumpled blue lace attached to a tiny taunting bow.
I have to squash a million filthy thoughts courtesy of every ounce of blood rushing to my cock before I lay a hand on them.
It couldn’t have been more innocent, but pulling up to school with a bra hanging in my backseat window…
I let out a loud laugh. Hell, some of them would expect it from me.
But not her bra, obviously.
I’m lucky she didn’t realize the hard-on she gave me when the truck heated up. I didn’t know I had it in me. I was so frozen from the lake, I never dreamed I’d get a boner like that. I felt like I was fifteen with her bare skin touching mine. She made me fucking hot all over.
I let out another groan and tap the back of my head against the seat.
What am I doing spending this much time with her?
You’re playing with fire, I tell myself. But I’m locked into this. Keep your head in the game. How many times have I heard that in my life? How many times have I said that in my life to a player—never dreamed I’d be saying it about… her.
“Coach!” Trent jogs toward me as I get out of my truck. “You won’t believe who I just took a call from!” He’s out of breath.
“Calm down, buddy. Who?”
He may be an assistant coach but he’s jumping up and down like a grade school kid.
“Jet Holloway! You know him?” His smile is as wide as his eyes. “Why’s Jet Holloway calling you?”
“We played college ball together. What’d he say?”
“I answered your desk phone. Said to tell you he’s in.”
I blow a sigh of relief. “Great.”
“What’s it about?” Trent’s not giving up until he has his answers. Jet—Jamarcus Holloway—is one of the biggest names in the NBA.
“It’s a fundraiser for the fire department. We’re going to throw a charity basketball game. I called him the other day. He said he’s in? Hot damn.”
Man, that’s good news.
“You played with Jet Holloway? Really? I didn’t realize.”
No wonder. “Jamarcus went onto the NBA. I went into coaching. Don’t put us on the same level. Just college friends.” I open the door to the gym to let him walk in first.
“Man, I’m impressed. When?”
“When did we play together?” How many years has it been?
“No, when’s the charity game? If Jet Holloway’s playing, we can get a shit ton of people here.”
“That’s the point, Trent.”
“Well, fuck, coach. When. Is. It?”
She asked me that last night. “The day after the auction.”
“What auction?”
“The one Ellis is having. It’s a competition to see which coach can raise the most money for the fire department.” One I plan on winning. I don’t like losing. Especially not to Ellis.
Which reminds me. “I forgot something. Go ahead and get the scrimmage started. I’ll be right back.”
What did she put in the back of my truck for that fucker? I told her I’d give it to him.
Fishing around, I find something wrapped in a packing blanket. Long, kind of cylindrical. She said it was a statue or something.
Reaching over, I grab it. Part of me wants to accidentally drop it so the fucker breaks.
“Kourt?”
Fuck. She’s got such a soft voice when she wants it to be.
“Yes, I delivered your food to G.W. and Carol. That was nice of you, making them meals like that.”
“Thank you. I knew you would deliver the food—”
“And I got your bra out of the window. And your panties. They’re in a bag.”
She groans into a low laugh. “A bag?”
Why does she make me smile? Even over the phone? “No worries. I’ll give it to you when I see you tonight.”
“About that .”
Long pause. That’s never good.
“Just say it, Erika with a K.”
She clears her throat. “Would you mind terribly, horribly… I need to go back to see Walter. He’s waiting on my answer.”
“Which is?”
“Ugh, Kourt,” she groans. “We’ve got to move it into, or closer to town, if we’re going to make The Calling of the Bears part of the festival. Everyone at town hall agrees, and honestly it’s the only way to get traffic there. Walter wants people to come. That’s the point.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Walter Miller’s about as unmovable as Black Mountain. I hear a sigh of frustration from her end of the phone.
“How are you by the way? No bad cold from our evening swim?” I wondered about her last night. All night.
“Nah, I’m tough.”
“Listen, we had morning practice, so I’ll cut out early and let Trent handle the afternoon. I can pick you up a little before three. Does that work?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Hey, Jamarcus Holloway said he’s in for the charity game. Said he’ll get more NBA volunteers, to be named. Now I’ve got to throw together a team to play the stars. I’ve got some other buddies I’m calling. But everyone’s asking when.”
“Who’s Jamarcus Holloway?”
“Ja-mar-cus Holloway.”
No response. How does anyone go through life and know nothing about basketball?
“Jet Holloway. Think, Erika. You’ve seen him in the razor commercials on TV. The—”
“Oooh!” There’s the recognition. “ That guy! He’s famous.”
Jeez-us. I want to bang my head on the desk.
“Trust me. He’s an even bigger draw for basketball fans. As soon as I have the other names, I’ll let you know, but the charity game is a go. We just need a date. The location will be our gym. I cleared it with the principal.”
“Sorry. I just choked a little on my coffee—not over your celebrity buddy crush, but your willingness to follow through with my idea. I think I’m stunned.”
“You’re certainly not stunned silent. Whatever. It’s a good idea. What’s that they say about a broken clock being right at least twice a day—”
“Funny. I was thinking more along the lines of you potentially pulling this off and beating Ellis. I mean, every dog has its day.”
“Wow.” Shaking the smile off my face, I take a moment, uncertain if there’s something else to say. Maybe I’m just not ready to hang up. How does she not know a damn thing about basketball and why does it amuse me more than turn me off.
Helen was right, she’s something different. Quick as hell. Resourceful and caring the way she handled Carol and G.W.
Damn it.
“Gotta go.” I click the phone off as abruptly as I answered her call.
Keep your head in the game.
Sliding into my truck in front of city hall, Erika finds my face with determined eyes. “You don’t have to worry. I promise, I’ve got Walter. All jokes aside, I truly appreciate what you’ve done for me, introducing me to him, and I have no intention of letting him down.”
“Just do what you do, Erika. It seems to be working.” Like that red sweater’s working on you right now.
She looks at me as if uncertain. “Where’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just when I drop you off, don’t forget your—” I couldn’t help but notice the lacy bra was a C cup. Perfect.
“Of course. I didn’t plan on hanging it off your side mirror this time. Did you remember to give Ellis the statue?”
Fuck. “Sorry. I got it to my office, but I never ran into him.”
She cocks her head to the side. “That’s what he said.”
“You talked to Ellis?”
“He called me about the auction.”
I feel a growl rumble deep in my chest and she turns to face me. “What is it with you and Ellis, anyway?” She’s glowering at me. Why is it I can go from hero to zero faster than anyone on the planet? “Nothing.”
“Something.”
“It’s nothing, Erika. I’ve got a lot going on. I didn’t think about Ellis or his damn auction.” I can fix this right now. I punch Bluetooth. “Call Trent.”
Bluetooth responds, “Calling Trent.”
Erika stares at me. “What are you doing?” she mouths.
I hold up my index finger to stall her while Trent answers his cell. “Yeah, Coach.”
“Trent, remember that tube thing I brought in this morning, wrapped in a packing quilt? It’s behind my desk.”
“Looking at it.”
“Will you take that down to Ellis?”
“On it.”
Erika straightens and relaxes in her seat.
“Tell him it’s from Erika Amherst for his auction. Then tell him, ‘Coach said to shove it up his ass.’”
Trent lets out one hell of a laugh. “Will do, Coach.”
I cut my eyes at her. “At least he’ll have it.”
What’s fucking Ellis done for her besides try to get in her pants? I’m the one who’s carted her all over the Appalachians, rescued her from a frozen pond—and she’s bending over backwards to help Ellis the ass wipe.
“That was some exemplary sportsmanship.” Her cheeks are as red as the fuzzy sweater she’s wearing.
The very one hugging her curves. “Guess that makes me even more excited to see you in action on the court, McShotty.” Her voice is rich with sarcasm as she cuts her eyes away from me to her side of the truck.
“Are you hungry?”
She’s staring a hole through the windshield now. “After that, I couldn’t eat a crumb.”
“I could eat a horse.” I swing through the drive-through at Dairy Maid.
“Do you ever eat anything besides hamburgers?”
“You seemed to enjoy yours the last time.”
“I’m just wondering if we should have your cholesterol checked before we head too far up the mountain.”
“Can I take your order?” the attendant crackles through the speaker.
I turn to Erika, who’s sitting stiffly in her seat. “I take it you don’t want a burger?”
Twisting her lips to one side she turns to look at me. Blue eyes dripping with remorse at the smell of hot grease wafting from the Dairy Maid.
“Two Big boys and one Junior Burger.”
The Dairy Maid’s been here since before I was born. It’s the only privately-owned fast-food joint for miles. A real mom and pop that made it through three generations. The burgers are a rare anomaly of fast and homemade.