Chapter 6
brUCE
“Good job, guys,” I yell across the field as I loudly clap my hands together. “Keep it going!”
I’m aiming for motivation, but even to my ears, it sounds more like a barked order. I can feel Mike eyeballing me instead of the boys, who are running their laps. They’ve got the hang of running as a team now, and we let them go on their own, keeping watch.
They’re rounding their third lap and going for the extension of the fourth, and their initial excitement is wearing off as tiredness sets in.
That’s where the motivation is supposed to come in, to cheer them on for that final push to success.
I predict a dozen kids falling into their beds without a single complaint tonight.
A quick flash later, the boys cross the finish line and lay out in the grass. I look down at my watch as I walk toward them.
“Fellas, your best run time on three laps has been six-thirty. Today, you added another lap and your total time was eight-fifteen.” They groan, too tired to do math, but luckily, I’ve already done it for them. “Want the good news or the bad?”
I see a few sweaty heads perk up and lift from the grass to look at me.
“Good news is, you maintained your speed even with the additional lap, and no man was left behind. That’s amazing and shows that you pushed for it, judging by how you look right now. I like that hard work and dedication, gentlemen.”
“Bad news?” one of them asks, but I’m not sure who since it was mumbled into the ground.
“That was a good warm-up. Now let’s get to practice,” I say with a hint of evil glee. There’s a chorus of groans and I clap again. “Got two minutes for water and whining, boys, and then we’re playing some football.”
They rally, movement returning to their limbs as they seek out their water bottles and chug down some liquid refreshment. Hopefully, it reignites their fire because we’ve got forty-five minutes to go and some hard work to do.
We gather back up, and Mike gives us the breakdown of plays we’re going to run. I see Evan flinch a bit when Anthony gets quarterback, because Evan wants that spot badly, but he does as he’s told and takes the line. Good kid. He’s going to be a hell of a player one day if he keeps working hard.
They run the drill over and over again, Mike and me giving feedback and constructive criticism each time. Finally, we switch to another play and then another. We’re still in baby steps, dive right, sweep left, simple pass routes . . . but the kids are picking it up.
By the last twenty minutes of practice, my eyes are darting toward the parking lot every few seconds.
Even if I won’t admit it to myself, I know I’m looking for Allyson.
I’m damn near holding my breath as I wait for her sensible grey sedan to pull in, for her to walk over to the field, for her eyes to meet mine.
I wonder what I’ll see there. Hell, I can’t wait to find out, and isn’t that a fucking pisser?
On Tuesday, she’d come up all mouthy and strong, but I saw her crumbling when I pushed back and threw barbs at her.
I almost felt bad until she’d spewed some shots back.
We never fought like that when we were dating, but I always loved her fire, that she spoke her mind.
Even about the damn baby ducks nobody else in our town gave a shit about.
And there’d been that moment of heat when I felt her eyes tracing every inch of me. I’d wanted to puff up like a damn lion, show her what she’d lost and that I’ve been just fine without her. But I’d also taken advantage of her distraction to do a little perusal of my own.
I told Bobby she’s still hot. But there’s so much more that I didn’t share.
She filled out good, curves and swerves where there used to be hard angles.
Her hair is shorter than it was when we were kids, but the waves still lick her shoulders, tempting me to fist them as I kiss her, fuck her mouth, pound into her pussy.
Not that I’ll be doing that ever again.
As sexy as she always has been and still is, there’s something else about her that drew my attention.
She used to be so perky, the literal cliché of a cheerleader bee-bopping down the halls of our high school.
She’s an adult and understandably grown out of that, of course, but what’s left seems .
. . darker somehow? Like there’s a storm cloud hovering on the horizon of her very being, and I wonder what brought that on.
She’d cried when I’d asked about Cooper’s dad, though she’d tried to hide the tears from me with her bravado. I wonder if something happened to him, something that might explain the shadow over Allyson and why Cooper doesn’t have a dad.
She feels like a new version of a puzzle I once could do from memory.
But whatever questions I might have about the girl I used to know and who she’s grown into, one thing’s for sure. I have got to stop watching for her and pay attention to practice.
“Good footwork, Cooper. Light and fast, I can tell you’ve been practicing. Make sure you keep your eyes looking for defenders as you run, Derek. Holes will open and close quick.”
It’s the smallest addition to what Mike already told them, almost a verbatim repeat of his critique. Mike raises one brow in question, but I smile to let him know I’m fine and hope he thinks I just wanted to emphasize it for Derek.
They run the play again, but I don’t see a bit of it because she’s here.
Allyson walks down the sidewalk of the park, keeping her distance from practice. I automatically think it’s to stay away from me, and a thread of anger starts to burn, but I realize a second later that she can’t walk in the grass in her heels.
She looks like she’s come straight from work in high heels, a slim black skirt that hits just above her knees, and a sleeveless blue blouse the color of her eyes. Her waves are pulled back in some sort of twisted knot on top of her head, and there are glasses perched in front of the bun.
She’s got some sort of sexy librarian thing going on that I wouldn’t have expected to do a damn thing for a rough cowboy like me, but suddenly, bookish nerds are looking mighty fine. Or at least this one is.
She doesn’t smile, and even from here, I can see that she’s biting her lip uncertainly. Her arms cross protectively over her middle as her eyes meet mine.
We just stare, words and thoughts and emotions crossing between us like Wonka Vision, but whatever it is she’s trying to tell me, it’s coming through all wrong and I can’t decipher it.
I used to know what she was going to say before she even thought it and took delight in finishing her sentences for her.
Now, I couldn’t tell you if she wants to kill me or fuck me.
Or both.
I hate it.
I want to stride across the field, cage her in, and ask her to just be straight with me. At least then, I’d know where I stand and could adjust accordingly. Because this confusion irritates the fuck out of me.
If she wants to be enemies, fine. I’ll get on board with glaring at her and leaving her the fuck alone. I’m damn near angry enough to demand we do that myself. But if she wants to fuck, maybe I’ll bend her over the nearest flat surface and make her scream my name again.
I’m just not sure which she wants.
Hell, I’m not sure which I want.
Coach football. Avoid Allyson.
My own words echo through my head. To hell with her. She doesn’t get to decide this. I do, and I’m not going back for more promises and sweet nothings only to be thrown away like yesterday’s trash.
I turn around to the boys, dismissing her. I pull my cap down tight, curling the edges a little more, and then cross my arms over my chest.
“You good?” Mike says quietly from beside me.
Shit. Hadn’t really considered that the silent staredown at fifty paces was a second act for Mike and the team moms who I now realize are watching raptly.
Instead of answering, I grunt.
“Might need to bring popcorn for the moms if you’re going to keep the Showcase Showdown action going. I’m Bob Barker. Please spay and neuter your pets.” He’s trying to joke, but I’m not in the mood for it.
I let out a whistle, making everyone flinch with the volume, but it gets their attention.
“Circle up, boys. Last push for practice.” They form a loose circle that includes Mike and me.
“We’re going to do something new. Starting person” —I point at myself— “will call out an exercise, like burpees. Everyone does five.”
I drop to the grass, do a push-up, and then jump up, repeating it four more times. Finishing, I wait for the last kid to complete his fifth and then point to Mike who’s standing next to me.
“Jumping jacks,” he says, catching on. Everyone does their five.
We keep going . . . squats, toe touches, windmills, tuck jumps, and then things start to get sillier. “Hop on one foot,” Cooper says, and we do. “Hop on the other foot,” Liam adds, and we do that too.
By the time we make it around the circle three times, we’re exhausted and the kids are laughing.
Mostly because the last exercise Joshua called out was for everyone to do the chicken dance.
We’d sung and danced along, even shaking our tail feathers.
I might’ve intentionally wiggled my ass Allyson’s way a little bit too, rubbing her nose in what she can’t have . . . me.
“I think that’s a good point to call it a night,” Mike interrupts.
“I’m nervous what Johnathan would have us do as a follow-up, and I’m already not gonna live down that I did the chicken dance in the park.
” He looks around like there might be someone watching him make a fool of himself, but he grins, letting everyone know that he’s not really embarrassed in the least.
Their eyes jump to me and I scoff. “I ain’t embarrassed. I can cut a rug and teach ya how to Dougie.”
The boys look to each other in confusion and then back to me. “What’s a Dougie?”
I hang my head in faux shame, a hand pressed to my chest. “You wound me, making an old man feel even older.” They giggle and I look back up.
“I’ll show you another day. For now, everyone under six feet tall had best be getting home for a shower, a healthy dinner, and early bedtime. Bring it in one time.”
We do our pile of hands in the middle, cheer loud and proud, and then they scatter.
“Hey, Evan, why don’t you go look at the ducks for a second?
We’ve got a coach meeting really quick,” Mike says, and though he’s talking to his kid, he’s really telling me to sit tight.
Evan runs off for the water, shouting something that sounds like ‘here, ducky, ducky,’ and Mike turns to me, his hands on his hips. “Can I talk to you about something?”
I dip my chin in permission and he goes right for the jugular.
“What’s the deal with you and Cooper’s mom? You dating, fucking, one-night standing, she stalking you, you stalking her?”
My eyes narrow and I rumble menacingly. “Those the only options?”
His shit-eating grin tells me he wants the story, no matter what. I growl but give in. “Fine. Though you’re worse than the gossipy moms.”
He shrugs and interrupts, “Jamie’s waiting on the good gossip when I get home.”
“To use Allyson’s word, we’ve got history.” I even do the air quote thing with my fingers. “We were high school sweethearts, serious. Even thought she was The One. Then she went to college and shit changed. That’s it.”
He looks surprised. “That’s it? Are you fucking kidding me, man? That woman was about to eat you with a damn spoon and I thought you were going to throw her over your shoulder and run out of here like a caveman. Hell yeah, I’d say there’s history, but there’s some present too.”
I look across the field, immediately picking Allyson’s curvy figure out in the group of mothers and sons heading to the parking lot.
She’s avoiding me. None of the other moms talked to me tonight either, and I don’t think that about them in the least. But Allyson? Yeah, I know she purposefully didn’t say one word to me, which pisses me off and makes me hungry for her all at once.
I huff a laugh. “Less than you’d think. She yelled up one side of me and down the other. I think she decided we’re going to ‘be adults’ and play nice for the kids’ sake.”
“You agreeing with that plan of action?” Mike asks hesitantly. “Don’t let her run you off. I need you, man. The boys need you.”
I meet his eyes. “I’m not letting her run me off. I’m the damn assistant coach of the Wildcats and that’s what I’ll be as long as you let me or until the season’s over. My word’s good.”
“Thank fuck. I was scared I was gonna lose you. Actually, I was afraid it was some one-night stand thing that was going to make everything really awkward. If you start doling out dick, every mom is gonna line up and I’ll have a roster of dads wanting to take a sucker punch at my assistant coach.”
He’s joking, and I laugh deep in my belly, which feels foreign but good. “I ain’t dicking the moms.” At his questioning look, I add, “Or the dads.”
He laughs too but puffs up a bit. “By the way, have I mentioned my wife, Jamie? The one I love with my whole heart. Have I mentioned that I would kill anyone who so much as looked at her sideways, much less touched her?”
I hold up my hands. “I’ve got no interest in your wife, Coach.” I grin wolfishly. “Wait, what’s she look like?”
He lobs a solid punch at my shoulder, but his fist pings off the hard muscle. “It’s a good damn thing I like you. But for real, fuck your way through the moms and dads, for all I care, but not mine.”
“You’re the one who asked me. I ain’t dicking the moms or dads,” I repeat. “Just here for the kids and the football, though I’m second-guessing that right this minute.”
He points a finger at me like he’s going to hold me to it, and that’s just fine.
Coach football. Avoid Allyson.
Done and done for another day.