Chapter 8
Kevin
The room’s almost empty by the time I shake off whatever fog Andi and her video laid down in my brain. I peel myself off the wall and head for the door. Down the hall a way, she’s standing outside the coaches’ office saying goodbye to the other women.
“Thanks, everybody. Y’all are the best.” She puts her hand on Tisha’s arm. “Please thank James and the guys again for me. They were perfect on that backing track.” With a wave, she turns and ducks into the office.
Huh. Tisha’s husband, James, and the Blue Shoes must have done that instrumental Toad the Wet Sprocket bit. That’s a small town for you.
I’ve got a burning desire to talk to Andi—and absolutely no idea what to say. Hey, great violence-against-women video! Hello again, I think you’re amazing. Maybe it would be enough just to stand next to her and soak up her presence. But she’d probably object to that.
I follow her into the outer office where Steve and I and other trainers and assistants stash our stuff while we work with students.
Andi’s talking to Coach Comstock, half-in and half-out of his office, and I can’t keep from lingering, trying to overhear what she’s saying. Something about permission to run on the high school track after school. Something about a safety issue. Coach must wave her in, because she steps into his office and shuts the door behind her. I can’t hear their soft conversation but through the window I see her dig in her pocket and hand him a business card. Coach must’ve been as moved and shaken by the presentation as everyone else.
I don’t know what kind of spell I’m under. She’s made it clear I served my purpose and she’s done with me, but I can’t leave, can’t look away to find my stuff. I just watch, studying the curves of her cheek and lips and throat, the shape of her mouth as she speaks, the grace of her gestures, the gleam in her dark eyes.
And then Coach says something and she tilts back her head and laughs, the rich, throaty sound bubbling up out of her, and holymotherofgod every fiber of my being squeezes with that glorious sound.
I actually stagger a little, bumping my leg on the desk and dropping into a chair, which squeaks a protest at having to bear my sudden weight.
The differences between the other night and today are many. Andi’s speaking voice, for one…but she’d been singing all out for a couple of hours by the time I talked to her at Lindon’s, and she’d sounded hoarse.
Her gray blouse and boxy jacket don’t give many clues to what they cover. If I were meeting her for the first time today, I’d assume she’s kind of squarish—her outfit disguises her amazing curves so well. Completely hides her waist. Her jeans, though… Shit, now I’m staring at Andi’s ass, remembering how her big, lovely bottom had felt in my hands. Maybe I should just go shove my tongue in her mouth, see if she tastes the same today. And…oh, great , now I’m hard.
I have lost my damn mind in the space of a week.
She turns to the door, steps out of Coach’s office and meets my eye just as Steve comes in from the hallway. Before I can gauge her reaction to seeing me, Steve says, “Damn, Andi, just rip everybody’s heart out and stomp on it, why don’t you?”
She gives him a tiny half grin. “Whatever works, Steve. How you doing?”
“Doin’ okay.” Steve nods. “Crazy busy right now, o’ course. Hey, you meet Farm Boy the other night? Andi Salazar, Kevin Mahoney. Kev’s our new trainer.”
“Nice to meet you formally.” Andi ambles over and holds out her hand.
I stand to shake and damn, there’s a current between us that shoots straight to my groin. No way could I ignore or deny the connection between us. But she looks right at me, her dark eyes sober, and doesn’t blink away and shows no reaction. I am that unmemorable.
“I didn’t have any of your loved ones in the video, did I?” she asks.
“Uh, no.” I’ve reached superhuman levels of awkward. “I’m, uh, not a football coach.”
She nods. “Makes sense. Otherwise I’d have gotten someone you know in the video too.”
I have no doubt she’s telling the truth. She probably would’ve tracked my family to Lincoln and gotten them talking about experiences it would kill me to hear about. “You do all those interviews yourself?”
She nods again.
“Damn.” And then I’m back to speechless.
“Well.” She straightens and heads toward the door. “Thanks, guys, for letting me talk to the team. If you see anybody you think we could help, refer them to me, okay? We do hospital advocacy, court advocacy, counseling…all free. Let me know if you need any more of my cards.” She steps out and then pokes her head back in. “Oh, and good luck tomorrow night.”
She and Steve wave at each other and then she’s gone.
I stand staring after her, feeling completely invisible and useless.
Beside me, Steve laughs. “Seriously, Farm Boy, don’t they have girls in Nebraska? You get that same look every time you see her. She already shot you down, dude. Have some pride.”
“In my defense, she’s really, really beautiful,” I say when I can form words. “You two seem to know each other pretty well.”
“Went to high school together. She’s good people.”
“That video was brilliant.”
“Made her point, that’s for damn sure. Andi’s real smart. Always has been.” He leans to reach around me, opening a desk drawer, grabbing a handful of manila folders he stuffs in his laptop bag.
“You ever date her?” My voice is as hoarse as Andrea’s was the night I met her.
Without looking up, he says, “Nah. She’s a fine woman—beautiful when she actually dresses like a girl—but she’s too serious, you know? Always studying in school, work, work, work, and I think she’s the same now, except when she’s onstage. And that’s not very often.” He shakes his head. “I want a woman to laugh with me. Make me laugh. Not always be talking about depressing shit all the time.”
Images flash through my mind: Andrea laughing and dancing with the band, singing her heart out, clearly enjoying every minute of it; Andrea grinning and teasing me in the bar and in my kitchen and in my bed; Andrea riding me slow and deep, pure pleasure on her face.
Steve finishes zipping his bag and smirks. “Besides, man, Andi’s scary. She can fuck a guy up.”
That’s for damn sure. But I don’t think he’s thinking about what I’m thinking about. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Old story. Junior year. Dumbass kid asked her to the prom—no surprise there, she was real pretty, real nice—and she went with him. He made a move on her afterward with people right there and she said no, but he didn’t listen. Tried to grab her again and she knocked him down. Knocked one of his teeth loose. He got up and started screaming in her face and she didn’t even blink, just stared him down. Said, ‘When a girl tells you no, you stop. Now back off. Your face already messed up my manicure once.’ Dude backed off. Wise decision. She will Fuck. You. Up.”
I laugh out loud. “Good for her!” CeCe would do the same in that situation.
“Yeah. Her grandma raised her. Tough, strict old woman. I guess a manicure was a pretty big deal.” Steve’s still grinning.
“Andi ever beat up anybody who wasn’t assaulting her?”
He frowns. “Not that I ever heard.”
“I won’t attack her, then, and I should be fine.”
***
Andi
Big, shallow jerk showed no reaction to seeing me again. To touching me.
Okay, that’s not fair. He’s the one who reached out afterward. I’m the one who rebuffed him. Still, my hand is tingling from his fingers, and he… Just, nothing. You were inside me, you big jerk! I slept in your arms. I guess when you sent me flowers and said you’d like to see me again, you were only talking to parts of me that are hidden under my clothes today.
Dammit . What is even wrong with me? His reaction is exactly what I should’ve expected after blowing him off. I went out that night wanting hot sex with a decent single guy, not looking for a deep connection, and certainly not for a relationship, and I made it clear later that’s all I wanted.
Still, that zing when we shook hands… How could he not feel that?
Maybe he just doesn’t find regular me attractive enough to be interesting.
If they don’t notice you, they won’t try to hurt you, Andi.
Me and my scraped-back hair and my blah work clothes. Another point to Gram.
I head for the parking lot, not knowing whether to stomp the rest of the way to my car in some kind of disappointment tantrum or to be relieved he hadn’t said anything in front of Steve about our night together. Steve’s a decent guy, basically, but there would have been something different in the way he looked at me if Kevin had told him. Which is exactly why I have the no-Galway-guys rule in the first place—and why it was so stupid for me to break it.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him in the locker room. He’s a big muscly guy and he was sitting at a table full of other coaches and teachers in Lindon’s.
Was it a bad idea to ask Coach if I can run on the track in the afternoons? The idea hit me after Pattie had said I needed a safer place to run. Self-defense experts always caution against running alone, running in isolated areas, and so forth. With my gym still closed, this seemed the safest place for me to exercise.
Surely if Kevin didn’t react to me today, he won’t bother me later either. In fact, it’s probably good that he showed so little interest today. I’m in his head as Andi-from-the-shelter now, someone he met in a completely different context. Not as the woman who blew him off. This is probably good .
And no reason to worry he’ll pursue me any further, especially after he gets used to seeing me in my baggy shorts and T-shirt and sneakers and my hair in its usual braid. And no makeup or tattoos. And oh-so-attractive sweat pouring down my naked face.
Don’t think about naked.
“Hey, you.” Tisha is unlocking her car in the next row over from mine. “Y’all did a great job on that video.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you paving the way with the families. Thanks, Tish. We appreciate you.”
She waves that away. Tosses her briefcase onto her passenger seat. “Happy to do it. Anything that’ll help.” She leans her forearms on top of her door and studies me. She’s a slim, elegant woman with smooth, gorgeous brown skin and sharp eyes that probably cause panic attacks in students trying to bullshit her.
Grown-ass professional woman that I am, she makes me a little nervous too, looking at me like that.
“James said something about you seeming interested in the new math teacher the other night at Lindon’s. Kevin? Said he came around looking for you the next night.” She gives me a smart-ass smirk that suddenly makes her look like her much-less-scary little sister Shay, Rashad’s wife. “Y’all got something going on there?”
Well, hell. A math teacher. I was right to suspect he might be brighter than I’d originally thought.
I deflect. “Hell, Tisha, he flirted that night but barely even acknowledged me today. That’s for the best. I’m not looking for a man.”
She shakes her head. “That’s a shame. He seems like a good one. I like him.”
I snort. “One of those nice guys who’s most interested when a woman’s got her tits out.”
She laughs and sinks into her seat. “Baby, most of them are like that.”
Ain’t that the damn truth.
We wave and part ways. I climb into my car and push all thought of Kevin—naked or otherwise—out of mind. Check the rearview mirror to make sure no one’s following me and head home, replaying the video presentation in my head.
I’m pretty sure Tisha’s right—it went well. I studied the players’ faces as they watched the video. There wasn’t a sound in the locker room, at least while we were in there. Some of the young guys sat stony-faced but others had looked shocked, sad, disturbed, sickened.
I know the video got through to at least some of them, and they can apply peer pressure to their teammates. And to other students who look up to the jocks.
If this project is successful, it’ll lower rates of violence among the high schoolers, especially violence by the athletes, at least temporarily. I can write a paper, do a conference presentation, and maybe similar projects can be tried in other places.
It’s hugely labor-intensive and time-consuming, tailoring a video to a specific gathering, finding and interviewing someone willing to share from the families of every member of the group, but if it works for a high-risk population like football players, it’s more than worth it, especially if it helps change the culture.
I check my mirrors again before I take the turn onto the road to the cottage. Still nobody behind me.
I’m going to take the night off. Indulge myself with a kick-ass chick flick and a bag of Hershey’s Kisses.
And I absolutely will not spend one more minute thinking of another kind of yummy kisses or the big, sweet, disappointing man who provided them.