The Greatest Game

Chapter One

There were three things Marcee Ackerman was certain of as she stood next to the school bus at the University of North Carolina Asheville: underboob sweat was the absolute worst, Mother Nature had a vendetta against the South, and no amount of training could ever prepare her for coaching teenage girls.

“You know what’s great about today, Giles?” she asked, tucking a limp piece of blonde hair behind her ear. It might be hotter than the seventh level of hell with the heat rising off the asphalt, but nothing was going to squash her good mood.

Nicole Giles, Marcee’s assistant, glanced up from her clipboard. “Please tell me, because after that bus ride, I’m ready to throat punch someone.” At five feet three inches and barely one hundred and ten pounds, the image made Marcee laugh, drawing looks from the other coaches in the parking lot.

“It’s a great day,” she continued, throwing her arm around Nicole’s shoulders, “because we’re coaches. We don’t have to worry about busting our asses to impress people. They’ll be busting theirs to impress us.”

“Not to mention we’re the youngest female coaches in the history of Pemberton Prep,” Nicole added, grinning up at her.

As the girls continued to file off the bus, Nicole stepped back and held her pen up to Marcee like a microphone.

“Tell me, Coach Ackerman, how does it feel to be a complete and total badass?”

“It feels gr—”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate language to use in front of your girls, Ms. Giles.

” Graham Marshall, head coach for the Pemberton boys’ soccer team, walked toward them, his mouth pressed into a thin line that made his lips all but disappear, not dissimilar to a turtle.

“These are impressionable young people, after all.”

“We’re aware, Coach,” Marcee replied, moving to stand next to Nicole. She didn’t know how he wasn’t passed out from heat exhaustion in his head-to-toe black athletic gear. She was sweating her metaphorical balls off in track shorts.

Scratch that—she did. When you had a brand spanking new bus with functioning air conditioning, it was pretty easy. The girls’ bus had windows that barely opened and ripped seats. Don’t tell her sexism wasn’t alive and well.

Switching gears, Marcee added, “Ready for camp?”

Make nice with your coworkers, Marcee.

“More than ready. We’re going to dominate.” Graham’s assistant, Mark Harp, fell in beside his mentor, his patented frat boy arrogant smile in place.

“It’s training camp, Mark. The purpose is to learn and hone skills.”

Beside her, Nicole smirked and folded her arms across her chest. If possible, she liked Mark even less than Marcee did. They both had little tolerance for predatory douchebags.

“Everything is a competition, hon. I’m surprised they didn’t teach you that at—where was it—NYU?

” His grin was practically begging to be slapped off his chiseled face.

His gaze traveled over her five-foot-eight frame, lingering on her chest and legs before giving her a wink.

Grade-A meathead he may be, but he was nice to look at.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered a roll in the sheets with him right after they met.

Every time he opened his mouth, though, she remembered all over again that he was a genuinely awful person.

“Duke, actually,” she corrected.

Graham cleared his throat and made a show of looking at his designer watch. “As nice as it is catching up, Ms. Ackerman, you’ll be wanting to get your team checked in. If you need any help finding the administrative building, I’m sure we can find someone to escort you.”

Comments like that were exactly why she’d tried to stay as far away from Graham and Mark as possible since getting hired.

It was impossible for him to come out and directly insult her, as if an unspoken rule dictated that he maintained some semblance of being a gentleman.

In the South, everything was a war of words wrapped in two layers of powdered sugar.

The team saved her from whatever social faux pas she was about to make, their excited squeals and shrieks piercing her ears. Marcee flipped around, homing in on the platinum blonde hair of her striker.

“Settle down, please!” she called out, keeping her voice firm but upbeat. “Cassidy, let’s see those captain skills. Get the girls organized so we can check in!”

“Whatever you say, Coach!” the junior yelled, then leaned over to whisper in their goalie’s ear.

The gaggle of girls erupted in laughter again and Marcee debated for a second if it would be bad form to make them run laps around the lot.

But no, she didn’t want to be the terminator coach.

She’d suffered through enough of those growing up and it wasn’t the path she wanted to take.

There were better ways to earn their respect.

“Best get control of your team before they run you over,” Graham remarked. “Teenage girls can sense weakness. They need a firm hand, otherwise they’ll never listen.”

Mark tore his gaze away from their bus. “Maybe the new coach at Alpha can give you some pointers, Marcee. I heard Remington Lockley likes leggy blondes.”

Marcee turned her head so fast she swore she heard a pop. “What did you just say?”

“Remington Lockley?” Nicole squeaked. With her short russet pigtails, she looked like a flustered Pippi Longstocking. “The professional soccer player? Arguably the best defensive player the Premier League has ever seen?”

“The very same,” Graham answered dryly, an eyebrow raised. Marcee hated that he had such hot gossip before her. “It looks like you girls have your work cut out for you.”

The dig barely even registered, because all Marcee could think about was meeting the man whose poster hung on the wall in her office.

She’d been obsessed with him her senior year of high school when he’d been drafted into the League.

Every game night, she and her best friend Eli would pile into a booth at Tony’s Pizzeria, turn the TV on and stuff their faces with stromboli and wings while Remington Lockley dazzled them on the field.

They were some of the best memories of her life and suddenly she was going to be face-to-face with him?

“See you at school, ladies. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Mark said, adding as he walked away, “And if you do, feel free to send me a video!”

“Ugh, now I need a shower,” Marcee muttered.

Nicole grabbed her arm. “Forget the pervert. How the hell are we supposed to coach standing next to Remington Lockley? The man is a soccer god!”

“You mean a soccer sex god,” Marcee answered, biting the inside of her cheek.

“He’s six feet two inches of fantasy come to life.

” God, she’d sat for hours with Eli, salivating over his ripped thighs and nimble footwork.

There was no one who understood obsession better than a teenage girl.

Knowing he would be right there, on the sidelines of the pitch next to her… it shook her to the core.

Nicole’s nose scrunched adorably, the light catching on the sapphire stud in her left nostril. “I have to agree. He is gorgeous. Usually, I would say not enough boobs, but I do make exceptions from time to time, and Remington Lockley is definitely on the exception list.”

Marcee snorted a laugh, drawn back to the moment and overwhelming stench of exhaust fumes clogging her nostrils.

Ugh, everything she owned was going to stink to high heavens.

Grabbing her backpack off the ground, she mentally steeled herself for the days to come—even just the hours.

Graham was right about one thing: handling the girls required an iron backbone.

And with Remington Lockley as their competition, the stakes were higher than she’d ever imagined.

Fifteen minutes settled into the dorm and already Marcee needed a drink. She tried to remember why she wanted to coach high school soccer, but in the midst of all the whining, squealing and flying balls, she couldn’t quite latch on to the reason.

“Outside only!” Nicole bellowed, scooping up a soccer ball and tossing it back to one of the girls.

Marcee pinched the bridge of her nose, her other hand wrapped around a clipboard. “Deep breaths, Nic. Deep breaths. They’re good girls, just spirited. Right?”

Her assistant let out a long-suffering sigh, hands perched on her narrow hips. “If you say so. Anyone left to check in?”

Marcee scanned the roster and the list of names all typed neatly in a column. “No, thank God.”

She hated paperwork. Nobody went into coaching hoping to make spreadsheets.

She’d conned Alex, her best friend and roommate, into making it—at the hefty price of folding her laundry for two weeks—and while getting everyone settled in was still like conducting class on the first day of school, it was nowhere near as migraine-inducing as it could’ve been.

Without waiting for her to ask, Nicole let out a high-pitched, lingering whistle that brought the noise to an abrupt halt.

Marcee gave her a quick smile before turning to the girls lingering in the dorm hallway.

She was excited about this next part. She’d come up with it when she was brainstorming team-building exercises.

“Okay, ladies. You have two hours until dinner, so here’s your first assignment: I want each of you to come up with five things in our offense you think can be improved upon before we leave for the cafeteria.

” She was met with mostly blank stares, a handful of eye rolls, and a couple of timid smiles.

Well, fine. She would have enough excitement for all of them.

Clearing her throat, she continued. “Also, no one, and I mean no one, is to exit this building. We’ll know if you do because you’ll be locked out.

Only Coach Giles and I have the cards to get inside, so don’t even think about it unless you want to be suspended from the team indefinitely. ”

“Isn’t making us better your job?”

Marcee bit the insides of her cheeks and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. It was day one. She had to remember these were good girls, even if they had smart mouths.

“Gold star for you, Cope! It is my job. However, I want to get you into the mindset of thinking creatively and offensively since all you’ve been doing this summer is frying your brain with your phone next to the pool.

” Marcee made sure to meet each pair of eyes.

“And repeating the same thing as your roommate doesn’t count. Now, get going.”

“Well, I’m going to use this window of freedom to call Holly.

” Nicole’s eyes twinkled at the mention of the woman she was dating and, for a second, Marcee missed the thrill of a new relationship, especially since she hadn’t had one in five months.

Casual hook-ups she could do, but she’d never been very adept at real relationships, not since everything that happened with Eli…

Nuh-uh. She was not going there. She had zero time for sentimentality.

“Nice. How is the lovely librarian doing?” Marcee asked, forcing a smile. Nicole met Holly at a staff social thrown by the school two months before camp. They’d bonded immediately over their shared love of cheese and horror movies. Who knew Gouda was romantic?

“Perfect. She’s absolutely perfect.” A flush spread across Nicole’s cheeks and the bridge of her nose, obscuring the freckles smattered there.

Oh, yeah. Definitely the honeymoon stage. Everything was peachy and no one could do anything wrong. Damn, she’d love to have someone to be delusional about again.

“I’m glad.” Marcee tipped her head to the end of the hallway, where her room was right next to the staircase. “I’m going to change and go for a run around campus. I’ll be back in time to take the girls to the cafeteria.”

“Didn’t you just say the perks of being a coach are that we don’t have to bust our asses any more?”

She’d love nothing more than to go to her room, snuggle up in her comfy pajamas and call Alex to fill her in on all the juicy deets, but her brain and restless limbs had other plans.

Knowing that Remington Lockley was somewhere on campus at that very moment sent her into a confused state of anxiety and anticipation.

What would she say when they finally met?

Was he as gorgeous in real life as he was on TV and in interviews?

Part of her was annoyed about the situation.

It was her first time coaching, and camp should be a time of bonding with her team and Nicole.

She shouldn’t have to shoulder the additional pressure that came along with someone of his caliber and reputation standing next to them on the pitch.

Marcee wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, though, no matter the odds.

“Gotta be the example, Giles!” she called out, starting walking lunges down the hallway to her room. “Be the example!”

Nicole’s laughter followed her to the door, lifting her spirits.

Remington Lockley may be a superstar, but he was also just a man… and Marcee never let a man get her down.