Chapter Twelve
Marcee tried to shake off her bad mood after the meeting, but her efforts were shot to hell when she walked into the indoor training facility for practice and the boys’ soccer team were warming up on the bright green turf.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She stalked across the field, interrupting passing drills. Mark grinned at her, his whistle perched in the corner of his lips.
“Practicing,” he replied. “It’s raining outside.”
She stopped a healthy distance away. Her blood pressure was already high and a physical altercation with him wouldn’t help. And of course, there was that little thing like her job, which was in a precarious enough position as it was.
“No shit. It’s our practice time, though, so you need to go elsewhere.”
“Keep passing!” Mark yelled, blowing the whistle loud enough to make her teeth clench. With a dismissive wave, he said, “Take it up with Headmaster Wilkes if you don’t like it. I have his permission to use the facility. The weight room is yours, though.”
Of course Wilkes gave their training time to Mark. He was dying to see them fail so he could give her the boot at the end of the year.
“Did he, now? Was that when you were there spreading lies about how I run my practices, or was it some other time, perhaps?”
His smug appearance faltered ever so slightly. “Feeling guilty, Marcee? Maybe you should go see your psychiatrist again today.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice to just over a whisper. “Or, if you need another outlet, I can help you out there. Just between us.”
Keep it cool, Marcee. There were a dozen different ways he could know about Dr. Crowley in this tiny town. Seeing a therapist wasn’t a crime. Punching his self-satisfied face would be.
She’d never imagined how angry or defensive she would become as a coach. Surely it couldn’t be like this everywhere.
“I’m fine, especially since I’m dropping off a formal complaint to Headmaster Wilkes tomorrow morning.
” She leaned forward, mocking him. “And since I see the rusty little wheels turning away in that monstrous head, the complaint is on you and your inappropriate behavior. You haven’t forgotten the little video you sent me, have you?
Or maybe I’ll mention the way you propositioned me.
I hope your ass kissing is better than what they say on the streets. ”
Marcee almost took a step back at the delighted smile on his face, it was so off-putting.
“It’s cute you thinking anyone is going to care what you say.”
She didn’t want to believe he was right. She couldn’t.
“Don’t be sad, kitty cat,” Mark added. “Your girls are waiting for you. From the looks of it, some weight training might be good for them.”
She wanted to claw his eyes out.
“I’ll be sure to do a better job conditioning them next year,” he said with a wink.
“You won’t go anywhere near my girls,” she seethed, stepping away before she lost her cool. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Marcee stormed across the field, interrupting practice again as he called out, “Delusional looks good on you!”
It took everything in her not to flip him off.
“That’s the third type of chocolate you’ve put in the cart.”
Marcee let go of the dark chocolate and raspberry squares and shrugged. “So?”
Her phone dinged with a text, so she pulled it out of her pocket, scanning the screen to see a text from Remy.
What is America’s obsession with processed food?
Glancing around, she couldn’t help but chuckle. He wasn’t wrong.
Alex continued their shuffle down the grocery aisle. “So, do we need to get more tampons, too? Wine?”
Marcee slapped her arm, although wine did sound good.
“I’m moping, not menstruating.” What a hellacious week. As much as she loved chocolate, what she really needed was a vacation.
No clue, but if you tell me you don’t like McDonald’s French fries,
then I really will hate you for life.
They headed up the chip aisle, stopping so Alex could make her usual perusal of the Pringles flavors.
“I think you need to get laid,” her friend said casually.
“Excuse me?” Marcee sputtered, gripping the edge of the shopping cart.
Alex reached for the sour cream and onion but dropped her hand at the last minute. “It’s been months, Marcee, which is basically like years for you. You’re wound tighter than bacon on a jalapeno popper. What’s going on with you? Even when you aren’t dating, you usually have someone.”
“I’ve been busy. When would I have time for a hook-up, let alone a date?
And I need to focus on the team right now.
Nothing is more important than this season.
” She grabbed two cans of pizza-flavored chips and dropped them in the cart.
“Let’s not play games, here. You’re getting pizza flavor. You always do.”
Alex scowled and plucked a can of cheddar cheese from the shelf. “Fine, but I’m getting cheese, too. And this is not the end of the discussion, by the way. You can’t keep secrets from me.”
They trailed further up the aisle, grabbing popcorn toward the end.
Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Alex asked timidly, “Does this have anything to do with Remington Lockley?”
“What? No!” What on earth made her bring him up?
Did she see her texts? Marcee had his contact labeled Hotshot in her phone.
She quickly replayed the last few conversations they’d had.
Sure, she’d mentioned him a few times, but nothing excessive.
And yes, she did do some additional internet scouring about his career and the woman—Lola—he was dating before he left.
She was still trying to not feel insecure about it.
The hundreds of pictures online of Remy and the stunning long-legged brunette socialite were seared into her brain.
Money, looks, private school education—Lola had it all, including her pick of men.
Marcee shut the investigation down before checking the articles.
Not obsessive about that at all, she told herself.
“Well, the incident at camp was your last sexual encounter,” Alex said, rushing on when Marcee opened her mouth.
“And let’s be honest, you do talk about him a lot, which means you’re thinking about him.
Maybe there’s more there than you want to admit.
Maybe you’re subconsciously holding out for him.
” She cut her eyes at Marcee. “Maybe that’s who you’re texting. ”
Marcee looked around for Dr. Crowley, because surely she’d wandered into a session.
She hadn’t mentioned that moment at camp since she told Alex about it when she got home from Asheville.
Sure, she’d griped and complained and shit-talked about Remy whenever the opportunity arose, but it was because she loathed the man, not because she was harboring some fantasy of him appearing on her doorstep and professing his undying devotion.
Could she admit she’d thought about their moonlit encounter while lying in bed at night, frustrated and alone? Yes. Even if it was Remy, it was supremely hot—maybe one of the hottest hook-ups of her life. And the man hadn’t even been inside her! That’s not something you forget.
“That’s absurd,” Marcee retorted. “I could never be with that man. It would be like a betrayal of my ideals.”
“Betrayal of your ideals?” Alex crowed.
They turned the corner and there, standing next to the tomatoes in the produce section a hundred feet away, was the very Brit they were discussing. Her pulse transitioned from a steady waltz to an energetic Argentine tango.
Alex followed her deer-in-the-headlights stare and grinned. “Speak of the devil.”
He was fondling tomatoes, examining each one as if they held the secret to eternal life.
Marcee’s body was actively working against her mind, undoubtedly because of Alex’s suggestions.
Name-brand sweats clung to those firm glutes, a black long-sleeved athletic top pulled tight across his shoulders.
He probably had countless clothing endorsements back in London.
Heat pooled between her legs the longer she stared.
She could just imagine snuggling into those sweats after a long, hot night of being underneath him, his bare chest pressed into her breasts…
“Well, well, well.” Alex nudged her with her shoulder, interrupting her fantasy. “Want to invite him to the stockroom and bang it out already?”
“Alex!” she squeaked, nudging her hard enough she hit a shelf and two-for-one off-brand macaroni and cheese boxes hit the linoleum floor.
Remy looked up from the produce. His eyes met Marcee’s, eyebrows rising the longer she stared.
Oh, dear. Her body was fully on board with the stockroom idea, her libido kicking so hard into overdrive it was a wonder she hadn’t already leapt across the lemons and had her way with him. She swallowed, hard, and he smiled, taking a step toward her.
A sudden commotion near the entrance pulled her gaze, just in time to catch Graham Marshall colliding with a man in a trench coat.
A glaring sense of unease swirled around her as he helped the man to his feet, dusting the trench coat off in the process.
“My apologies!”
“That’s quite all right.”
Marcee’s unease was justified when she recognized the voice, followed by the unassuming face of Henry Taylor, the persistent British paparazzi. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. All they needed was for Mark Harp to saunter in and they’d have the three stooges afoot.
She should warn Remy, but how? The only clear path was right past the two men who absolutely couldn’t see them together. She was preparing to flee when Taylor called out across the store.
“Mr. Lockley! I’m so pleased to see you. Can I have a word?”
Remy froze next to the lettuce, eyes flickering quickly between them.
It was noticeable enough that the journalist turned her way, recognition dawning on his face.
She could see the puzzle pieces falling into place in his brain.
Here was a woman who had been in the same vicinity as Remy not once, not twice, but three times to his knowledge.
“Hello there!” he called out, taking a step toward her. Graham’s eyes narrowed as he watched the event unfurl. Oh, God. This would be the new gossip between the pews on Sunday. Marcee, again. She and Remy, again.
All it would take was one published photo of her and Remy for Wilkes to assume she was fraternizing with the enemy and fire her. She needed to turn around and haul balls out of there, but it was as if her feet had grown roots and she was stuck.
“Mr. Taylor, pleasure to see you!” Remy’s voice was a crack of lightning in the void, jolting her into movement. As Henry Taylor turned eagerly to his victim, she came to her senses. Remy took one for the team and she wouldn’t let that be in vain.
“What are you doing?” Alex glared as she grabbed the cart handles.
“Come on. Now!” Marcee flipped it around and into the closest aisle, which happened to be cat and dog food. Perfect.
“What happened, Marcee? Who was that man?”
“Paparazzi. And Graham Marshall. Two Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We need to get our stuff and leave.” She couldn’t believe Remy risked talking to Taylor for her benefit.
That was something a friend would do, or someone more than a friend.
It was an action that required caring enough about someone to save them from being a spectacle.
Alex grabbed a case of wet cat food from the shelf and slid it on the basket under the cart. “This may be the most exciting thing this grocery store has ever seen. Paparazzi in Belle Cliff and a celebrity. You could have your own reality show.”
Once upon a time, Marcee would’ve found all of it exciting. Maybe it was a sign of growth, but all she wanted was to take care of the people who mattered: her parents, Alex, Nicole, and her team. The excitement of paparazzi would only put all that at risk.
And Remy did come to her aid. She couldn’t overlook that, or the obvious attraction between them.
Was she being purposely pigheaded by ignoring what was right in front of her?
She wanted to be happy, and even she knew she didn’t really want to be alone, no matter if it was easier sometimes.
It had been so long since she’d had someone who was worth the effort of weathering the ups and downs of a relationship—not since Eli.
“Marcee, I did it because I care about you. You were hurting yourself. What happened if I lost you? What then?”
She shoved him against the wall, music from the hotel ballroom pulsing in the background. Betrayal was like a thousand little cuts exposing her.
“You don’t turn on someone you love, Eli! I would never do that to you. Never!” She picked up the ends of her prom dress and ran, shouting over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare follow me!”
The memory was always there, waiting and punishing her for being young and selfish and stupid.
Marcee didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.