He gave the players instructions to warm up, doing his best to keep his back to her. Never in his life had he felt a miniscule prick of self-consciousness where a woman was concerned. He scanned the roster for the name of his assistant coach. Holden. Okay, where is the guy?
“Hey, Jacob,” Rick called, waving him over.
Jacob strode toward the benches. “Hello, Olivia.” She wore her lavish hair in a messy bun and hid her curves under sweatpants.
“Hi.” She seemed surprised to see him but held her sweet smile.
“Oh, good, you two know each other,” Rick said. “Miss Ward is your assistant coach this season. She tells me she played basketball in high school. And her brother’s on the team.”
“Ah, wait a minute.” Jacob lifted the roster. “It says here Holden is my assistant coach.”
“Mr. Holden, Sam’s dad, recently started a new job, so I offered to take his place. My brother, Dylan, and Sam Holden are good friends,” Olivia said.
“Great, I’ll leave you to it then.” Rick retreated.
They stared at each other. So Calamity Jane is going to be my assistant coach. I hate to doubt her abilities, yet my gut tells me she’s not the most athletic person. This ought to be interesting, though I don’t have time to get her up to speed. I have plenty of work training and preparing these boys.
Jacob broke the strained silence. “Okay. We’ll start with some basic drills. I want to see what level the boys are at.”
“Great idea.” She opened her tote bag and pulled out a whistle she miraculously managed to loop over her bun. She kicked off her fuzzy boots and lifted out a pair of sneakers.
Jacob set the clipboard next to her foot on the bench, averting his gaze from her folded form as she tied her laces. “Everyone grab a ball. We’ll start with dribbling.” He said to Olivia, “Here, can you enter their contact info into my phone and start a group text?”
“Sure, Coach.”
Leaving her, Jacob spent the next twenty minutes on grueling dribbling drills. “If you can’t dribble, you can’t score. Just like if you can’t skate, you can’t play hockey.”
Halfway through passing drills, she appeared at his elbow. “You’re all set. All the contacts are in and the group text is set up. What else, Coach?”
He deposited the phone in his pocket. “We’ll scrimmage next. I want to establish positions. Grab the pinnies.” Jacob pointed to a mesh bag full of blue practice pinnies.
She jogged off the court and counted the pinnies. Half the group would wear one. She returned with six. After the passing drills were done and while the boys guzzled water, Coach called out who would wear blue. She distributed pinnies and complimented on how well each boy looked during the drill.
“Olivia!” Coach bellowed.
She swung her innocent, questioning gaze to his.
He swirled his finger, expecting her to wrap up her conversations. Walking off the court, she made a bug-eyed, high and mighty face at Dylan. Her brother pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. She was in Jacob’s peripheral vision, so he noticed her and choked down his indignation at her childishness. Mocking the coach was a huge no-no in his playbook.
Focusing on his team, Jacob bit out instructions, and the scrimmage began. After several stops and starts that offered teaching moments in abundance, he gleaned a sense of each kid’s talent.
“Shoot it, Sam!” she yelled.
“Pass!” Coach yelled at the same time.
Sam took the shot and missed completely.
Jacob growled, “You don’t take a jump shot when you have a man open in the paint!” He beamed her a scorching glance. “Reset!”
“It was a good try, Sam,” she said.
At every turn, she hollered the opposite of what he wanted the players to do. Jacob’s flexing shoulders and deep breathing didn’t seem to affect her. As practice went on, his blood pressure rose. At one point he requested, “Why don’t you let me coach for a while?”
She blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Sure, whatever you say, Coach.”
And yet she still called out. Infuriating!
He wrapped up practice by running the boys in a dozen down and backs. While the players sprinted up and down the court, she collected the discarded pinnies and returned them to the mesh bag.
He strode toward the bench, lifted the clipboard, and glanced over her neat markings, double-checking she’d written the correct positions after she’d argued about the positions he’d selected for several players.
“The boys looked good,” she said. “I’m thrilled to help. I’ll get to spend time with Dylan and be involved in the community—”
He didn’t agree with her first statement. “They have a lot to learn. And there are lots of other ways to volunteer in this community.” A tinge of regret twisted in his gut at the sight of her downturned mouth and wounded eyes.
Dylan ambled to the bench, breathing heavily after his sprints. “Hey, Liv.”
Her frown rounded into a huge smile as she praised him. “Hey, your layups looked good.”
Dylan shrugged. Sam Holden and Brady Fitzpatrick approached, wiping sweat from their eyes.
“Hey, guys, I made chocolate chunk brownies for all the players,” she said loudly enough for the other boys to hear. She waved them over when their heads shot up. “I think they’re still warm.”
She unzipped a portable insulated bag and lifted out a double batch of brownies. The boys cut across the gym toward the wafting smell of warm chocolate and sugar.
“Olivia, these boys are athletes and should be eating an appropriate nutrient-dense post-workout snack. I don’t think brownies qualify.”
The boys, who’d eagerly gathered around, groaned.
“Okay, well—maybe just this once?” she asked.
With twelve pairs of eager eyes, and one particularly charmingly set, staring at him, how could he say no? He threw up his hands. “Be my guest. But hydrate. Next week we start practices on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Chapter Five
Olivia
Her flight attendant uniform washed and pressed, Olivia set the folded garment into the suitcase. An identical uniform hung in her closet ready to wear. When working a four-day trip she took two uniforms, wearing each twice. This saved precious luggage space for adding a swimsuit and a small versatile wardrobe for unexpected travel experiences. With her outgoing personality and sense of adventure, she often accepted invitations from pilots, friends of flight attendants, or sometimes an occasional stranger to meet and explore new places or try new things. As long as she was in a group with others from her crew she felt safe enough. Besides, she’d earned her black belt in karate in the sixth grade, though she hadn’t practiced past middle school. Taking karate lessons had seemed ridiculous to her mother, but one of Mrs. Ward’s clients owned a local martial arts studio. Keeping her client happy meant referrals.
Tomorrow’s trip, an early Sunday morning flight, would take her to central Florida. Overnighting in the Sunshine Sate offered an unending supply of things to do. In the past, she’d watched a rocket launch from Cape Canaveral, explored the historic town of St. Augustine, gone clubbing with the elite in Miami, and much more. She planned to visit the new Harry Potter attraction at Universal Studios and eat at her favorite Mexican restaurant in City Walk. From Florida she’d overnight in Chicago, and then New York.
Glancing at the time on her phone, she bit her lower lip. This week she would be working Sunday through Wednesday. I need to text Jacob and tell him I won’t be at practice on Tuesday. She’d chosen two-or three-day trips in the past two weeks to accommodate the basketball practice schedule, but she needed this longer trip to fulfill her monthly flying quota. Practices hadn’t gone well between her and Jacob.
Refocusing on the time, she sniffed the air, detecting a faint baking scent. The cookies she’d put in the oven should be almost done. Everything ready for her trip, she traipsed into the kitchen to tackle the dishes she’d created. Baking always put her in a good
mood, and eating something delicious was a bonus. However, in the past two weeks she’d avoided excess baked goods, except what she baked for the team, and had gone to the gym several days a week. The unwelcoming sight of ingredients strewn across a flour-dusted counter greeted her. Doing dishes was a drag, but she hummed her way through, piling dishes by the sink. Readjusting her messy bun, she rolled up her sleeves and set to cleaning.
The door buzzer rang.
She wasn’t expecting anyone on a Saturday afternoon, and Tess was at the Athletic Club teaching yoga classes. The intercom, only steps from the kitchen’s island counter, engaged her curiosity. She trotted over, hoping for a happy distraction.
She pressed the speaker button. “Hello?”
“Ah, hi. Olivia, it’s me, Jacob.”
She flinched. What is he doing here?
“Hello? Olivia?”
Dozens of thoughts raced through her mind, one being her sloppy appearance. “Hi, Jacob. What can I do for you?”
“Can I come up?”
Part of her vibrated with elation because he’d come to see her; another part deflated her joy, warning her Jacob didn’t want women like her. Begrudgingly, she pressed the unlock mechanism. She dashed to the double ovens, a huge bonus in this modest second-floor apartment, and hastily examined her reflection in the glass. She tucked away some wild locks of hair escaping her bun before he tapped on her door.
Rounding the kitchen island, she grabbed the knob and opened the door with gumption, resulting in an awkward staring contest. Jacob’s styled chestnut hair pointed toward the doorframe five inches above his head. His beard in progress was more of a pronounced five o’clock shadow. Those dark eyes stared down his Greek nose to rest on her mouth. She licked her lips, wondering if earlier ingredients lingered.
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
He entered, glancing around and inhaling. “Are you cooking something?”
“Yes.” She closed the door and returned to the kitchen. The oven timer displayed three minutes and twenty seconds. “I thought about what you said at last week’s practice when I brought muffins, and the one before that when I brought cupcakes, about the boys being athletes, and I’ve decided to try a new whole grain oatmeal cookie loaded with cranberries and dark chocolate.”
“You could bring orange slices, like all good soccer moms.” He grinned.
“Ha. Ha,” she said without mirth. “Baking is my hobby, and Lord knows I can’t eat all of it by myself.” She gulped when his gaze assessed her figure. “Anyway, what brings the mighty Coach to my doorstep? I have a feeling you didn’t come by for my brownie recipe—brownies you didn’t even try. I am a pretty good baker.”
“I don’t eat sugar or refined carbs.”
Though he wore a lightweight sports jacket, she recalled his chiseled sleeveless arms yesterday. “Well, take off your clothes—coat, I meant coat—and stay awhile.”
He almost laughed, the grin lingered on his handsome face. “I came by to drop off this playbook so you can get familiar with the strategies I want to teach the boys this season. If you have the time, I’d like to go over a few key plays.”
The oven timer beeped. Relieved to move around with purpose instead of awkwardly fidgeting, she nodded and turned away from him. “Sure. First, let me get these out of the oven.” Snatching padded mitts off the counter, she opened the eye-level wall oven and focused on the cookies. They appeared golden brown and smelled heavenly. She removed two trays and set them on the stovetop.
Jacob dropped the playbook on the counter with a rap, sending a cloud of flour pluming around the spiral-bound book.
“Oh! Sorry. I was about to clean this mess up before you rang the bell.”
He shook off his coat, spanning his arm to the wall where he hung it on an empty coat hook.
“Do you need help?” He sauntered to the sink. “I could wash these for you while you put away this stuff.” He indicated the various packages and spices.
“Umm.” Jacob Dodge washes dishes. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“It will just take a few minutes.” He plugged the sink, squirted in some soap, and turned on the faucet. Capably, he washed everything she handed to him. Dishes in the drain bin, ingredients returned to their respective cabinets, counters washed, and cookies cooling on the rack, they faced each other.
“So you played basketball in high school?”
“Yeah, junior varsity.”
“Do you watch college ball or NBA? Men’s? Women’s?”
“I watch men’s college basketball with Dylan sometimes.”
“Okay, let’s see if you’re familiar with these plays.” Jacob flipped open the first marked page and explained the basic pick and roll play.
“Not familiar with this one,” she said.
He flipped to another play. She shook her head. Then another. Again, she shook her head. “Let’s go back and break it down,” he sighed.
After asking him loads of questions and clarifying a few vocabulary snags, she crossed her arms defensively. She admitted, “I may have sat on the bench more than I played, but I assure you my dedication to the team is top notch.” She recalled that she would be missing Tuesday’s practice. Maybe she’d overstated her dedication. “Except I might only be attending one practice a week, depending on my work schedule.”
“Honestly, are you sure you’re up for this? I have to say I’m underwhelmed with your basketball knowledge. And if you’re too busy—”
“Jacob.” She stilled his hand from lifting the playbook. “Please give me a chance. I want to do this for Dylan. I need to do this.” Trying to find a better way to explain, she glanced around until her gaze rested on the cooled cookies. “Things have been strained with my family. Dylan’s the last of us three kids living at home. My parents aren’t the most supportive types when it comes to anything other than academics, and I know this means a lot to Dylan. I need to be in his corner, cheering him on. And look…” She moved to the adjacent counter, lifted a cookie off the rack, and broke it in half. “I’ve been researching how to make healthy snacks geared toward athletes.” She held the halved cookie out to him. “Try it. Please. There’s hardly any sugar. I promise it won’t ruin your figure.”
He seemed caught up in her dialog, leaning toward her intently. When his warm palm covered hers, flutters erupted in her belly. He slipped his hand away, holding the perfectly golden cookie. It was affirmation, and she smiled. They simultaneously took bites of their respective halves.
Something tasted…off. The consistency was chewy, not the good chewy like warm caramel, but the bad chewy, like undercooked dough.
He chewed with effort, and his face said it all—the cookies were gross. She reached for a napkin, spitting the abomination into it and then chucking it into the trashcan.
“Ew, these are terrible!” she cried. What had gone wrong? Not even the warm dark chocolate chunks could save them. Brow furrowed, she scanned the recipe, hoping she’d forgotten an ingredient. Nope.
He started to chuckle, and then he full on laughed.
The rich sound drew her. His smile and crinkled eyes coaxed her into grinning too. A giggle bubbled from her lips until she dropped her head back, exploding with gusty laughter. They shared a special connection in the moment—mutual amusement. Here she was trying to impress him with her baking skills after he voiced his underwhelmed opinion of her coaching and basketball knowledge.
She shut her eyes briefly. It would be a daunting task to impress a man like him. When she opened them, they widened. He had closed the small distance between them. His laughter subsided, replaced by a smoldering dark gaze.
With parted lips, she managed a shallow breath as time slowed. She wouldn’t be fooled twice into thinking he would kiss her. He raised his hand—there was definitely no twig in her hair this time—and his thumb made contact with her bottom lip. As he dragged it across her lip, the foreign sensation and pressure heightened her senses. When he lifted the thumb away, she captur
ed her lip between her teeth, saltiness settling on the tip of her tongue.
A smudge of chocolate smeared across his digit. He shot out his tongue and licked it away. It sent her heartbeat into overdrive.
Holy shit. He’s sexy.
He pressed closer into her personal space, filling it with a combined aroma of fresh lemon and spicy clove. Her neck flushed. Had she forgotten to turn off the oven?
Lowering his head, his nose an inch from her earlobe, he murmured, “You smell sweet, like vanilla and strawberries.”
In contrast to his tangy spice.
Goosebumps lined her arms; she shivered with anticipation. He tilted his head deeper, the tip of his nose touched the curve of her cheek. The gentle kiss he planted there compelled her to reach for him. She placed her hands against his thin athletic shirt and the chiseled surface beneath it. She massaged each defined ripple on his abdomen, wishing his shirt would evaporate.
She slanted her head, bringing their mouths closer. Tension filled every nanosecond as they hovered, staring into each other’s eyes.
It amazed Olivia how many thoughts and emotions could fire through the brain in a moment’s time. She went from confusion to longing to confirmation that this wasn’t going to work to a strong desire to let it be and allow him to kiss her. A nagging question lingered—wouldn’t this prove he was a womanizer? Although he was incredibly kind about helping her in the past. Turmoil burned in her stomach.
He embraced her shoulders with his large palms and drew her body against his, forcing her hands to slip up the hard wall of his chest and her arms to wrap around his neck. The fingers gently hugging her shoulders slid down the length of her back to caress her curves.
With swift force his mouth captured hers. The tongue she’d admired when he licked chocolate from his thumb ran along her mouth. It swept in, exploring every soft, sweet nook. The spicy taste of him shattered her reserve, and she returned his kisses with hunger.
Defying Gravity (Landing in Love Book 1) Page 4
