Encroachment (Coach's Shadow Trilogy #2)

by Monica DeSimone

  Watching her perfect legs and luscious ass heading away from me, I take my time chasing her. My girl doesn’t like to be crowded. Never has. God help her, because I plan on getting a flag for encroachment tonight.

  The End.

  Monica lives in northern New Jersey with her three dogs: Sam, Reilly and Steeler. Raised by a football coach in the heart of Texas, football is a passion that is deeply rooted within her. Introduced to Nora Roberts by her mother at the age of thirteen, she spawned a lifetime love affair with books, all things romance, and happily ever afters. Outside of writing, you will find Monica enjoying time with her "boys", family, friends, and a really good Dirty Martini.

  Off Sides

  Book 3 – Coach’s Shadow Trilogy

  Sasha

  September 2016

  MY PALMS SWEAT and ladybugs go wild in my tummy as I walk into the club. I’ve always wanted to dance. Don’t get me wrong, being a stripper isn’t my life’s goal, but from the moment I put on my first toe shoes I was hooked. The emotion that runs through my body when the music starts and flows through me is freeing. It’s my way of expressing myself. However, expressing yourself artistically is not the way of the McEvoys. In my family, you are expected to go into the family business; and the family business is professional football. Unfortunately for Mac, my grandfather, he had all girls, so no boys to coach out on the field.

  Growing up, Momma told me that I could be anything I wanted to be. Of course, that meant getting an education, and at the time I wanted to be a fairy princess and run away with Thumbelina and live in the fairy forest. School never came easy for me. My learning disorder making it a constant battle and a continual nightmare. When you’re five and see your friends comprehending lessons that make you struggle is frustrating. I only ever felt comfortable at a ballet bar. Now there, the famous McEvoy athletic ability would take over and I was able to even out the cosmic balance and surpass my peers.

  When Taylor, my best friend, told me about how much money she makes dancing in one night, and that number had triple dollar signs, I knew that I had to get an audition. I know, a strip club? Talk about jumping right on into the deep end of the rebellion pool. Christ, Mac and Jami would be rolling over in their urns if they knew I was here. Hell, Momma and Ya-ya, my aunt, would drag me out by my hair if they knew what I was about to do.

  But I hate school, it and working as an intern for the New York Giants is a daily exercise in frustration for me. Plus, my boss, Brad Callahan, is kind of a douche. He stares at me funny and frankly it’s creepy. All I know is that Jackson and Momma have both tried to have me moved to a different department. Something is going on there, but really who cares. Although I appreciate their efforts, I can take care of myself, thank you very much.

  I may struggle in the educational department, but I am a McEvoy after all, and we are all known to be tough and savvy. I know I’m only twenty-two, but I look exactly like my mother and have been fighting boys off for years now. Not that I’m patting my back for hitting the genetic lottery, but being built like a dancer and having sparkling green, almond shaped eyes has gotten me further than I care to admit.

  A deep rumbling Irish brogue, that sends shivers down my spine, comes from a dark corner to my right. “You Katie’s friend?” Katie is Taylor’s stage name. She says that it affords her a little bit of anonymity.

  Stopping in my tracks, I’m standing directly under a light and it’s blinding. “Um, yes, sir?”

  “Is that a question, little one, or an answer?” Comes the voice again, and I find the timber and accent sexy.

  Straightening my spine and gathering all the confidence I can muster, I raise a hand to block some of the light that is hindering my sight. “Yes, sir. I’m Katie’s friend.”

  “Well, let’s see what you got. I don’t have all day.”

  I put my bag down and snatch my phone out of it. Opening up Spotify, I cue up West Coast by Lana Del Rey, and hop up on stage. Feeling the music flow through my body, I take a deep breath in and release it, letting go of every inhibition I have, and dance.

  Ian

  PULLING INTO the parking lot of Lace, I pull around back and park next to my father’s Harley Davidson Low Ride S. I hate being here, but when the old man calls, you show up or end up regretting it. Liam Muldoon is not someone you want to mess with, and even though he is my father, it is not beneath him to have a season ending “accident” occur if I don’t hop to. I’m tired, cranky and frustrated. I worked the front door last night and it’s too fucking early. But Pop hardly sleeps and when he does it’s with one eye open.

  Being the president of the notorious Irish Rebel’s biker club keeps him on his toes. If it weren’t for my athletic ability and my mother, I would be Liam’s right-hand man. You would have thought I had committed a carnal sin the second I showed any interest in American football. Jesus, he just about had a coronary.

  My mother vetoed any say he had and let me do my thing. And frankly, she is the only person on this earth that Liam is afraid of. According to him, she’s the only woman that will ever hold his heart. If fucking anything with a slit is loving someone, I’m going to stay away from the “L” word.

  Thanks to Siobhan Muldoon and her family’s money, I was raised straddling two worlds. One of Irish nobility, the other an outlaw biker club. It’s a precarious line to walk. Entering the bar through the back door, the sound of Lana Del Rey’s West Coast catches my attention. I shake my head, only Liam would be auditioning new dancers to that song at this time in the morning.

  I walk out of the employee section of the club and stop dead in my tracks at the stunning creature that is owning the stage to my left.

  Sasha, beautiful on any given day, but up there on stage, highlighted by the lights, dancing the most sensual dance I have ever fucking witnessed, is AMAZING.

  “Shut your mouth, boy-o. We both know exactly who she is.” My father’s Irish brogue sends a chill down my spine, because I know his next words better than I know my own name. “And she’s hired.”