Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance)

by Pace, Alicia Hunter

  It was his kind of game — football at its best.

  And this dance was a dance at its worst, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was bad about it. Between his own school years and time spent chaperoning, he had put in plenty of time at high school dances and this one was no different. DJ music. Streamers. Girls with mum corsages the size of bowling balls. Glittery ghost cutouts hanging from the ceiling. Couples getting their pictures taken in front of a haunted house backdrop. The theme must be some kind of monster or Halloween situation.

  He wasn’t chaperoning tonight. He was here of his own accord to make sure his boys were here like he’d told them to be. He surveyed the crowd and ticked them off in his head. He’d excused Chandler because of his ankle and the Samson twins for religious reasons, but he’d spotted almost everyone else. Once he had accounted for them all, he could go.

  It was a little surreal to watch the kids dance. There were the upper-class types who moved with perfect precision because they’d been taught in cotillion class. Some of them were good dancers in spite of that. There were some who couldn’t dance a lick but liked to try. He loved them for it. Then there were the ones who danced easily and thought no more about it than they would of stepping off a curb. That’s the kind of dancer he’d been. He never remembered learning, like he never remembered learning to swim, or catch a ball. It just always was.

  He leaned on a support beam and watched. Townshend was straight across the gym from him behind the punch bowl. He had a good view of her from the side. She had changed from her game shirt into a sleeveless dress just about the color of her cheeks when she blushed — apricot like. He wondered if she was cold. The dress was some sort of shiny fabric, but not too shiny. The skirt flared a little and ended right at the top of her pretty little knees. The neck of a dress ended in a v underneath the pearls she almost always wore, but she wasn’t showing any cleavage. That was more than you could say for half the girls on the dance floor. She looked classy and elegant and she had on a pair of shoes that wouldn’t take her where she needed to go. He studied her legs. It was a pleasurable lesson.

  She twisted the little thin gold and pearl ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand. It was too dark and she was too far away for him to actually see it, of course, but he knew that ring. It was the only one he’d ever seen her wear. It looked old and the pearls were so small you could barely see them. It was certainly nothing special, nothing like the ring he’d picked out for her the week between the night she spent with him in Tuscaloosa and the day he’d learned the truth and got hurt.

  In what had to be sappiest days of his life, he’d spent hours pursuing Tiffany.com, smug in the knowledge that in a few short months there would be nothing on that website or in that store that he couldn’t get for Townshend. Hell, he could fly them to New York and buy out the store for her, and he just might. Looking back, he realized the ring he’d chosen was something she would not have wanted. It was too big and vulgar for her classy little hand. While searching for other gifts for Townshend, he’d accidently run across baby stuff — silver spoons, cups, little hairbrushes, and the like. He’d thought, considering what good care she’d taken of him when he was sick, that Townshend would be a great mother.

  Ah, she was pouring punch now, handing it to a gaggle of kids who’d gathered around her. She smiled, gave out hugs, and stroked dresses. Apparently, she’d become quite popular during her Homecoming week duties. Every once in a while, someone handed her a phone and she took pictures that would, no doubt, turn up on Facebook in the next thirty seconds.

  She looked happy, but she wasn’t. She was sad; he’d made her sad.

  “Hello, Coach Scott,” a little voice purred.

  Damn. What now? He pulled out his game face and turned around. More damn. Jamie Fisher. And she was wearing a crown on her head.

  She giggled and pointed. “I’m Homecoming queen.”

  Oh. That had happened at halftime and he hadn’t heard, hadn’t wondered. They had been trailing 0-3 and royalty of any sort had been the last thing on his mind. Princess Diana could have been right there in the locker room and he wouldn’t have cared. And that was saying a lot, since she was dead. But it was the day before Halloween. Princess Diana could be around. Probably not in the locker room of the Merritt High Bobcats, but there were worse places to spook around. Come to think of it, that dress Townshend was wearing might be something Princess Diana would have worn. He stole another look at her.

  She was cupping the cheek of an awkward tenth grade girl. What was her name? She was on the annual staff. Cassandra Taylor. Yeah. She was Charlie Taylor’s girl. He knew Charlie from Rotary. Townshend was clearly telling Cassandra she looked beautiful. She didn’t but she probably would next year. A lot happened between fifteen and sixteen.

  Townshend probably couldn’t have pulled that trick on him at fifteen.

  “This is just the best thing that has ever happened to me!”

  What? Oh, Jamie was gushing. He’d forgotten about her for a second.

  “Congratulations.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say but she stood there looking at him expectedly. “Isn’t that thing kind of heavy?” He pointed to the crown.

  “Oh, it’s worth it! I am never taking it off!”

  “Well. It will build up your neck muscles for sure.”

  She smiled at him. “Coach, would you dance with me? To celebrate?”

  Oh, good God. “I don’t dance, Jamie. Bum knee, you know.” She looked crestfallen and her lower lip protruded.

  “Now, I am sure you’ve got a date around here somewhere. He shouldn’t leave you on your own. It’s not one of my boys, is it?”

  “My date was Chandler Callahan. He hurt his ankle in the game. I don’t have anybody to dance with.” She looked pitiful.

  That, he could fix that. And it would also make her go away. He looked around. There was a huddle of his players in the corner, the ones who didn’t have dates — mostly tenth and eleventh graders.

  He spotted Tyler Boyles. How perfect was that? He played second string left tackle behind Chandler and he’d done himself proud tonight after Chandler got hurt. He deserved to dance with the Homecoming queen. Plus, he was Chandler’s backup on the field. Why not off?

  “Well, we can’t have a queen who doesn’t get to dance, can we?” he said to Jamie, feeling pleased with himself.

  She looked pleased too — eager.

  “Ty!” he called out. “Come here.”

  The boy trotted over like he was coming off the field. “Yes, sir?”

  “I want you to go dance with Jamie, here.”

  The boy looked stricken.

  “Don’t worry about it. She’ll show you what to do. And I bet she could use a ride home too, couldn’t you, Jamie? Tyler will take care of that too.”

  They disappeared into the crowd. He’d done a good turn and it was a thorn out of his side too.

  Now, if he just knew how to extract the hot poker.

  Townshend wasn’t behind the punch bowl anymore. Someone else had taken over that job. She was standing alone beside the support beam that was the twin of his own.

  She pushed her hair off her face. It wasn’t pulled back tonight. It was down around her face, like he liked it. She looked as lonely as he felt and, all of a sudden, he couldn’t remember why he was mad at her.

  • • •

  Homecoming was almost over. They’d won the game. Missy had put the crown on Jamie Fisher’s head without incident. Brantley had not worn a football uniform when he escorted Missy onto the field, but Emma and Beau had carried the crown on a velvet pillow, all decked out in their bobcat suits. The dance was going well and no one had tried to spike the punch.

  Fifteen more minutes and her chaperoning shift would be over and she could go home and run around naked if she wanted to. Kirby was going to t
ake Lauren Kirkpatrick home and then he was going camping with some of his teammates.

  The yard would probably get rolled tonight, but she’d gotten used to that, days ago. The drama club was cleaning up yards for a fundraiser. It was the best fifty dollars she’d spent to date.

  She was a little disappointed that their float hadn’t won first place. And robbed by freshmen, at that! Well, next year —

  But there wouldn’t be any next year for her. Kirby would be gone and Nathan was already gone.

  Maybe she’d go ahead and leave. She could take a detour through the restroom and make sure there were no shenanigans going on in there and she would have done her duty.

  The DJ put on “Angel Eyes” by the Jeff Healy band. Lord. She’d practically worn out that CD, crying over Nathan a million years ago. She’d burned a whole collection of angel songs and had herself a first class little pity party every night for a long time. Why were teenage girls such gluttons for pain?

  Why was she? Maybe she still had that CD somewhere.

  Oh, well. Off to the restroom and then home.

  And he stepped right in front of her. He started to say something, then stopped, listened to the music, and laughed with a little shake of his head. So he had decided to be charming.

  She should walk away. She should refuse to look at him. She definitely should not speak.

  But she did. “Songs about angels,” she said lightly.

  “Song about angel eyes.” He settled his index fingers at the place between her eyes, then let them arch up to her temples before bringing them down her cheeks to meet on her chin. Where he left them.

  “Did you draw a heart on my face?” she asked.

  “Somewhere along the way, did you draw my heart out of my body and take it for your own?”

  Oh, that was not fair. He smiled that smile that had made his mother millions of dollars. Oh, and double not fair — the sweet misty look.

  “Never knew you to be so poetic, Coach.”

  “I am also an English teacher. I know poetry when I see it.”

  His fingertips lingered on her chin. Did he know starlight emitted from them and was now coursing through her? He barely stroked her chin with tiny circles. He knew.

  “I don’t think of you as an English teacher.”

  “What do you think of me, Townshend?” He let his hands slip down to her bare shoulders and then to the back of her neck.

  How could he think they could just fight and forget it? Never work anything out, never apologize, never understand what went wrong?

  He leaned in until his mouth was inches from hers. The starlight was blinding.

  “I think, as the adults here, we are supposed to be on the lookout for improper displays of public affection. And you are about to cross the line.”

  “Are you kidding me? No one is looking at us. Besides, I just handed them their first Homecoming victory in five years. You saved their quarterback from having to leave the state. We could go swimming naked in that punch bowl and no one would say a word.”

  “That punch bowl wouldn’t hold us,” she said. She meant it to come out light and sarcastic, but her voice had turned heavy and raspy, driving her comment to a different meaning.

  “Not sure this gym will hold us,” he said. “Let’s find out.” He pulled her to him. “Dance with me, Townshend.”

  “Your knee — ”

  “Even I can sway to an angel song with no repercussions.”

  What the hell. The song was half over and then the DJ would put on something he couldn’t handle. And for a moment, it would be nice to be near him.

  But half a song was enough for that moment to turn into something else.

  When the song ended and he said, “Let’s go,” all she could do was nod.

  She didn’t even think much about it when she saw the anger on Jamie Fisher’s face as she watched the two of them leave the dance floor hand-in-hand.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been hard for Nathan to rein in his desire — hard being the operative word — but he was determined to do that thing that Townshend loved. However, he had to act fast.

  He reached for her as soon as they cleared the door. Though she had never said so, he knew how much it excited her when he rose against her. He parted her coat and brought her pelvis to his just in time.

  She let out a low moan and rolled her hips against his, teasing him to his full length. “I love to feel you go hard. It makes me think it’s really all mine, all because of me.”

  “It is.” His voice was rough and trembling. “It always has been. No matter who I was with, it was always you.”

  Her breath caught and she buried her face in his neck. “Missed you. Hurts to miss you.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “We’ll do better.”

  She unfastened his belt and then his zipper. “Is this doing better?” she asked as she reached inside and stroked.

  “Better all the time.” He pushed her dress up and her panties down. When he parted her folds and lightly stroked her with his fingertips, she shattered against him.

  “Did you always come so easily for everyone?”

  “I’ve never come for anyone except you.” Her voice was full of sweetness and passion, but her words stopped him cold.

  “Never? You had never had an orgasm?” God help him, selfish as that was, he wanted to believe it. But believing Townshend was hard.

  “Only under my own power and only with you on my mind.”

  Her hands went still as he pulled back and looked at her. Was this true or was it just sexy talk in the midst of passion? There must have been questions in his eyes because she nodded her head.

  “It’s true, Nathan, whether you will ever believe me or not. I did some things I am not proud of for a while, but it never came to anything and it was always you. I have tried to tell you that — ”

  This was too close to talking about what was, and he could not do that no matter how much she wanted it. Looking back and reevaluating only helped in football, where there were concrete errors that could be corrected. Tearing apart past hurts only made it worse. And he didn’t want this to be worse. He wanted it to work out; he wanted her.

  He covered her mouth with his and nestled her sweet moistness against him. He would make her come one more time before taking her to the bedroom.

  Then they had all night.

  • • •

  Tolly had always known there was nothing like October sunshine, but she’d never seen it as glorious as it was this morning, shining down on Nathan’s sleeping face. He was so beautiful.

  And she was in trouble. Last night, she had told herself that it was just about the sex — that they could have sex and she could send him on his way. But she had never told him to go — never wanted to.

  She could still make him leave. She should wake him and do that. It would be best for both of them. It would be best for Kirby. He worshipped Nathan and, though he never said anything, she knew he’d been a little too pleased about their relationship. Correction — former, barely started, quickly derailed relationship. Of course, Kirby had not picked up on the fact that the relationship was derailed. She had been planning to tell him after the Homecoming madness had passed.

  Nathan stirred but he didn’t quite wake up.

  Of course, maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him to go. Maybe it was all about sex for him, in spite of his heart drawing and almost sweet words. Maybe he never intended anything except to get laid and get on with his day. That would be best.

  But if she was going to be totally honest, his leaving wouldn’t help, whether it was by his own volition or if she threw him out. Spending the whole night together is what got her in trouble. It was the first time that had happened since that one and only time in his dorm so long ago.

&nbs
p; The night she had fallen in love with him.

  And here she was again. What was it about lying all night in his arms that turned her inside out? They’d woken over and over again, sometimes to make love, sometimes to cuddle and kiss. Once, she’d woken just enough to realize that he was tucking the covers around her, caring for her. Then he’d pressed a soft little kiss to her temple.

  And as spectacular as the sex was — and there was no denying that — it was the cuddling and the kissing and the caring that was her undoing.

  And the looking at him now. Arianna might not have been anything of a mother, but she had given him her beauty. He could have been a model too — like he’d ever let anyone dress and groom him and take his picture. The thought of that made her smile.

  He stirred again and she stroked his hair until he settled again. He needed to sleep, even if it was almost ten o’clock. He was so tired — would have been tired, even without the undercover workout last night.

  And what a workout it had been. She would miss it — and there was no doubt she’d have to. In a moment of weakness last night, she had told him she missed him, that it hurt to miss him. He’d said they would do better.

  But how could they when he wouldn’t talk about the past, didn’t trust her, maybe didn’t even like her very much? As long as he slept, she wouldn’t have to decide what was next. Kirby wouldn’t be home until late this afternoon. Maybe Nathan could sleep until then — or even after. Kirby never went in her room. They had left Nathan’s truck at the school last night. No one would know he was here. She could shut the door and maybe Nathan would sleep around the clock. She could climb back in bed with him tonight and —

  An alien ringtone ripped through the air. Crap almighty! She should have turned off his phone.

  He sat bolt upright.

  “Don’t answer that!” she hissed.

  He gave her a look that clearly said, Why the hell not? and picked it up.