Chlorine and Chaos

by Jessalyn Jameson

  Sage sighed as relief filled her. Simmons was a bit of a sleaze, but he’d just saved her from any more harassment, and she felt grateful. Maybe—she tilted her head—maybe she’d misjudged him.

  The coach turned back to face her once Hank had left the room, his eyes nearly as predatory as the kid’s had been. “Now, how’s my pretty little peach doing today?” He sat down in one of the chairs, then placed his feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankles.

  Sage’s mouth fell open. Nope. No misjudgment there.

  “Ah, speechless, I see. Believe you me I’ve rendered plenty a young filly speechless in my day.”

  Sage couldn’t pull her jaw off the floor. From a near sexual assault with some arrogant kid who thought she was fair game, to this lecherous, disgusting excuse for a man. She knew she shouldn’t have come to work today.

  The coach let his gaze travel over her body shamelessly. She inhaled a breath, trying to calm her nerves.

  Her knees remained weak from the encounter with Hank Doyle, but her hands were no longer clammy with fear. They were fisted at her sides in anger.

  “What can I help you with, Coach?” She pushed the question through clenched teeth, but he failed to notice.

  Or chose to ignore her disgust.

  “Well, ma’am, I just wanted to tell you that”—he paused, scanning her body once more in what she assumed was an attempt at seduction—“if you ever tire of Coach Tiggs, you’re welcome to try a real man on for size.”

  Sage ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to relax her jaw long enough to speak. “Let me make something clear.” She walked around the desk, then stood over him. “Your knowledge of what makes a real man is skewed, but that’s not what has my skin crawling in disgust.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he adjusted in his chair, but didn’t stand.

  Sage leaned forward further, grateful that her blouse had a high, Victorian neckline so no matter how far she bent, he wouldn’t get a freebie cleavage shot. “Your audacity is astounding. The fact that you think you can walk in here and eye-fuck me like I’m a prized hog at the county fair, makes me wonder why I’m even surprised that one of your players just tried to do the same thing.”

  “What? Now, hold on now, Miss, let’s not go making accusations—”

  “I’m not making accusations, Mr. Simmons. I plan to press charges as soon as you locate your pride and leave my office.”

  Coach Simmons stood, a smarmy smile replacing his momentary attempt at shock. “Now, now, honey, I think you need to remember your place here. If you even speak a word about this encounter or your meeting with Hank Doyle, we will have the authorities here in a heartbeat.”

  “Authorities?” Sage stammered over the word. Did he know? Had Brand told people?

  Simmons leaned forward, his breath caressing Sage’s face with moist, hot tendrils. “Wouldn’t want your little, uh, indiscretion, to get out into the open, now would we?”

  Sage’s eyes widened, and she took a step back.

  The coach’s smile grew. “That’s right. I know all about your penchant for young boys, Miss Shepard. Best keep your mouth shut, if you want me to do the same.”

  Simmons turned and strolled to the door, then faced her once more and bowed, removing his cowboy hat to reveal a shiny, sweaty dome beneath. “Good day, Miss Shepard.”

  Sage waited in the parking lot beside his car; she knew it was his, could remember vividly the details of the biggest mistake of her life. The one-night stand that wouldn’t go away.

  She tapped the toe of her heeled black boot against the asphalt as she leaned against the shiny black Escalade, growing more impatient by the second.

  She had to confront him, but if Brand found her out here. By his car—

  “Nurse Shepard?”

  She spun around, nearly stumbling onto her face. He’d caught her off guard—the opposite effect she’d planned for. Artie stood just a few feet away at the rear of the car, so close that she closed the distance between them, jaw clenched, in just two long strides.

  “You,” she growled. “How could you…?” She couldn’t finish the question, couldn’t voice the accusation. She’d had her speech all planned out, repeated it in her mind while she waited for him to finish swim practice, but now, face to face with this guy, this boy…Sage couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  How could you tell everyone? became eclipsed by How could I have done such a thing?

  Artie Langford stepped toward her, closing the final distance between them with one short step. In daylight, and sobriety, Sage could easily see how young he was. He stared into her eyes, level with his own, thanks to her heels, his dark gaze boring into hers. His eyes then flicked to her mouth, to her eyes again, then back to her mouth, lingering a second too long.

  She inhaled a deep breath—bad idea. His hair was still wet from practice, and the scent of chlorine tickled her nose. The memory of Artie’s hands gripping her hips, locking her to him as they came together flashed uninvited into her mind, and she took a step back.

  No no no.

  Sage closed her eyes, shaking her head to rid herself of the memory. He was a kid, a teenager. Not only was it wrong—on so many levels—but she’d never forget what her indiscretion had done to Brand.

  She opened her eyes, then sucked in a breath—his face even closer than before. He’d matched her step back with a step of his own, and now he leaned forward, just inches away from her face.

  “You know how hard it is to forget about you?” His voice was low, husky.

  Sage shook her head, her heart racing. Heat rushed south, her desire warring with her mind over what was and wasn’t appropriate behavior. Student or not, Artie Langford was hot as hell, and his easy confidence was something Sage usually loved in a man. He reminded her so much of a young—

  “Don’t tell me you don’t think about that night.”

  Regret surged through her. She didn’t think about that night, not like he did, anyway. But she was now. Holy shit she was now. Sage swallowed, then took another step back.

  He didn’t match her step this time, but his gaze never faltered. “I know you think this is wrong because I’m a student here, but it’s not. I didn’t know who you were when we…. And I’m eighteen—that part wasn’t a lie.”

  “What was a lie?” Sage was surprised by the hoarse softness of her own voice.

  “Nothing. I’ve been with other women—girls—that part was true, too. But none of them”—he stepped forward—“were like you. I can’t get you off my mind.”

  Sage cleared her throat. “You have to. You don’t have a choice.” She squared her shoulders, standing tall. “I could go to jail.”

  “No. I wouldn’t let that happen. And I’m eighteen, I swear.”

  He reached toward her, tickling her senses with his familiar and intoxicating just-out-of-the-pool scent, and Sage froze; her breath caught in her throat. Then he reached past her, sliding his key into the lock. Sage sighed, and Artie smirked when he realized the effect he had on her. She needed to get away. This wasn’t going as planned.

  He opened the door, and the musky vanilla air freshener wafted out to greet her, triggering more memories of that night to flood her mind.

  Sage closed her eyes as she inhaled.

  “Why were you waiting for me?”

  Her eyes popped open as she snapped back to reality. “What?”

  “What are you doing here, at my car?”

  “You told.”

  He frowned. “Yeah. About that. I’m really sorry. After I saw you at the meet Friday night, I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. I told my buddy, Hank—”

  Sage froze. “Hank Doyle?”

  Artie nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I thought he was a cool enough dude, but then—”

  “He came on to me.”

  “What?” Artie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw snapping shut. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “He did what?”

  “Yes,” she said, remembering why she was here, and why she was so p
issed off. “Apparently, I’m fair game now. So, I came to tell you thanks for nothing.”

  She turned away, wanting to get the hell out of there before she allowed herself to be more upset than angry, or before she made the whopping mistake of crying to this near-stranger.

  Or worse.

  Artie grabbed her arm at the elbow. “Sage, wait—”

  She pulled out of his grasp, then rounded on him. “My name is Miss Shepard. You will address me as such.”

  Artie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Do me a favor, Artie Langford. If you care at all about my livelihood, don’t say another word about what we did. Tell Hank Doyle and the swim team and the football team, and the whole bloody school that you made it up. I could lose my job—”

  “No. I already told you, I won’t let that happen. I would never want to get you in trouble. I’ll tell Hank I made it up. Hell, I’ll kick his ass for sexually harassing you. He won’t bother you again—”

  “That’s not…I don’t need you kicking anyone’s ass.”

  “I’ll handle it.” He reached for her again, but she stepped back. “When can I see you again?”

  Sage’s mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. “What? You can’t. Never. Forget about that night, Mr. Langford. Forget about me.”

  She turned away and briskly walked to her car, her heels clicking against the pavement. She thought she heard him say “I can’t,” but she ignored it.

  He didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  Tig leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed over his chest and fists clenched.

  His heart thumped wildly in his chest.

  They stood so close together, whispering, sharing some intimate secret he no longer had the right to know.

  Had Artie Langford been more than a onetime thing? Had Sage actually been seeing that kid behind his back?

  No. No, he wouldn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe it.

  Whatever happened between Sage and Artie Langford had been a mistake. He knew it. She had to know it….

  But Tig couldn’t shake the jealousy that clenched hard-as-stone fingers around his stomach now, couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness he felt when he watched their interaction, the ice that swept over his heart. He tried to look away—wanted to look away—but his gaze was drawn to her. He was the moth that would die within her flame, and yet, even knowing this, he couldn’t walk away.

  Even as mad at her as he was, as disgusted as he felt by the admission she’d made, he wanted to fly into that all-consuming fire this very second.

  “Damn, that’s one lucky summa bitch, isn’t it?”

  Tig snapped his head to the side, staring hard at Coach Simmons beside him. The man was a creep, nothing more, but he still managed to get under Tig’s skin nearly every time they shared the same air.

  “Excuse me?” Tig fought to unclench his teeth, but first Artie, now Simmons…he should be rewarded for how well he kept his cool.

  “That Langford kid. He’s a lucky little bastard getting to slip it to Shepard over there.”

  Tig groaned, and could swear he felt the vein throbbing in his forehead. “How do you know about that?”

  “What? Your little golden boy and the naughty nurse? Who doesn’t know about that?”

  Tig inhaled a deep breath, slowly counting to ten. In the matter of one weekend, her secret was out. He was angered by his need to protect her, the surging feeling of possessiveness that came over him with the confirmation that not just he, Sage, and Artie Langford knew about her tryst. He should have been livid, not protective.

  “Yep,” Simmons drawled as he leaned back against the wall next to Tig, “I reckon she’s moving on to one of my boys next—walked in on one of my boys in her office today with his hand on his fly. Of course, that’s to be expected. I’m sure she’d want to try the best Lorimar High has to offer, after pity-fucking your crippled ass, and then—”

  Tig rounded on Simmons, pushing off the wall to grab the man by the shirt collar. He hauled Simmons toward him, bringing the man’s face within inches of his own. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  Simmons’ eyes widened, but the smirk exposed his enjoyment at getting to Tig. “What? You’re not telling me you’re surprised she gave you a taste out of pure pity?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Or is it the part about her moving on to my boys? Yeah, well, she practically propositioned Hank Doyle in her office today, though I’m not surprised. That Hank Jr. is a regular Grade A prized specimen—”

  Hank Doyle. Hank Doyle. Tig tried to place the name to a face in his mind, but couldn’t see past the red. “Tread lightly, Simmons.” He released Coach Simmons, then whipped around, striding toward Sage as she rushed away from Artie Langford.

  Pity fuck. The words floated across his mind, fanning the flames of his anger, further bruising his already wounded ego.

  He barely registered Artie slink into his big SUV; his attention too focused on Sage Shepard as she crossed the parking lot to her silver Jetta.

  “Sage!”

  She ignored Brand, continuing forward as if he didn’t exist. His teeth ground together. Maybe he didn’t exist to her. Rage bubbled up, tunneling his vision. Maybe she hadn’t cared for him at all. Maybe this love he thought he shared with her had been a figment…the trick of a fractured heart, the smoke and mirrors of years of wanting her confusing his mind.

  “Sage!”

  She finally slowed, deliberately turning around, her eyes wide. When she met his gaze, her eyes narrowed. Annoyance. That’s what he saw in her eyes. She didn’t care for him at all.

  “Is that what I was to you?” he asked as he approached, his voice breathless from his quick pace and the anger that propelled him forward. Hurt and disappointment clouded his vision, his thoughts. “Some pity fuck when you got back to town?” He heard the words as they left his mouth, suddenly realizing how ridiculous it sounded, but—

  “What?” Her eyes widened again for the slightest of seconds. “What did you just ask me?”

  Tig looked down at her, then opened his mouth to speak, just as his mind shouted for him to stop. For the love of all things holy, stop! “You came back to town, found out about my leg, felt bad about how the star swimmer lost his ticket to the Olympics, and pity fucked me. Admit it.” Shut the hell up, Tig!

  Her eyes moistened. Her lip twitched.

  His heart splintered a bit more.

  But it was too late. Tig couldn’t stop himself. “You’ve got a thing for young boys, obviously”—he gestured toward where Artie’s car had been parked just moments ago—“So, tell me, Nurse Shepard, I was just…what? Intermission? Something to tide you over until you could find a suitable child to molest?”

  She smacked him hard across his face, the pain radiating like tiny, unrelenting needles stabbing through his cheek. “How dare you?”

  He brought his hand to his jaw, his entire body rocked by the strength—and shock—of her slap. And the vitriol of his words. What had he done? He couldn’t even stop himself! She’d waltzed back into his life, turning his world upside down and ripping the rug from beneath his feet. He didn’t know what was up or down anymore. She consumed him!

  He stared at her now, unmoving, unblinking, barely breathing, silently pleading with his eyes for her forgiveness. She just looked up at him, the expression of dejection on her pretty face threatening to knock him to the ground.

  “Sage, I’m sorry, I—”

  She shook her head, eyes wet with tears. Her shoulders fell. She touched his arm—the distant, careful touch of a stranger, not a lover. “Don’t, Brandon. Don’t say anything. We can’t fix this. There’s too much pain from the past, too much lost time between us. We can’t make up for that, or pretend it doesn’t exist. We just…can’t be us again. It doesn’t work.”

  She turned before the tears fell, but he saw them coming, and the sight of those gray eyes crying actually did drop him to the ground.

  Tig followed her home. He did
n’t care that it was a stalker thing to do. Didn’t care that she’d probably refuse to speak to him—and definitely had the right. She’d hurried to her car that afternoon, her shoulders shaking with her tears, mimicking the shudders that tore through his own body.

  Reduced to a man on his knees for the second time since seeing her again, Tig had made himself a promise. He’d do whatever it took to fix things with Sage Shepard. Or he’d die trying.

  He knew she hadn’t slept with him out of pity.

  He didn’t care that she’d slept with Artie Langford.

  He didn’t believe that she was going after Hank Doyle next.

  Tig knew her, and that was worth more than any mistakes she made, or any snide comments from Simmons. Worth more than any drunken slurs she spat at him when she allowed her broken heart to hold the mic.

  Worth more than the fuck-awful things he’d said to her earlier out of spite.

  And insecurity. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Tig had felt insecure and second rate when he’d watched her talking to Artie Langford after practice earlier. Because Artie was who Brand was when he and Sage were together with the future ahead of them, not nine years of pain between them.

  But Tig knew Sage, knew the real her—each dream, each fear, each moment of helplessness, each surge of pleasure—everything that made her the woman she was today. From the broken and battered girl she once was, to the confident, gorgeous woman racing ahead of him now…he knew her.

  And for fuck’s sake, that had to be worth something.

  “Sage! Please wait,” he called, running up the stairs behind her.

  She stilled on the top step, but didn’t turn around. “Please don’t do this, Brand. I’m begging you. Just go.”

  “I can’t.”

  She sighed. “I’m going to go inside now. It’s over. Please don’t follow me or make a scene in front of Jimmy.”

  Tig scanned the windows of the neighboring apartments, the patios, the doors, hunting for anything he could use to stall her. He grasped at straws, searching his mind for some ploy that would work, anything to get her to stay outside a few minutes longer, anything to get her to turn around.