COACH (Boston Terriers Book 3)

by Jacob Chance

  “Owen,” he calls out, and with a wave, flags over a tall, leanly muscled guy.

  “This is Amelia. It’s her first day. Can you show her the ropes?”

  Owen smiles, easing my nerves. “It’s nice meeting you, Amelia.”

  “You too.” I smile back.

  “I’ll let you guys get to it. Amelia, check in with me later if you have any problems.”

  I nod. “Will do.”

  Kip walks away and I exhale a noticeable sigh of relief.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s pretty harmless. He’s abrasive, but I’ve never heard of him doing anything inappropriate to any of the girls,” Owen reassures me.

  “That makes me feel better. I’m not gonna lie, he kind of gives me the creeps.”

  He chuckles. “You and every other girl who works here. But like I said, you don’t need to worry about him. So, tell me do you have prior waitressing experience?”

  “Yeah, I worked in a small restaurant back home in Maryland. We only served beer and wine so I have no knowledge of mixing drinks.”

  “We have bartenders to do that.” He waves away my concern. “Are you a student at B.U.?”

  “Yeah, I will be. I just transferred here for my junior year.”

  “What are you doing here so early? Classes don’t start for another six weeks.”

  Crap. It’s always somewhat awkward when I have to explain to others that I play football. “I’m the new quarterback for the Terriers. Do you know what that is?”

  He looks amused. “Do I know what that is? Of course I do. It’s the women’s football team. I happen to be the quarterback for the Terriers, the men’s team.” He grins, proudly.

  “No way.”

  “I promise you, I am.”

  “Awesome. Maybe you can give me some pointers sometime?”

  “From what I’ve heard you’ve got quite an arm on you and an impressive set of legs too.” He winks and shrugs his broad shoulders. “Guys talk.”

  “I’m flattered you’ve heard about my skills on the field.”

  He laughs. “Point taken.” He leans down closer. “Although, I can’t say I disagree about your legs.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you show me what I need to be doing before I start calling you Kip.”

  “Ouch.” His hand goes to his chest dramatically. “You wound me. Are you saying I’m creepy? Because that would be a first.”

  “No, I’m saying let’s get to work. I’ve got some tips to make.”

  The next six hours pass in a blur of carrying trays, clearing off tables, making small talk, and avoiding handsy guys. By the end of my shift the soles of my feet are killing me and I’m so hungry I could eat a whole pizza all by myself.

  “You did great,” Owen comes up beside me as I wipe down the last of the tables.

  “Thanks. It went better than I imagined.”

  “I was watching when that last table of guys were acting up. I was ready to step in, but you handled it well. You didn’t need my help at all.”

  “I have two older brothers. I’ve had a lot of practice over the years with their friends.” I swipe the cloth along the wooden surface one final time. “What else do I need to be doing?”

  “That’s it for tonight. Some of the other staff and I are gonna go grab a bite to eat at the J Street Diner. Want to come?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but my feet are killing me. Maybe some other time.”

  He smiles. “Definitely.”

  Groaning, I climb onto my bed and fall to my pillow with a sigh of relief. My legs are aching from being on my feet so much, and my shoulder is sore again from carrying the trays. Dammit. I have practice tomorrow night too. Reaching in my nightstand drawer, I pull the bottle of Ibuprofen out, shaking a few into my hand. Taking a large sip from my bottle of water, I swallow the pills down and pray for instant relief. I had a decent shift at Goliath’s, and meeting Owen was a nice surprise. He’s not only gorgeous, but seems like a solid guy. Too bad I’ve sworn off men. Who am I kidding? There’s only one guy I’m attracted to right now. He’s surly, sexy as hell, and forbidden.

  Last night was the first time I saw Coach without his sunglasses and he was even more attractive, if that’s possible. His sky blue gaze had my knees wobbling so much I almost tripped over my own feet. Now that I’ve seen them, I can’t wait to get a closer look. Are his irises flecked with darker specks of navy?

  There are so many questions I have about Coach. I’m more than curious to learn all I can, but I know I need to stay distant. I’ve had a lot of change in a short amount of time, and making the most of this amazing opportunity I’ve been given has to be at the top on my list of priorities.

  Chapter Six

  Zeke

  “Dude, you’re not gonna believe who started waitressing at Goliath’s.” Owen plops down on the other end of the couch.

  My gaze lazily flicks in his direction before returning to the TV. “Who?”

  “Amelia, your quarterback.”

  My head snaps back toward him. “Amelia’s working at Goliath’s? Since when?”

  “She just started last night.” He grins. “She’s awesome.”

  “Stay away from Amelia.” My tone is curt. “I don’t need her distracted from her game. She’s here for football, not to fuck around with college guys.”

  “Isn’t that her choice to make, not yours?”

  My eyes narrow as I aim them Owen’s way. “She’s here on a full athletic scholarship. I’m sure she has her priorities straight. But I don’t need you or your friends trying to lead her astray.”

  Owen laughs. “Lead her astray? I’m not an asshole.”

  I raise a brow and cock my head.

  He chuckles, “Okay, I am, but I promise not to be with Amelia. She’s a cool chick. I really like her.”

  It’s all I can do to suppress the deep growl bottling up in my throat. I don’t want any other guy to notice Amelia. I want her for myself, but that’s not possible. “Be respectful of her. She’s not like the girls you and your boys screw with.”

  “I realized that about a minute into a conversation with her. She’s got brains and beauty - and she’s a quarterback. She might be perfect for me.” He grins and walks away, narrowly missing the daggers my eyes throw his way.

  Leaning my head back on the couch, I run a hand over my face. Things just became much more complicated.

  Work ran late and now I’m arriving at the field with only minutes until practice is set to begin. Still in my shirt and tie, glancing at the watch on my wrist as my long legs eat up the distance to the field, I realize there probably isn’t time to change. My already rotten mood worsens at the thought of being trapped in these uncomfortable clothes with the warm temperature and high humidity levels.

  “Zeke, how’s it going?”

  “Hey, Mark. Sorry, I’m running late. Work was a bitch and by the time I got home, I didn’t even have time to do more than drop my briefcase inside and grab my bag.”

  “No worries, man. You’re here now. Why don’t you go change?”

  “I don’t want to hold up practice.”

  “I’ll start the warm ups. Get out of those clothes or you’re going to be miserable.”

  “Thanks. I owe you a cold one soon.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  Grabbing my black drawstring gym sac from the bench, I head toward the door that leads to the locker rooms. Tugging it open, I hear a shriek before something soft crashes into me. A fruity fragrance assaults my nose before I realize I’m crushing Amelia to my chest.

  “Oh… Coach… shit… I’m sorry,” she closes her eyes in frustration as she stumbles over her words. “I was rushing and not looking where I was going.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply, setting her away from me and releasing my hold. Edging back, I place even more distance between us. She felt incredible pressed against me, but I need some space.

  Her eyes open at my calm reply. “You’re not mad?”

&nb
sp; “Why would I be mad?”

  “Because I was almost late— am late now.” A hint of a smile teases the corners of her lips.

  “Today I’m not, but I can’t promise I won’t be on any other given day.”

  Gaze wandering slowly over me, she nibbles on her bottom lip contemplatively. What is she thinking about?

  “What?”

  “You look handsome in your work clothes. They are your work clothes, right?”

  I nod. “They are and thank you. I’m hot as hell in them.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a financial planner.”

  She giggles and then catches herself. “Hmm, nice. That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

  I’m amused by her reaction. “What did you think my day job was?”

  “I’m not sure. Before I saw the clothes, I would have thought gym teacher? Personal trainer?”

  I flash her a quick grin. “Not even close.”

  She shrugs her shoulders and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I guess misconceptions can happen when you judge someone solely on their appearance.” She aims a pointed glance at me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Coach?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. As much as I want to appear stern, her nerve is legendary. She might have bigger balls than most of the guys I know.

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  She snorts. “Yeah. Yeah. Bet you won’t make that mistake again, though.”

  “Don’t you have practice now, Monroe?” I grin.

  She tips her head, watching me. “You should do that more often.”

  “What?”

  “Smile. It looks good on you.” She winks, stepping around me. “See you on the field.”

  The door closes behind me and I grimace. Even though nothing inappropriate was said, the tone of the conversation was too relaxed and familiar. I shake my head, disappointed in my behavior. Why did I let my guard down with her at all? I can’t afford to be flirting or allowing her to flirt with me. It’s best for both of us if she’s not comfortable in my presence. Remaining professional and keeping some distance is my best option.

  Blowing my whistle, I end the play. “Amelia, what the hell was that?” I bark after a throw gone wrong. She places her hands on her hips as her eyes shoot daggers at me. “Get your feet shoulder width apart and perpendicular to your receiver. This is basic skill shit, something you shouldn’t be screwing up at this point. Now run the play again and get it right this time.”

  “Yes, sir.” She salutes mockingly before walking back to the line of scrimmage. I know my words angered her, but I’d rather deal with her dislike than the alternative.

  The second attempt at the play goes no better and the shrill blare of my whistle rips across the field. The girls amble over to me well aware I’m not pleased by what they’re showing me.

  “What the hell is this? Did you all agree to play like middle schoolers tonight?”

  A chorus of “no, sir,” rings out.

  “Amelia, get your feet in position before you throw the ball. It’s your technique issues that are screwing up your throw.”

  Her eyes open wide with surprise before flashing with anger. “I wasn’t aware I had technique issues.”

  “Well, now you are.”

  I run them through a few more plays, but it’s clear this has been a big fail as far as making progress goes. “Ladies, let’s see if you can get it together for the next practice. Today was a shit show and a waste of my time. If you’re not getting enough sleep, remedy that. If you’re working too many hours,” my eyes flick to Amelia, “then maybe you need to cut back. Whatever you need to do to make sure you’re giving one-hundred percent at each practice, get it done,” my voice raises. Gazing at each one of their flushed, perspiring faces I notice how tired and miserable they appear. “The season will begin before we know it and we need to be prepared. There’s no time to waste.”

  “I can’t believe I let you drag me here after the week I had,” I mention to Trevor as I lean against the long bar sipping on my Heineken. I worked twenty hours of overtime in only three days and the brakes on my truck went. Now, I have to find time to get them replaced this weekend.

  “All the more reason to come out with me and get a little banged up, dude. It will make you forget all about the shit show this week was.”

  “Yeah, until tomorrow when I wake up and I can add feeling like death to my list of problems.”

  Trevor narrows his eyes as he stares at me.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You graduated from college and turned into this boring workaholic who never wants to have fun anymore. Fun baaaad,” he mocks.

  “I can’t wait until you and Owen are in my shoes so I can point out how you’re doing the same thing. It’s called growing up - becoming a contributing member of society. You can’t sponge off others forever.”

  “My dad’s Lawrence Lincoln and I plan to sponge off him as long as I can.”

  “Trevor, even if your father is a former NFL player, I’m sure you’ll want your own career.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I’m going to school for a business degree, but I have no fucking clue what I want to do with it. I’ll just shoot for the NFL and let dear old dad keep me afloat until I make it.”

  “What if you don’t make it? What’s your backup plan?”

  “I’ll make it.” He flashes a cocky grin at me. “Starting right now, this downer shit needs to stop. Jesus, I brought you out to have some fun, not make me depressed. I’m too young for depression or responsibilities.” He flags down the bartender for another round and my eyes scan the crowded space. Goliath’s always has a good turnout, although I prefer C’s, our usual go to bar.

  “How’d we end up here, anyway?” I question.

  “Owen said some of the girls’ team would be here.”

  “My team?” I question in a proprietorial tone.

  Trevor raises the beer toward his lips, pausing to smirk. “I didn’t realize they were yours.” He takes a deep pull and places it down on the bar.

  “You know I mean that I’m one of the coaches.”

  “I do? Because this is the second time you’ve acted weird when I’ve mentioned them. The first time was when I brought up Amelia.” He pauses to take another swig from his bottle. “Speaking of…” He stares over my shoulder.

  I snap my head around fast enough to give myself whiplash as my gaze seeks her out. She’s busy serving drinks to a group of rowdy guys. Effortlessly, she places bottles down on the table and balances her tray at the same time. She’s coordinated and graceful like a dancer, pivoting fluidly from one customer to the next. No matter what task she’s doing her natural athleticism is always evident.

  Trevor whistles long and low. “Damn, she’s even hotter than I realized.”

  “Where did you see her before?” I question, my eyes never leaving Amelia.

  “The other day at practice some of us were checking out the new members online. She was a big hit and so was Grace. I’d like to be in the middle of those two.”

  “Hey,” I growl. “Stay away from her.”

  “Her? Who?”

  Shit. I can’t show my hand. “Them. Stay away from all the girls on my team. We have a great chance this year and I don’t need you guys fucking it up with your dicks.”

  “I thought that was the whole idea?”

  “Find some other girls to distract. We have a team of talented athletes with a real shot at the championship.”

  “And they’re hot, too.”

  “Forget what they look like. There are plenty of other girls for you to choose from.” My eyes scan the room and find more than a few focused our way. “Hell, this place is full of willing victims.”

  “Maybe I’m looking for a meaningful relationship with a girl who shares common interest
s with me.”

  Tilting my head, I stare at him skeptically. “Trevor, it’s me.”

  He laughs. “I could barely say that with a straight face, man.”

  Chapter Seven

  Amelia

  “Can I have another one, darlin’?” A customer holds up his beer bottle as I scoot past his table.

  “Sure.” I take the empty from him, calling out, “I’ll be right back,” with a smile. Damn. Working at Goliath’s on a Thursday night means great tips, but I’m busting my ass to earn them. And I had to come here straight from practice. My calves are killing me from all the drills we ran.

  Stepping up to the bar, I type in the drink orders for two new tables and add the beer to the guy’s tab. Grabbing a new bottle, I crack open the top, retracing my steps to his table. Handing it off to him doesn’t go as smoothly as I anticipate. He grabs my wrist and tries to pull me down onto his lap. Fortunately, I remain on my feet. He’s not the first asshole to pull this. “Let go, sir,” I state firmly.

  “Come on, darlin’. You know you want to sit on my lap. Give your feet a rest,” he persists.

  Gritting my teeth, I yank my arm from his grasp. “My feet are fine, thanks. I need to get back to work.”

  His hand snaps out capturing my arm again before I can move away. His fingers circle my wrist with an iron grip. “I think you look tired.” His dark brown eyes gleam with ill intent.

  “Get your fucking hands off her.” A deep voice growls from behind me.

  The customer turns his head and blanches at whoever is standing there. He releases his hold and I quickly step back, rubbing my fingers over my sore wrist. A hand on my lower back stills me and my head sweeps to the side to find out who my savior is.

  “Zeke,” I whisper. This is the first time I’ve ever called him by anything other than coach. Aside from that small contact, he doesn’t acknowledge me at all.