Any Way You Want It

by Farrah Rochon

  Nyree dropped her head back and sighed up at the ceiling. “Would it be foolish of me to take my chances? I don’t have the time or the money to redo all the pipes.”

  Dale put his hands up. “It’s your call,” he said, taking the sandwich she’d handed him. He unwrapped it, picked up one half, and bit off almost the entire thing in one bite. “You know what I’ve been trying to figure out?” he said after swallowing. “How I didn’t realize Desmond and Lance even had a sister.”

  “I’m not all that surprised that you’d never heard about me,” she said. “It’s always been about Desmond and Lance. The big football stars,” Nyree said. She could hear the resentment in her voice and mentally cursed herself for it. “Forgive me,” she said. “But I hate football.”

  Dale gasped with exaggerated shock. “Just stab me in the heart, why don’t you?”

  Nyree couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You can blame Desmond and Lance. Back when I was younger, their football took precedence over everything.” She popped open her bag of salt and vinegar chips. “My mom would drag me to their Pop Warner games, and then in high school everything was about making it to the state championship.” She flicked her wrist in a dismissive wave. “People take it too seriously around here if you asked me.”

  “High school sports is like a religion here, and football is god.”

  “So, what does that make the rivalry between the Pirates and the Mustangs? Easter Sunday?”

  “Easter, Christmas, and every other big holiday you can think of, all wrapped up into one.”

  “I remember back in those days when you and my brothers played. That rivalry was crazy.”

  “The rivalry has always been crazy. Back in those days it was insane.”

  “Do you remember the cheating scandal? Someone called Coach Watson out for having a tape recorder in the opposing team’s locker rooms at St. Pierre.”

  Dale, who’d just taken another bite of his sandwich, pointed to his chest.

  Nyree’s eyes went wide. “Wait! You?”

  He chewed for a few seconds more, then swallowed. “Me,” he answered. “Well, it was my coach who brought the charge to the Louisiana High School Sports Commission, but I was the one who alerted him to the recorder.”

  “Oh, my goodness. No wonder Desmond and Lance hate you.”

  “Yeah, I had a pretty big hand in ruining their high school football legacies.”

  “How did you find out about the cheating?”

  He gulped down half the bottle of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a trace of dust. Nyree reached over and brushed it off his cheek with her thumb. Their eyes caught and held as she perched on her knees in front of him.

  “Sawdust,” she said. “You must have missed a spot when you washed up.”

  His mouth lifted in a too-sexy-for-her-to-handle grin. “Thanks.”

  Would it be too obvious if she pretended to fall forward and landed on his chest? Probably so. The question was, did she care?

  “Anyway,” Dale continued. “The cheating scandal.”

  “Yes,” Nyree said. She sat back down on her side of the impromptu picnic setup and managed not to kick and scream like a toddler who couldn’t get her way. “So, how did you take down Coach Watson?”

  “I had this pre-game ritual where I would go off by myself to clear my head. I was pacing back and forth in the locker room when I found the recorder wedged between two benches.”

  “Coach Watson was suspended for the rest of the season after that. He almost lost his job, didn’t he?” Nyree popped another potato chip in her mouth and sucked the salt from her fingers.

  Dale’s gaze zeroed in on her lips. “Uh, yeah,” he said.

  Nyree was tempted to draw her fingers back into her mouth, and lick them up and down, but Dale tore his eyes away before she could.

  Dammit. She should have been quicker.

  “Watson nearly lost his job,” he continued. “But everybody in St. Pierre rallied around him.”

  “I remember when that happened,” Nyree said, resignedly returning to their conversation. “They had that big meeting in the gymnasium and two of the teachers almost got into a fight. You caused all kinds of headaches when you found that recorder. I thought it was awesome.”

  “Not everyone agrees with you.” He grimaced. “That next year—my senior year—was one of the roughest I’ve ever been through on the football field. Even though Coach Watson was cheating against all the Pirates’ opponents, not just the Mustangs, some people were upset that the LHSSC came down on him. I violated a code by turning him in. And, let’s face it, no one likes a snitch.”

  Nyree sobered. “You became a target.”

  He nodded. “It seemed as if every player was gunning for me in every game that year, but the one against the Pirates was the worst. I’ve never been hit as hard as I was during that game.”

  Nyree rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. Lance was ruthless.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dale said. He rubbed his shoulder. “I can feel those hits as if they happened yesterday.”

  “As I remember it, Desmond and Lance both hated you mainly because you were the player from this area who was granted the top NFL prospect crown back when you all were in high school.”

  His huff of laughter didn’t hold an ounce of humor. “Funny how quickly that crown can get knocked off.”

  “Wait. The hit from Lance isn’t the reason you’re not playing in the NFL, is it?

  He shook his head. “No, that happened in the Senior Bowl.” Tension flowed from him. She could see it in the tightness of his jaw. “The craziest part is that I didn’t even have to play in the game. The Senior Bowl is basically for those players who are still trying to land a spot on an NFL team. It’s a way to showcase your talents to scouts.”

  “You didn’t need to show anyone your football skills?”

  “I had four teams seriously vying for me. I was predicted to go in the top ten of the NFL draft that year. I didn’t need to play in the Senior Bowl. But I wanted to. I loved playing college ball, and I’d heard over and over again how it’s a totally different game once you get to the NFL. I just wanted to experience one last time what it felt like to play on the college level.”

  Nyree couldn’t help but ache for him. She sensed how difficult it was for him to even talk about it, but she wanted to know more. Despite all the hours they’d spent together over the past few weeks, this was the first conversation of true substance they’d shared. She wasn’t ready to see it come to an end.

  Keeping her voice gentle, Nyree asked, “What happened? The injury, I mean.”

  He kept his gaze on the wall, just over her shoulder. “It was the last play of the first half of the game. I got blindsided and went down hard. I tore all four ligaments in my knee and dislocated my kneecap.”

  “Goodness,” Nyree said, covering his hand with her own. “What about surgery?”

  “I had several, but it’s not the kind of injury you can come back from.” He shrugged. “There were a couple of teams who showed some interest. They brought me out to their facilities, had me workout for them, but I knew better than to think I’d ever get to play a single down of professional football. I also suffered my third concussion in that game. That’s something that you just never fully recover from, no matter what anyone says.”

  Nyree sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with an uneasy sigh. “That’s the one thing I feared the most back when Desmond and Lance both played. As much as I resented all the attention they used to get because they played football, I was still so afraid of them getting hurt.”

  “It’s a violent sport, but around here we’re brought up to love it from birth. And I did,” Dale said. “The game itself, when it’s pure and not muddied with all the politics and bullshit that surrounds it, is one of the best things in the world.”

  “You still love it,” Nyree said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I
do,” he admitted. “But my football days are behind me. I’m good with that. You just have to accept what life throws at you and do your best to keep moving.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “It would be nice if someone could tell that to Desmond. It’s pretty ridiculous that he’s still holding onto a grudge from high school.”

  “My brothers were both meatheads back then.” She tipped her head to the side. “Actually, they’re still meatheads, but, believe it or not, they’ve gotten slightly better over the years. At least they wouldn’t hit you now.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Dale lowered his eyes to her chest. “If they knew I was sitting here trying not to look down your shirt, they would.”

  An infusion of heat flooded her bloodstream. Nyree leaned forward so that the material gaped even more.

  “My brothers have no say in who I let look down my shirt.”

  “Did you wear it on purpose?” he asked.

  “How calculating do you think I am?” she said with mock affront, though she couldn’t hide her grin.

  Dale balled up the plastic wrap the sandwiches were wrapped in and tossed it toward the pile of sawdust she’d swept up before they sat to eat.

  “You have to admit you’ve been pretty direct when it comes to…well…this,” he said, motioning between the two of them.

  “Yes, I have been,” Nyree agreed as she packed away the remnants of their meal. “Which is why I find it funny that you think I’d resort to games. If I wanted you to see what’s under my shirt, I would just show you.”

  “Please don’t,” he said, his voice strained. “This is hard enough as it is.”

  She threw her hands up in frustration. “If this is so hard for you, why are you fighting it? I know this attraction isn’t one-sided, Dale. You seemed interested until you discovered who my brothers were.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or was I reading you wrong? ”

  He locked eyes with her. “No, you weren’t.”

  “So why are you acting so damn skittish now?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Skittish? Who even uses that word?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not changing the subject,” he said. “But you need to understand that just because I’m attracted to you to the point that I can hardly think straight, it doesn’t change anything.”

  She smiled at him as she leaned forward, making sure her shirt gaped far more than it previously had. “Actually, it does. It changes everything.”

  A pained look traced across his face. “Nyree—”

  “If you think for a second that I’m going to let some stupid football rivalry from years ago come between what we could have, you’re as big a meathead as my silly brothers.”

  His exasperated groan echoed around the cavernous room. “C’mon, Nyree. You know this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Why not? Give me one reason.” She held up her hand. “And your answer cannot have anything to do with Desmond or Lance. And none of that ‘it isn’t professional’ crap, either. Oh, and don’t even try to say that you don’t want it, because nothing would bring me more pleasure than proving you wrong.” Her gaze dropped to his lap. “I have my ways.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed with his pronounced swallow.

  “So?” Nyree raised her brow. “What’s your reason?”

  “I, uh, I need some time to think about it.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Dale rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just not a good idea, Nyree.”

  “I disagree.” She waited for his rebuttal, but he remained silent. “Well, it looks as if we’ve arrived at an impasse. We both want different things.”

  “I never said I didn’t want it,” he said quickly. “I just said it wasn’t a good idea.”

  A wicked grin curled up the edge of Nyree’s lips. “Admitting that you want something to happen between us isn’t the best way to get me to stop asking for it, Dale.” She crawled up to him on all fours. She could tell how affected he was by the way his breathing slowed.

  “You may want to give up this argument. You’re going to lose. And, just so you know, I’m a pretty obnoxious winner. When you lose, I’m going to take great pleasure in rubbing it in.”

  Chapter Five

  Dale stood with his legs braced apart and his arms crossed over his chest as he studied Kendrick’s form. He watched the teen move from one apparatus to the next, executing the moves they’d practiced over the past two months with a precision that had Dale’s chest puffing with pride. He’d earned the right to the satisfaction currently flowing through him. Kendrick’s command over the middle linebacker position had grown by leaps and bounds since their first session.

  What if he really could coach football?

  Dale cursed the thought for even popping into his head. Whenever that happened he usually swatted it away, and cursed Sam and Ian for putting the suggestion there in the first place. The idea of coaching football on the high school level was way too seductive.

  As he continued to watch Kendrick, it suddenly occurred to Dale how much he himself must resemble his old high school football coach. He could picture the old man standing in this same pose, the bill of that dusty maroon and white Maplesville Mustangs baseball cap pulled down low on his brow.

  Damn, but he wished he could make this happen. Something about it felt so right.

  But coaching at the high school level wasn’t in the cards for him, and he damn well knew it.

  For one thing, he needed a degree to become a high school coach, and the business degree he currently held wasn’t worth shit. Dale would rather walk off three-story scaffolding than admit to his family that the degree he’d “earned” was useless.

  That’s why he needed to stick to construction. He didn’t need a degree to swing a hammer.

  But maybe he could make it work, at least in some way. Take what he was doing right now. Coaching full time may not be in the cards for him, but working as a one-on-one instructor was a pretty good substitute. He could learn to love tutoring just as much as he knew he’d love being an actual coach.

  “Shit,” Dale cursed underneath his breath. He would drive himself crazy going back and forth the way he had over this, lamenting about things that just weren’t meant to be.

  A late model Ford Focus pulled into the graveled parking lot just to the left of the park where he and Kendrick practiced. A teen who looked to be about the same age as Kendrick got out of the car and jogged to them.

  “Can I have a minute?” Kendrick asked. “I need to handle this.”

  Dale’s brow hitched in suspicion as he watched the other kid hand Kendrick a flash drive.

  “Here you go,” the boy said.

  “It’s five pages long, right?” Kendrick asked. “Mr. Dugas said the paper had to be five pages.”

  “It’s four and a half.”

  “Good enough,” Kendrick said. The two clasped hands and went in for a half hug. “Thanks, man.” He held up the flash drive. “And you were right, this is better than emailing. Less of a paper trail.”

  The boy nodded toward Dale before heading back to his car.

  Dale waited until he pulled off before he turned to Kendrick and asked, “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. Just a friend helping me out.”

  His eyes narrowed as he regarded Kendrick. “Do you have someone else doing your homework for you?”

  The boy laughed, waving off Dale’s question. “Don’t give me a hard time, man. You know how this is. I spend all my time training and conditioning. Something has to take a backseat, as long as it’s not football.”

  “Football season is over,” Dale said. “Although that shouldn’t matter one way or the other. Your first priority should be class.”

  “Football season is never over,” Kendrick said.

  Dale would bet money the kid had heard those same words from his father.

  Kendrick tucked the flash drive in the pocket of his workout shorts. “Don’t worry about what you j
ust saw here. I’ve got this under control.”

  A sickening feeling started to settle in Dale’s gut.

  It was like déjà vu. He saw his high school and college self in the boy’s every shrug. Dale could remember the way his fellow classmates clamored to do his homework for him—usually at the urging of the teachers and coaches—so that Dale could concentrate on the game and help the team win championships. That was always the number one goal. Damn the cost—do whatever was necessary to win.

  Except he was the one now paying the price for it.

  The cost was four wasted years in college when he should have been learning something. Instead, all he had to show for his time was a useless degree he hadn’t earned.

  An awful feeling filled Dale’s gut as he remembered how much he used to relish all the attention. It took getting hurt to realize that he wasn’t the one being revered. It was his skill on the football field. Once he no longer had that to offer, he was nothing.

  “This isn’t a joke, Kendrick,” Dale said. “I know you’re good at football. So was I. And that’s why I know from experience that this football thing can be over in a blink of an eye.” He snapped his finger. “All it takes is one good hit, and your entire world changes. Don’t sacrifice your education. I promise you, you’re going to regret it.”

  If there was one thing Dale knew, it was the sting of regret. It lived inside of him. A haunting cloud that followed him constantly. Regret over how he’d allowed coaches and college boosters to make decisions that would affect him for the rest of his life. How he’d allowed so many to use him for their gain, while filling his head with everything he wanted to hear.

  All that praise and esteem was a helluva drug, but once he lost it, the crash was unlike anything Dale could have ever imagined.

  “I mean it, Kendrick,” he told the teen again, but he could tell he wasn’t getting through to him.

  “It’s all good, man,” Kendrick said. “All that school stuff is handled.” He looked down at his watch. “Aw, shit! I’m supposed to meet my girl in an hour. I need to go home and shower.” He nudged his chin toward Dale. “I’ll have that reaction time nailed down by the time we meet next week. Catch you later.”