Unknown – Coach.
I saved his number under Coach before replying.
Me – How’d you get my #?
Coach – Did my H.W.
The man put effort into tracking down my number, so I had to meet him for lunch after finding that out. We’ve been meeting up at the picnic area outside the stadium ever since. I was well aware already of the fact that Wiley Black is a standup guy, but I’ve enjoyed discovering he has a wickedly dry sense of humor. I find that very appealing. And he is just as dedicated to his players as I am with my crew. Just last week, the dad of one of his wide receivers passed away. Wiley dropped everything to fly out to Idaho with Timmons so the poor guy didn’t have to make the trip by himself. He also remembers how to be just one of the guys. I enjoyed hearing about an impromptu water fight he participated in yesterday with the team after practice.
Speaking of practices, I’m still not allowed on the field during one. I’ve tested it and each time earned a stern head nod and crossed arms. So I’ve respected his wishes and watched from a suite instead. I like that he didn’t change his rules after discovering who I am.
What’s made me the happiest chick in southern Texas is him sitting with my family at church every Sunday for the last three weeks. He has only been a Texan for a couple months and he seemed really appreciative when I invited him. We have an early bird worship service, which is perfect for us ballgame folks. Wiley has even managed bringing along some of his players.
As I arrive at the event in my peach gown, my insides are glowing as warmly as my outer appearance. This dress I don’t mind so much. It’s long and flowy and the rich color of it is very complimentary. I don’t even mind being a bit girlie tonight for a change.
I can’t help but seek out Wiley as soon as I’m engulfed in the sea of formal wear. I find him immediately in the midst of what looks to be an intense conversation with a reporter. Never have I seen a black tux look so exquisite. My heartbeat quickens, but plummets even quicker when I notice a leggy redhead draped on his arm. Not wanting to chance running into them, I go hide out in my dad’s game room. It’s the size of a basketball court and is perfect to house the vast tables lined with goodies for the silent auction.
I shrug off my disappointment about Wiley having a date the best I can and focus on the reason for the night. I walk around a bit to scope out the goods. The place is packed with jovial people sporting deep pockets who are willing to empty them out a bit. And I’m counted as one of them, so I get on with it. My new plan is to drop a chunk of money, grab some food, and flee as fast as possible.
Thinking Delilah could use a spa day, I jot my name and a substantial bid down for a car detailing package. My girl deserves every penny. Moving on, I pass offerings for anything frou-frou and head straight to the table housing the concert package for Need to Breathe. I’ve seen these guys rock out at the stadium a few years back, and so I overbid to be sure in securing it. I want to offer the local schools a free concert next spring and these guys will be the perfect band. I move around and scribble my name and bids down for a dozen or so more items before I’ve done my part in the wallet portion of the night.
My stomach lets out a mean growl, so I follow my nose to the fiesta spread in the main dining room. It’s been set up buffet style—my favorite. I’ve just grabbed a plate when I sense him behind me. Wiley has a way of towering over me protectively and so I know it’s him without looking. For only knowing him a short time, it’s odd how familiar he already feels to me. He trails behind me, piling his own plate, and maybe seeing what I have to say first. Keep your eyes to yourself, Sam.
Unable to stop myself, I say, “That’s one gorgeous date you have tonight.” His snort makes me break my rule and look at him—catching those mossy-greens rolling.
“My agent insisted a date would draw more attention to the event. He arranged it.”
My gaze roams the room until it lands on his designated arm candy. “You have a wise agent.”
“Yeah, but I could have been more creative than that.” The heat of his words brush against my ear and sends a shiver along my neck. Abruptly, his arm snakes around my waist and draws me closer so that his lips are now touching my ear. “I can just picture the publicity I could garner if I laid you across this table and claimed those peach lips… I can almost taste them.”
My plate drops to the floor and shatters into millions of pieces. No. Not really, but WOW! The man just turned me into a hot mess of mush, and it’s all I can do not to drop the plate. I have a strong urge to just melt into him.
Licking said lips that actually do taste like peaches, I let out a nervous laugh and try gaining some space from him by taking a step forward. “Nah. The picture would be much more vivid with your date sprawled across the table with all that flaming hair. If I saw that picture online or in a newspaper, there’s no way I could pass up reading the article.”
“I beg to differ.” His deep raspy voice sounds strained a bit.
I adamantly will myself not to look at him while loading my plate with tamales—not knowing if my flustered belly will even accept food now that Wiley has it all stirred up with his sauciness. Did he really just suggest kissing me?
“Look, buddy. I think you need to knock off this flirting with me and mosey on back to your date.”
A grunt sounds from behind me before he leans close to my ear again. “That’s not an appealing option.”
“Well, it’s your only option. Good night.”
I don’t allow Wiley a rebuttal. Instead, I pull out of his grasp to make my way out. Dad is off to the side and it’s clear he’s been watching the show from the wide grin spread on his face. I roll my eyes at him and head on out. I feel like a helpless prey trying to escape the forceful grasp of a predator. Mercy!
My feet only slow once my truck is in sight. It’s not until now, do I realize I stole a plate of food. What’s done is done, so I pull the tailgate down and have a private picnic under the clear night sky. The crickets chirping and the echo of a horse whinnying every so often in the distance keep me company and content. I’ve made it through a few tamales, when the truck dips down beside me with a heavy weight. Yep. He’s found me.
“This is your piece of junk that taunts all the guys each day at the stadium?” He has enough nerve to swipe one of my tamales and insults my truck. The nerve of him.
“How dare you talk about Delilah like that!” He’s about to pop the bite in his mouth, but I swipe it back before he can.
“You named your truck?”
“My Paps named her. He was her first owner.”
“I don’t see anything feminine about this old truck.” He looks at me skeptically and nods towards my girl.
“Well, neither am I.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re plenty feminine.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I decide to deflect. “She’ll take your prissy truck any day.” Now I’m talking pure smack, because there’s nothing prissy about his souped-up Ford F-150. I glance a few cars down from mine and spot the monster that is black on black on black. Even the rims, grill, and grill guard are black. But I’m not worried. I know what Delilah has under her hood.
“Is that a challenge?” Wiley asks as he does that leering thing again. I wonder when he’s going to figure out that move has no effect on me.
Handing him the empty plate, I hop up. “You’re on.” I yank off the stilettos and toss them in the cab.
“Now?”
“Why not? There’s a drag strip at the back of the ranch.”
“Isn’t that convenient.”
“You chickening out on me, Coach?”
A mischievous grin lifts his wide lips. “Not on your life.” Glancing at my exposed feet, he asks, “You’re going to race me barefooted?”
“Heck no. Although I could totally kick your butt sans shoes. But tonight I’m gonna beat you wearing my boots.” I pull them out of the cab, knock the dried grass clippings off, and settle back on the tailgate to lace the
m up. As I do this, Wiley starts working his tie off in preparation. We are both all business now.
“What’s at stake?” he asks as he relieves a few buttons of his tux shirt.
“If I win, you give me back my access to the field any time I want.”
Shaking his head, he says sternly, “No.”
I pause in lacing my left boot to ask, “Well, why not?”
“I done and told you. You’re too distracting.”
I think about it and am coming up empty-handed. Especially when he untucks that shirt and allows me a sinful glimpse of his smooth defined abs.
“What? Are you going to race me naked?” I tease him.
Leaning so close, our noses graze. “Oh, I could totally kick your butt sans clothes, sweetheart. But tonight I’m going to beat you wearing a tux.”
I’m beginning to think I’m blatantly playing with danger. It’s as though I have no self-preservation at all. My heart revs up a few dangerous notches, sending my cheeks up in flames. Wiggling out of his grasp, I try coming up with what I want when I win. I could think of a few things, but they’re not very ladylike…
An idea finally comes to me. “Hmm… If I win, I want you to clean the bathrooms for my guy one day next week.”
Chuckling, he actually agrees with a nod of his head. “When I win, I want a taste of that peach lip gloss you’re always teasing me with.”
“When? Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Coach. Follow me.”
Climbing into the cab of my truck, I inhale the comforting scent of sweet chewing tobacco and spicy Red Hots—the aroma belonging solely to my Paps. It is somehow permanently rooted in the leather bench seat. He had this truck totally rebuilt and then dressed it with a rusty frame full of character. I wanted it more than my teeth back in high school, so when graduation rolled around with Paps sadly not, he left it to me in his will.
Me and Delilah bump along a back road, passing the horse barn and cow pasture until we reach the locked gate. Fishing the key out of the glove compartment, I jump out and take care of our only obstacle to getting to the drag strip. My dad and his buddies have ruined a car or ten out here, racing and causing ruckus. Honestly, I have, too.
Pulling up to the start, I hand roll down my window and listen as his passenger window whirls down smoothly. “We go on the count of three.”
“Simple enough, Peaches.” I can just make out the gleam in his eyes from the dashboard lights.
Glaring over at him, I ask, “What did you call me?”
“Peaches. You’re as pretty as a peach.”
He’s taunting me in hopes of flustering me. Not. Happening. I start the count while he’s still laughing at himself. I yell three and gun it, sending dirt billowing all around. There’s a vintage street light at the end of the strip, so I keep my focus there, daring no side glimpses. Adrenaline courses through me, releasing an excited, “Woohoo!” But I tamp back down a notch when the black monster hits the corner of my eye.
It’s recklessly over before I know it, with me barely claiming the win. Both trucks fishtail to a stop, engulfing us in a cloud of dust. After it settles back down, I jump out to do a victory dance with Wiley’s headlights as my spotlight. Twirling around and doing a little shimmy, I let go and live in the triumphant moment. I’m having myself just the largest time, when I notice he’s still in the truck and not making a move to get out. I stop and hold my hand over my eyes, trying to shoo the light away enough to peer in at him. It’s no use. Everything is too dark.
“What’s the matter? You a sore loser?” I yell out.
After what feels like a millennium, he finally steps out of his truck. He looks at me in a confused awe, which is confusing me.
“What?” I ask, backing up. He’s got that predator stance again, and it’s making me nervous. Flight or fight races through me.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he grabs me up and places me on the hood of my truck. With his hands placed on each side of my hips on the hood, Wiley leans down to study me. He’s looking at me like I’m some complicated math problem and is debating whether I’m worth the time it’ll take to figure out.
“What?” I ask again.
“There are just too many facets to you, Peaches. I’m warming to the idea of talking you into letting me explore each one a little closer.” The crisp scent of his cologne engulfs me as he leans even closer.
“But… I won,” I stutter out like an idiot.
“I know, but I really want to taste that lip gloss.” His nose skims along mine, as he waits for permission.
I can’t help but lick my lips and taste the peach flavor still clinging to them. That’s some really good stuff. I’m so flustered, I have to take several calming breaths.
After regaining my composure, I set out to tease him. “I might be able to afford you a small taste,” I whisper.
“I’ll take whatever you’ll give.” His voice comes out hoarse and the hammering of his heart flutters against my palm—I don’t even recall placing it on his chest.
I press my index finger along my lips and swipe with hopes of collecting some of the lip gloss before shoving it in his mouth. I’ve done it with goofing off in mind, but it backfires instantly when he captures my finger between his teeth and starts rolling his tongue along it. We both release a groan and my mouth waters to taste him now.
I’m ready to allow him a kiss, when he abruptly releases me and walks back to his truck. “Good night, Peaches,” he hollers before shutting his door and driving off.
What. Just. Happened?
“Argh!”
Wiley Black just snatched my little play of power and drove off with it. I plop back on the hood and scold myself for allowing my guard down enough to let him steal the upper hand.
Chapter Seven
The fall is falling around us, but this southern state is still clinging on to some of its warmth. All is well in the Bobcat world. Sort of… They’ve won all games so far, but one. And that one game resulted in Jones instigating a fight on the field. The two games following, he has been sulking on the bench and not allowed to dress. I shake my head on that mess and shuffle through the papers on my desk.
“Knock, knock!” Mom’s voice chimes out by the door. “Lunch!”
I look up and see she’s waving a nice-sized Renata’s takeout bag. Spicy aroma greets me and sets my mouth to watering. I pushed a spreader all morning and I’m starved. Only problem with this set up is I already have lunch plans. Glancing at the clock, it reminds me that it’s to be commencing in ten minutes. No way will Mom be out the door that fast.
“Hey, Mom. That smells heavenly.” I say this as I shoot Coach a text, letting him know Mom’s visiting me. He’s taken up calling me Peaches and so I only call him Coach now. Sometimes I throw in Jerk for good measure. Shoving the paperwork back in the intake tray, I pat the cleared desk expectantly.
Mom rewards by laying out boxes filled with chicken tacos and lots of guacamole. Have I mentioned I have the best mom ever? I look up at her and see the few greys she had peppering through her black hair last week have magically disappeared. She could pass for my sister. And she’s vibrant enough to pass as my younger sister.
“So, my sweet darlin’, how’s life treating you?” she asks after gracing our food.
Cramming a hefty bite of taco in, I mumble out, “Good. No complaints.” I notice she’s eyeing me in hopes of obtaining more, but I’m not giving it. Cooper’s been running his mouth, so I know good and darn well this is about Wiley Black.
My phone dings a new message. Looking down where my phone is resting in my lap, Coach says he just got an unexpected lunch date with Cooper. Hmm…
“So, where did you disappear to the night of the event at the ranch?”
That was a few weeks back. Why now? “What’s your game, Mom? Just spit it out.” I run my last bite through the thick guacamole before popping it in my mouth.
“Your dad found the gate at the back of the property unlocked yesterday. Checking the sec
urity camera, he found something pretty interesting.”
“Ugh!” That man and his security cameras! I thought I took care of that particular one at the drag strip with a few accidentally thrown rocks. “I’m thirty years old come next week. I can race if I want.” Tossing the wrappers in the bag, my appetite has fled out the door and I sure wish I could follow it.
“And you’re old enough to make out with a man, too.”
I look up and find her light-blue eyes twinkling. Oh… Crap. I’m guessing the race wasn’t the interesting part. Oh boy. I wonder if Cooper is stringing Wiley up by his feet as we speak. I send him a one word text—SORRY.
“We’re just friends, Mom… And that night we were goofing around… And I don’t think it’s a good idea to get too close to him… I don’t like to get close to the players and coaches… And—” I’m rambling on and on in nervousness.
“I think that ‘getting close’ part is null and void, sweetheart. And sometimes you can’t help it.” She’s just a-smiling as she cleans up our lunch.
“Mom…” I whine out, not knowing what else to say.
Kissing my cheek, she says, “I’m going to go snoop out the haunted trail. I’ll see you later. Love you, darlin’.”
“Love you, too.”
After Mom has left me with way more than I want to think about, I find something to do to get my mind off of it. I pull out the papers again to sign off that all safety precautions have been met for the haunted trail. Cooper Stadium has a very talented special events coordinator. Christina sets up all of the concerts and rodeos that take place off season. And she comes up with some fun events during the season.
This year, Christina has transformed our vendor corridor into a haunted trail to help celebrate the spooky season. It’s going to be a great family fun activity and it’s set to open tonight.
Loyal Zane has stayed on with us and I hate he blew off that job opportunity with the logo design company. But I’m grateful to still have him, so I approached Cooper about giving him a raise. That only raised his eyebrows in indignation. I know the guy cost us ten grand, but I won’t give up until the big guy caves. I have successfully been able to get Zane commissioned to do all of the design and painting for the haunted trail. I’ve only seen bits and pieces so I’m pretty excited to see the finished product later.
Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas Page 13
