Later on, my phone alerts a new message as I hand over the paperwork to Cooper’s assistant.
Coach – I’m still alive.
Me – Lucky you.
Coach – Make it up to me by having dinner with me.
Me – IDK. Weirdos are going to be out tonight.
Coach – Yes or no?
Me – Maybe.
Coach – Always so stubborn.
I leave him stewing for a while. The haunted trail has been open for an hour now, and I want to take a peek. I brush the few remaining grass clippings off my shirt and pants and call it done before heading downstairs.
The entire lobby is packed with folks waiting their turn. Wow. Christina has outdone herself on this one. Vendors have perfumed the area with freshly popped kettle corn, candy apples, and cotton candy. Grabbing up a bag of the popcorn, I take a spot in line. Munching and moving for the next little bit, I’m going over the game day schedule for tomorrow when a giant gremlin sidles up beside me. Well, more like a guy wearing a gremlin mask with his black hoodie covering his head.
“You’re still going to get recognized, Coach.” I snort before shoving another handful of salty-sweet goodness in my mouth.
His hand darts out to cover my mouth. “Shh…”
Pushing it away, I offer him some of my treat. “Want some?” It’s then when I realize there’s no mouth opening. Laughing, I pop another handful in my mouth.
“You’re not funny.” His voice muffles out.
“Oh yes I am.” I wave my ID—my co-owner one—to the ticket collector. “This oversized gremlin is with me.”
“Yes, Miss Shaw.” The young guy smiles as he waves us in.
The place is pitch-black for a few beats until we reach a tunnel. All of a sudden we are in a section of vibrant art depicting ghosts and goblins in neon being lit up by black lights. I can’t believe this is our vendor corridor. All identity of it has been completely replaced with a vivid haunt. Wiley has placed his hand protectively on the small of my back and I could almost swear that part of my body was created just for him to do that. I try not to get too lost in the warmth of his contact and beckon my feet to keep moving forward. The next section we enter, a cool breeze hits me and we are now walking through a graveyard. Ghostly sounds float around us as we inspect the gloomy place.
Laughing, I point to the headstones. “All the teams you’ve whooped this season.”
A bitter chuckle sounds from under his mask. “There’s a headstone missing.”
Wiley is still sore from that one loss. “Get over it already, Coach.”
Shoving me in the side, he barks, “Stop calling me that.”
People are too busy checking out everything to be paying us any attention. I shrug my shoulder and keep going until a blond zombie jumps out of one of the tombs and grabs me up.
“Brains!” Zombie growls out as I flail around screaming, nearly losing my bag of popcorn.
After the section empties with the spectators fleeing in terror, Zombie Zane hands me back over to the gremlin.
“Awesome job, Zane.”
“Thanks, dude.” He hurries back to his position with no time to spare on chitchatting.
“He just called you dude?” Wiley muffles out.
“Yeah. Would you rather he call me sweet thang?” I can’t help but tease.
“Dude is fine.” He says this too quick and sounding a bit jealous. I think I like that fact too much.
After my heart slows its pace back to normal, we walk through to the next part. A mad scientist is hopping around a waking Frankenstein once we reach it. Frank growls out and lunges at a few spectators, but keeps just out of arms reach. One of the rules is to not touch anyone, but I’m guessing I’m the exception to the rule for tonight. Once again, I find myself grabbed up in the snares of a monster—this time by Frankenstein, who is declaring me his bride. Eventually, he returns me to my gremlin, who grouches something out about people needing to keep their hands to themselves. I can’t wipe the grin off my face at his possessive tone.
The fun continues for ten fun-filled minutes, before we emerge outside in the cool night.
Yanking the mask off, Wiley reveals he’s washed down in sweat. I can’t help but run my hand through his damp hair to unplaster it from his forehead.
“That thing is hot,” he comments while leaning down slightly to allow me a better reach.
As I languidly do this, he pulls my hat from my head and returns the gesture. “How do you manage hiding all of this hair under that hat every day?”
My eyes roll to the back of my head from the massaging of his fingers on my scalp. “Very carefully,” I slur out.
He takes a step forward and I’m about to venture resting my head on his abdomen—because that’s as close to his chest as I can reach—when a bunch of kids scream out in excitement.
“It’s Hermes!”
And that, my friends, concludes the moment.
Wiley is surrounded in seconds and is signing autographs before I can blink.
He looks over at me and scoffs playfully. “See. When you’re around I get distracted. This is your fault.”
I shake my head in protest and witness him interact with these kids. He’s such a good sport about it until the group bloats out to adults and lots of them. I send a security alert out and have him rescued within thirty minutes. Before he can wiggle completely free with help of a few bodyguards, I head out. It’s already late and we both have a big day tomorrow.
*****
Game day goes off without a hitch. The guys pull out a monstrous win and Jones actually behaves himself for a change. Lots of celebrating and fun takes place all afternoon and well into the evening before the stadium finally quietens for the night.
Although the game wrapped several hours ago, the energy of the win still crackles the air in exhilaration. Me and my goose bumps are reveling in it as I pull on a thick Bobcats hoodie.
After checking the security report that states the stadium is successfully locked down for the night, I make my way back to the field. It’s pitch-black with hardly any moon to light my way, but I could make it to centerfield blindfolded. Dropping to a seated position and then lying back, I allow my fingers the luxury of testing the abused turf. I love how resilient it is. What other living thing could withstand such an assault as today’s game and still be vibrant with life?
As my fingers play through the soft blades of grass, I take in the view of the star-dusted sky. They are magically twirling around the crescent moon and my breath catches at the magnificence of it. God is one brilliant artist. No doubt about it. This painting whispers a reminder to me of how small I am in the whole scheme of life.
The only sounds are the slight whooshing of a light breeze playing through the stands and the far-off buzz of city life. An unfamiliar sound interrupts the melody, causing me to stiffen in panic—harsh footsteps coming close. All I can do is lift my head and try to find the point of danger.
“I’m calling the cops so it’s best you hightail it on out of here,” his deep voice shouts out.
Relief rushes over me instantly. Setting my head back down, I say, “It’s okay. I have a key. And the security code. And I know a few secret exits.”
“Sam?” Confusion riddles his voice.
“Wiley.”
I sense before seeing him come to a halt beside me, but pay him no mind by keeping my attention on the night sky. His body heat reaches out and warms the length of my right side as he lies down next to me. His freshly washed scent pairs well with the sweet scent of the grass, so I greedily take several deep inhales of it.
“I’m beginning to worry you live here.” He nudges my side.
“I could easily say the same about you.”
“Touché.”
“No victory party tonight, Coach?”
“I’m sure the boys are living it up, but that’s not my scene.”
I keep testing the texture of the grass as I say, “Partying never was your scene, was it?”
“How’d you know that?”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’ve done my homework?”
“Boxers or briefs?” His question presents as a challenge.
“Boxer briefs, if your Calvin Klein contract is accurate. You’re trying to change the subject.”
“No. No partying for me. I watched my buddy die from alcohol poisoning at the only party I attended in high school. We were out at some dilapidated barn and couldn’t figure out how to get an ambulance to us.” A deep, uneven sigh escapes him.
My thoughts linger on his foundation as we fall in a silence. No wonder he advocates the awareness of alcohol abuse with such dedication. Something as devastatingly momentous as that has to leave an everlasting mark. After a while, I try to lighten up the subject or at least throw it down another track.
“How was your lunch date with Cooper yesterday?”
A deep rumble of laughter emits from him, and so I smile at knowing I chose right. “Great. He fed me a perfectly-cooked porterhouse steak while explaining to me if I hurt you in any way, he will have me castrated.”
“Smart man,” I say through a bout of giggles.
“You’ve got a standup old man.”
“I know. I’m very blessed.”
“How long do you plan on staying out here?” He pops up long enough to pull his hoodie over his head before lying back down. It’s just slightly nippy, but I’ve already got my hoodie up to ward off the faint chill.
“I don’t set a time limit. An hour… All night…”
“And why are you out here?”
“This is how I celebrate a home win.”
“By lying on the fifty yard line?”
I look over at him and can barely make out the line of his profile in the darkness. “It’s my way of congratulating the field for doing its job for the game.” He doesn’t comment so I continue on with my philosophical game view. “This game of football goes beyond the 53-man roster and the several dozen coaches. This field, the stadium, the maintenance and janitor staff, the owners and investors, the vendors, and most importantly the fans… So many parts working together to honor this grand American sport.” Somewhere in the midst of my speech, Wiley’s hand finds mine and warms it in his grasp. It’s such a luxury, so I decide to let him keep it.
“Wow. My eyes pricked at that speech, Peaches.”
I go to tug my hand free, but he won’t allow it. “Don’t make fun. You know it’s true.”
“Absolutely. Every word.”
My heart picks up in speed as his thumb absently traces a circle near my wrist. I roll over and place my head on his chest and melt when he wraps his arm around me.
“Wiley?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you tell me why you’ve stayed in the game?”
Tugging my hood down, his fingers attentively work through my tangles. “Football is all I know. Life called an audible and I had no choice but to accept it.”
“Humph. The reverse is my favorite play analogy. Life can change direction and you have no choice but to alter your game plan and follow.”
“True… I’m just happy I was able to eventually walk away. Too many other injuries occur on this field where players don’t get that option. I’m blessed.”
Eventually Wiley works the tension away as he rhythmically runs his fingers through my hair, settling my heartbeat into contentment. We talk of life and football and of life some more, until I notice the sky’s dark hue turns softer and we succumb to sleep.
The sun is brightly assaulting and my eyes rebel with refusing to open.
“Sam.”
My fuzzy mind decides to ignore Trey as I snuggle into the warm cocoon surrounding me. Everything fades back to the void of sleep for not nearly long enough, when I hear Trey’s annoying voice disrupting it again.
“Sam.”
Trey? The fuzz evaporates instantly, forcing me to jolt up. I’m not in a bed surrounded by a down comforter. Blinking back to reality, I’m smackdab in the middle of the football stadium damp from dew with a giant quietly snoring beside me.
“You’ve got less than five minutes before people start arriving.” I squint up at Trey and find him trying to hide a grin.
Pushing frantically on Wiley’s thick shoulder, I say, “Hey. We’ve got to get going. Now!”
Gathering himself in a seated position, Wiley releases a long yawn. Looking around groggy-eyed with his dark hair sticking in all directions, he seems to be working on figuring out where he’s at. I see it register on his face as he hops up and starts limping towards the tunnel, muttering who knows what all the way. I cringe at the pronouncement of his limp, guessing the field must not have set well with his leg. I make note not to repeat this with him for that fact.
Trey snickers as I dust off the grass and head for the exit.
“Don’t say a word,” I mutter in warning.
“It’s going to cost you,” he says with tease lacing his tone.
“How much?”
“I mow the field this week.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Wow. It must be worth a lot to you.”
I look over and find his eyebrow raised, challenging me to rebuke him. The thing is, he’s right. Wiley Black is becoming worth a lot more to me than that paycheck I sign.
Leaving Trey in the bay, I head for my office. Luckily, it has a full-sized bathroom attached so I can grab a quick shower. Of course, I have an entire wardrobe stashed, too. I’m beginning to think Wiley isn’t too off about me living here.
I place a quick phone call to Dad’s assistant and ask her to have breakfast delivered to the coach’s office, knowing Wiley has staff meetings set to start in only minutes. I’m feeling generous so I go ahead and order breakfast for my guys too, before I hit the shower.
The afternoon wears on and I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve just sat on a golf cart to rest my eyes for a minute when my phone goes off to the beat of the Jaws theme song. I hit ignore twice before duuun dun duuun dun dun dun dun dun starts driving me crazy again.
“Yes,” I mumbled.
“My office. Now.” With that Cooper hangs up.
Shoving my tired body off the cart, I drag my feet all the way upstairs. The door to my office beckons as I pass it, but my feet reluctantly keep on to the path to dad’s office. From the unyielding tone of his voice on the phone, he won’t be allowing me to stand him up today. Pushing the door open, I find my mother sitting in Dad’s lap like she’s a love-struck schoolgirl.
“All right, Jenny, there’s four perfectly good chairs in this room. Pick one.” Since she’s acting like a kid, I thought I would try parent on for size. From the look of her face, she’s about to reclaim her rightful role.
“And you have three perfectly good beds at your home. You should pick one of those to sleep in, instead of the football field.”
That’s all it takes for me to throw my hands in the air and slowly start backing out of the room, not wanting to rile up the Momma Bear any further.
“Get back in here,” Dad says. The sternness of his command has me back in and plopping down in one of those chairs I was just pointing out to Mom.
“I can’t even pick my nose without the two of you knowing about it,” I huff out and focus on my green stained hands. I sprayed the field this morning and the colorant of the chemical spilled into my fatigued hands instead of in the tank.
“I think it’s sweet how that boy is courting you.” Mom’s voice drips with honey. I roll my eyes because I don’t really think any courting is going on.
Looking up, I notice Dad isn’t as sweet on the idea as her. He’s all pinched eyebrows and she’s all dreamy-eyed. And I’m all embarrassed.
“We didn’t mean to fall asleep out there. And no one but Trey saw… Well, you two did, too. I think you need to just step away from the security monitors, Dad. Seriously, I’m not your reality TV show.”
He holds his hand up. “Sam, just be careful. I’ve always thought it was
wise of you to keep your distance from the team. But now you’re blurring your code, and I worry you’re going to get hurt.”
I try rubbing the irritation from my eyes and it’s all I can do to pry them back open. “I know. I’ll be careful. Nothing has happened that I wouldn’t be able to walk away from.”
There’s a punctuated lull in the conversation, so I take the opportunity to walk away from this uncomfortable discussion. I sure am surprised when they both actually allow me. I shuffle down the hall and am startled with who I find sitting behind my desk like he owns the joint. Taking a moment to appreciate his form, I decide he looks good there, so I let him keep that chair. I’d rather have the leather couch by the wall anyway.
Plopping facedown, I ask, “How’s your leg?”
“Good. Had one of our trainers work on it for a while. Nice office, by the way.”
“Seems you’ve made yourself at home,” I mumble as I turn my head to peek at him. I notice he’s grabbed a change of clothes along the way, too. His track-pants-clad legs are propped on my desk, looking right comfortable. I enjoy the view until my eyes drift shut…
“Sam!”
“What?” The grouch is prominent in my voice, but I’m too tired to soften it.
“You started snoring.”
“Then why’d you wake me?”
I’m about to doze back off when his big ole body tries to fit on the couch with me. Good thing it’s a sizable couch. And the cocoon that I enjoyed very much this morning is back. Ahh… “Just what are you doing?”
“I’m sleepy, too.” Nuzzling into the side of my neck and taking in a deep inhale, he rasps out in a tired voice, “Mmm… You smell good.”
I scoff. “Do not. I smell like dirt.”
“I know. Smells good on you.” Wiley takes another deep inhale, causing a tingle to skirt along my neck. He whispers, “Samantha Shaw. You’re starting to control my clock.” His warm lips press a kiss to my neck before I drift off, dreaming about scoreboards and time clocks ticking down.
Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas Page 14
