Kickoff

by Jami Davenport

  Derek gasped for breath, wishing this deadweight would get off his chest. After an eternity the guy got up, giving him a sharp jab in the ribs. He grunted. In the morning, he’d have bruises on top of bruises. For now, none of that mattered.

  He’d hung on for six.

  The roar of the crowd didn’t deafen his ears like at the Rose Bowl. Instead, the quarter-capacity crowd acknowledged his incredible catch with a smattering of applause.

  Forcing air back into his lungs, he grasped the hand Tyler offered and scrambled to his feet. A little beat-up, but he didn’t give a shit. He’d caught the damn ball. Finally, he’d thrown the monkey off his back. Jogging to the sidelines, he shook his head to clear the slush moving around inside.

  “Not bad, Ramsey.” The coach studied him, his face impassive.

  “Thanks, Coach.” The man was stingy at handing out compliments, so he’d take this one for what it was worth—and that was a lot.

  “Think you can do that again?”

  Derek met his penetrating gaze. “Yes, sir. More times than you can imagine.” It sounded cocky, but a football player who didn’t believe in himself wasn’t worth the turf he played on.

  HughJack nodded and walked off without another word. Renewed confidence surged through Derek. He hadn’t felt this good since his college days.

  He immediately searched the crowd of players and staff for Rachel. She stood only feet from him, and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, time stood still, and the world disappeared until only the two of them were left. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but she turned on her heel, leaving him standing there with his mouth open and his heart laid bare.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  After the game, local reporters inundated Derek with questions, even though the Steelheads lost their fourth and last preseason game, 20-7. His outstanding catch ended up being the highlight of a dismal preseason. Win-deprived Seattle took whatever triumphs it could get.

  He fended off reporters and stayed focused. This time the adulation wouldn’t go to his head like it had in college and at the Games. He knew how fleeting it was. Next week he might be the goat—assuming he made the team—and be crucified at the gridiron altar. Such was the life of a professional athlete. You either toughened up enough to take it or you folded. He’d almost folded, but he’d dug deeper and found an inner strength he’d never needed before.

  After several grueling minutes, he extracted himself from the press and snuck out a back door to his truck. Instead of joining his teammates at the local sports bar, he loitered at the stadium, hoping for one last glance at Rachel.

  Shit.

  Rachel?

  What was wrong with him? She’d invaded his thoughts all week. He’d scanned the sidelines from the huddle several times looking for her. Over his years in the league, he’d looked for Rachel in the crowd every time his other teams played Seattle. It was stupid to think she’d be there, but he looked anyway.

  This was no good, and he knew it but couldn’t stop himself. She was a coach, and he was a player. Even if they wanted to start up something again, any fraternization between them would be forbidden. She was getting her shot in the big leagues, and he wouldn’t play any part in destroying that shot.

  He ran his hands over his face and stretched his back. Pain rocketed through his battered body, and he winced. With a sigh, he turned down the long hallway leading to the private parking lot for staff and players.

  He walked toward his truck and stopped. Rachel was digging for her keys, only two spots away. He should’ve ignored her and kept walking, but he didn’t. His legs had a mind of their own. Before he knew it, he was a few feet from her, leaning against her car.

  “Hey,” he said with a grin.

  Damn, she looked good. She had to be the hottest woman in the Pacific Northwest. Her dark hair was done up in a ponytail that swayed as she turned slowly to regard him with a distressed expression. Her gaze swept the parking lot and back to him. She was worried someone would see them.

  A stupid-assed smile spread across his face.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The man who wouldn’t get out of her thoughts stood a few feet from her in a faded T-shirt that clung to his muscles and an even more faded pair of jeans that clung to his thighs and his— Oh, Lord. She cleared her throat. Looking up, she prayed her face didn’t betray her brief regression into gutter wallowing.

  Derek leaned against her car in a casual pose. An ugly purple bruise was visible on his left arm, and there was a small cut on his chin—battle scars from the afternoon’s game. His keys dangled from his fingertips, and a lopsided grin enhanced his already gorgeous face. His dark eyes danced with a mixture of enthusiasm and pure joy for living. It’d been years since she’d seen that expression on his face.

  “I thought you’d be out celebrating with the guys.” And maybe the girls.

  She willed her expression to remain neutral. One part of her ached to throw her arms around him and congratulate him—just like she used to do in college. The other wanted to climb in her car and get the hell out of there.

  “Not in the mood.”

  “Great catch.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” His gaze was earnest, as if her opinion really mattered to him.

  “Yes.” She couldn’t help but smile at him. His chocolate eyes found a secret, secluded corner in her heart and curled right up in front of the fire as if he belonged there. Her smarter half attempted to give him the boot like an unwanted stray cat.

  “Give me the lowdown,” he insisted.

  “On your game?” If she ever needed her shell of professionalism, she needed it now. With the exception of one good play, his performance didn’t stack up against the other wide receivers and was subpar considering what he was capable of.

  “Yeah.” He looked at a faraway spot.

  “Do you want my honest opinion?”

  “Was I that bad?” He looked up, his earlier enthusiasm sucked right out of him. “I need to know. No one except Ty knows me like you do. Ty’s too narcissistic to be of much help.”

  “How do you think you did?”

  “I’d rather hear what you think. I’m too close to it to be objective. Don’t pull any punches. Give it to me straight.”

  Rachel sighed and took a sip as she contemplated the best way to let him down. “I think you’re trying too hard to protect your knee. You’re too worried about getting hit again. I don’t think it’s conscious, but your routes aren’t crisp and tight. They’re round. You’re not hitting your spot and making your cut. You’re not focusing on the ball, not catching it with your hands. You’re trying to trap it with your body. You need to relax. Flow with it. Not be so tense and tight.” She paused for a breath. “Derek, you know this stuff.”

  “So do you. Your dad taught good basics. He’s one of the best coaches around.” The reverence in his tone sickened her. She’d never noticed what an excellent actor he was—just like his mother. How could he sing her father’s praises yet not defend him when her dad needed him the most?

  “You’re the one catching the ball, and right now you’re not doing a great job of that.”

  “I got nailed on that last touchdown play, but I held on.”

  “That play reminded me of the old you.”

  He absorbed her critique for a moment. “I’m struggling with getting it back.”

  “You know what it takes. Drills. Practice. Mental strengthening.”

  “It’s the mental part that’s not working for me. You used to help me. Why don’t you do that now?”

  Those eyes of his, as welcoming as a box of expensive chocolates, held her and wouldn’t let go. So much for kicking out the tomcat. Next thing she knew, he’d be curled up in her bed, and she’d be purring for all she was worth.

  “Dare, I have specific instructions from HughJack I’m to observe and report but not coach or interact directly with the players. I wasn’t hired as a coach. I’m merely an analyst and consultant working toward a coaching job.�
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  “I need you, Rae. I know you can help me.” He continued to watch her with those hot eyes that didn’t miss a thing, almost like he wanted to take her home tonight.

  She stood up straighter and kept her mask in place. “You do need all the help you can get,” she conceded with a wry smile.

  Derek threw back his head and laughed, a warm, inviting sound that almost melted her resolve. “I’ve missed you.”

  She pursed her lips and kept her mouth shut. She didn’t need him missing her any more than she needed to miss him.

  “Rae, you have a gift, and I really need your help. At least through the season. No one needs to know.”

  “I don’t know.” Oh, saints in heaven, protect me. She prayed for the willpower. She doubted he’d be the one to say no. Not if the way he was looking at her right now was any indication.

  “We both have our ambitions. A relationship is messy and gets in the way of what we want. It won’t happen. Trust me.” He studied her earnestly.

  It wasn’t him who was the problem, but Rachel kept that to herself. “Let me think about it.” Her stomach twisted into a hangman’s noose. She wished she could go home with him. She pushed that thought as far to the back of her mind as she could. Picturing Derek taking off his shirt and coming to her as she lay in bed looking up at him in nervous expectation was a vision she needed to banish from her mind forever. Unfortunately, it kept sneaking in through little cracks in her armor. Cracks that were getting big enough to ride a horse through.

  “I need your support, your eye, your no-nonsense way of telling it like it is. Please, Rae, it’s important.” Derek searched her face. His dark gaze read her perfectly and pushed past her defenses into secret, private places.

  Feeling as if he’d stripped her naked emotionally, she broke eye contact. “We’ll see.”

  “I know you’ll do it.” His broad grin lit up his entire face.

  She’d have promised him anything at that moment just to see him smile like that again. Dangerous thought, and well past time to end this conversation and save a shred of her sanity.

  “Derek, I’m really tired, and I’m sure you are too. We both have a lot to think about. I need to get home.”

  “Good night, Rae.” His gaze robbed her lungs of oxygen while heat pooled south of her belly button.

  He touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb, just a brief touch, but the aftershocks reverberated throughout her body. “You don’t need to be concerned. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t have the time or energy for one. I just want a friendship. We were always better friends than lovers.”

  She should have felt reassured, but she just felt empty and alone. “Good night, Dare.” She opened the car door.

  Her heart followed him as he walked toward his truck, but she yanked it back, shut the door, and locked it. Locks might physically keep the man out, but she’d need strength to lock him out emotionally. Closing her eyes, she envisioned her father and the bottles surrounding his chair. She had enough trouble in her life. She didn’t need to add more to it.

  Chapter 6—Sudden Death in Overtime

  Rachel jammed her finger against the doorbell and held it there. Even then it took several minutes before a disheveled Cass yanked open the door.

  “Cass, you’ve got to help me.” She snapped her fingers in front of her friend’s face in an attempt to force her to focus.

  Cass, Rachel’s bestie and Tyler’s on-and-off girlfriend, held her hand to her mouth and yawned.

  “I need advice.”

  “Wonderful. I need another three hours of sleep.” Cass tried to push the door shut on her.

  Not to be deterred, Rachel pushed her shoulder against the door. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Cass gazed longingly over her shoulder in the direction of her bedroom and rubbed her bleary eyes. Without another word, she stumbled to the living room and slumped on a couch.

  Rachel shut the door and followed.

  “I was asleep.”

  “It’s almost noon.”

  “That’s too fucking early.” Cass scowled at the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Tyler’s waterfront condo. “Of all days for it to decide not to rain in Seattle. I’ve got a mother of a hangover.” She squinted into the sun, then smiled. “Oh, yeah, I remember last night now. Me. Tyler. Empty football stadium and bottle of good whiskey. That man can—”

  “Cass.” Rachel held up a hand, not interested in traversing that sex-laden path. She’d be too jealous. “I brought you something.”

  Cass perked up. She could be bought. Easily. “I hope it’s diamonds or white gold. I’m partial to white gold.”

  “Actually, it’s a mocha.” Rachel held the large cup of java out to her friend.

  Cass latched on to it and sucked it down. “As good as an orgasm. Well, almost. Tyler is a naughty, naughty boy with a deviant streak.”

  “I so do not want to hear this.” Rachel plopped onto the overstuffed beige leather chair. Her own sex-starved brain flashed to a high-def image of a shirtless Derek, his sweat-dampened body glistening in the afternoon sun.

  “Let me paint a picture for you.”

  “I’d rather be left in suspense.”

  “Not a freaking chance in Hades. You wake me up, you pay. Last night and into the early hours, I roughed the passer and was penalized, and can that man penalize! The Ty-man ran several touchdown plays of his own. I’ll never look at the three-hundred level of Steelheads Stadium in the same way.”

  “You did it in the stadium?”

  “In several different positions.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Rachel held her hands over her ears.

  “You ever imagined doing it in a stadium?”

  “No, I haven’t. I barely imagine it on a bed.”

  “Honey, you need to expand your horizons.”

  “Let’s expand one thing at a time.”

  “We could start with your ancient views on sex. Sex doesn’t need to be forever. It needs to be right now, hot, sweaty, nasty, and daring. Live in the moment. If it’s good enough, the guys keep coming back for more. End of story. Love is a myth. Screwing is the reality.”

  “Put a hold on reality for now.”

  “Fine.” Cass sipped the coffee, and Rachel could see her wheels turning. “What kind of advice do you need?”

  “I’m still attracted to Derek. What am I going to do about this?”

  “You know what I’d do.” Cass winked at her and grinned.

  “I’m not you. This is my career we’re talking about. My shot at the big leagues. I can’t mess this up with a crush on one of my players.”

  “Then keep the crush a fantasy. Don’t play out that fantasy.”

  “You’re not much help.”

  Cass sighed. “I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t wave my magic wand and make your lifelong obsession with Derek Ramsey disappear.”

  “I do not have a—”

  “Whatever,” Cass interrupted, waving a perfectly manicured hand in the air. “How is the coaching going?”

  “I’m a consultant/trainee, not a coach, and I love it. I’m working with the coaches to decide what players are the best fit by evaluating their strengths and weaknesses.”

  “But you’ll be a coach eventually.”

  Rachel shrugged. “That’s my goal.”

  “You don’t sound overly excited about it.”

  “Of course I am. My dad would be so proud if I was a pro coach.”

  “Your dad? What about you? Is that what Rachel wants?”

  She’d been following this path for so long, she hadn’t considered she might want something else. “I guess so.”

  “Being a female coach in a male-dominated sport is tough enough without an I guess so. Don’t you think you should be more passionate about it?”

  “I’m passionate about football. You know that.”

  Cass cocked a brow at her and for once said nothing in response.

  “I am,” Rachel insisted.

&nb
sp; “You don’t have to convince me. I’m not the one with a burning desire to become a coach.”

  Rachel sighed and stared out a window. She’d been having some doubts lately, but she was certain they were caused by cold feet, being scared at being a leader rather than a follower. She could do this. She wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment on her father’s face if she failed.

  Chapter 7—Recovering the Fumble

  Derek sat on the bench, helmet in his hands. He glanced at the clock—four minutes and thirteen seconds left in the fourth quarter. The Steelheads were well on their way to their first loss of the regular season. HughJack paced back and forth in front of the bench, fit to be tied, yelling at offense and defense alike. He’d thrown his clipboard several times, which didn’t bode well for the after-game locker room speech.

  They sucked. Turnovers and penalties were killing them, mistakes a team coached by someone of HughJack’s caliber should never make. There’d be hell to pay, and it didn’t matter that Derek hadn’t been in on one play. He felt as responsible as the next player.

  Despite their countless mistakes, they weren’t out of it. Yet. If Tyler completed a few passes—a rarity so far—they’d stand a fighting chance.

  As Derek watched, his cousin threw a quick pass over the middle—right on target if he’d been playing for the other team. HughJack stomped his feet and slammed the clipboard to the ground again. The hotheaded coach roared until Derek expected an artery in his neck to explode or his face to burst into flames.

  Tyler stalked to the bench and threw his helmet on the turf near Derek’s feet. HughJack followed right on his ass, yelling obscenities that ranged from insulting Tyler’s manhood—or lack thereof—to his lack of balls. To Tyler’s credit, he stood there and took it, his jaw tight and fists clenched.

  The coach turned away, muttering something about dumb-shit, prima donna quarterbacks and how he’d be better off with Bob the Beer Man.