by Regina Hart
“Who gets into foul trouble five minutes into the game.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
Oscar returned his gaze with a silent, steady stare.
How much aggravation was he going to have to deal with to make it through the season? He’d challenged a franchise owner who wanted to move the team from Brooklyn. He was fighting players who’d accepted the idea of not making it to the play-offs before the season had even started. Now he was butting heads with one of his assistants who still acted like the interim head coach.
DeMarcus propped his right ankle on his left knee. “If you didn’t agree with my plan, why didn’t you talk to me instead of substituting your own?”
Oscar folded his hands on top of the stack of papers on his desk. “You wouldn’t listen.”
A weak excuse. “I’m listening now.”
“Then change the plan.”
“ No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t agree with you.”
Oscar sat back again. “We’re oh-and-eight. Your plans don’t work.”
The muscles in his shoulders knotted even as DeMarcus tried not to react to the criticism. “Is it the plan or the players?”
Oscar shook his head. “You don’t know these players like I do.”
“If you know them and what they’re capable of, why didn’t you apply for the head coach position?”
Oscar glared at him. “Didn’t want it.”
He’d hit a nerve. “Didn’t want or weren’t offered?”
Oscar clenched his fist. “That butt wipe, Gerry, offered me the position. And I knew why. I’m a good assistant. A damn good one. But I’m not head coach material. I know that and he knows it, too. That’s why he wanted me for the position. Like you, he wanted me so the team would lose.”
DeMarcus took a deep breath. Oscar had hit back. Hard. “The team won’t lose because of me. But it will if we don’t work together.”
“Rick needs more touches.”
DeMarcus shook his head at the other man’s stubbornness. “You’ve routinely given Rick’s thirty percent of the touches. But for the past four seasons, you’ve been losing.”
“He didn’t have the right players around him.”
“He’s lost his nerve.”
“He needs new players.”
“The franchise doesn’t have the money for quality trades.” DeMarcus sighed. “We have to build the team around another player.”
Oscar’s expression tightened. “I’ve been with Rick his whole career. He’s the leader of this team.”
DeMarcus pushed himself to his feet. “He was the leader of this team.”
Oscar lifted his head to maintain DeMarcus’s eye contact. “We can win with Rick on the court.”
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. The team needs a change.” DeMarcus took the copy of Oscar’s game plan from the assistant coach’s desk and tore it in half. “If you disagree with me in the future, talk to me. Don’t go behind my back.”
DeMarcus gripped the pieces of the plan in his fist and strode from Oscar’s office.
Jaclyn stood with her back to the kitchen door of the Morning Glory Chapel. She pinned her curls up and tucked them under a hairnet. The sound of the door opening preceded the brisk clicking of stiletto heels.
She glanced over her shoulder and froze. A grin stretched her lips. “Welcome back, Violet Ebanks O’Neal.”
Violet strutted across the room clothed in skinny navy jeans and a tight lavender cashmere sweater. Her makeup emphasized her violet eyes and high cheekbones. She drew her fingers through her salon-styled, auburn hair and grinned back. “I feel like my old self. You were right.”
“Of course I was. What about?”
Violet secured her hair under a net. “That I needed some time on my own to figure out what I was missing in my life. That’s what I’ve been doing these past two weeks.”
Jaclyn hefted a pot of mixed vegetables and waited while Violet lifted a pan of ground turkey. “Did you figure it out?”
Jaclyn nudged the kitchen door open with her right hip and held it while Violet walked through. The dining area buzzed with the energy and chatter of other volunteers preparing dinner for the food bank’s customers, the community’s homeless and working poor.
“I want to go back to work.” Violet’s voice preceded Jaclyn to the staging area where the volunteers and food bank employees arranged pots and pans of food as well as disposable plates and utensils.
Jaclyn set down her pot of vegetables and glanced over at Violet. “What do you want to do?”
Violet arranged her station next to Jaclyn’s. “I don’t know yet. Maybe coaching, either in a high school or a college. I have a business degree. I could do something with that. All I know is that I want to work with other adults.”
Jaclyn thought of Gerald and Albert, and the divided loyalties of her administrative staff. “That can be challenging.”
“Mish Jones.” The high-pitched voice came from the other side of the serving tables.
Jaclyn smiled in anticipation of seeing the little girl who’d called her name. She approached the table and looked down at the honey-blond head. “Tiffany. How are you, sweetheart?”
The three-year-old girl tugged on her mother’s hand and dropped her green gaze. “Fine.” The word emerged on a shallow breath. Tiffany was still a little shy, but over the past two weeks, she’d started talking more.
Jaclyn circled the long line of serving tables to join mother and daughter in the dining area. She switched her welcome to the blond woman who was never far from Tiffany’s side. “How are you, Connie?”
Constance’s green gaze, identical to her daughter’s, still wavered whenever someone addressed her directly. “Fine, thank you.” Her Midwestern accent identified her as a recent transplant to the Big Apple. How long had she been in Brooklyn?
Jaclyn kept the easy smile on her lips although the large bruises just beginning to fade from the young mother’s fragile features made her want to cry. “Are you still comfortable at the shelter?”
Jaclyn had a vested interest in Constance’s answer. The Monarchs’ staff, players and administration donated time, money and materials to the Morning Glory Chapel’s homeless shelter.
Constance’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. Tiff and I are very comfortable there.”
“Good.” Jaclyn turned to Tiffany, whose curious gaze shifted between Jaclyn and her mother. “I have something for you.”
She went to Violet, who was handling her station as well as Jaclyn’s for the moment. Her friend found the shopping bag waiting under her station. Jaclyn returned to present the bag to Tiffany. The little girl looked to her mother.
Constance stroked her daughter’s neat, blond locks. “Say thank you, honey.”
“Thank you.” Tiffany accepted the bag. Her eyes widened as she pulled out the chubby, brown teddy bear. “Wow. Thank you.” Her face glowed with joy.
Jaclyn laughed. “You’re very welcome. I heard you were lonely. I thought he could keep you company for now.”
Tiffany showed the bear to her mother. “Mama, look.”
Constance blinked. Her voice shook. “I see, honey. What will you name him?”
Tiffany hugged the stuffed toy. “Bear.”
Constance chuckled. “That’s fitting.” She turned to Jaclyn. “Thank you so much. She has been lonely. And scared, I think. How did you know?”
Jaclyn extended her hand and touched the other woman’s thin forearm. “Father Leonard told me. I’d better get back to the line. We’re serving ground turkey and vegetables tonight.” She gave Constance an encouraging smile before leaving.
Violet handed Jaclyn her apron. “You should be a mother.”
“Hopefully, one day.” Jaclyn heard the wistful note in her voice. She shook off the feeling and tied the apron around her waist. “But we’re talking about you. It sounds as though you’ve made a major break
through.”
“I did. I don’t feel like I’m being a bad mother because I want to go back to work.”
“You’re not.” Jaclyn moved to her station and picked up her serving spoon. “Dawnie won’t be neglected just because you’re working.”
Violet spoke with confidence. “I’ll make sure of that. If it comes to a choice between my daughter and my work, Dawnie will always come first.”
“That’s the way it should be. My grandfather made me his priority, even missing away games if I had a school event that he thought he should attend.”
Violet checked her silver wristwatch. “Speaking of away games, aren’t you flying to Atlanta with the team tonight?”
Experience helped Jaclyn keep up with her friend’s frequent conversation bounces. She checked her own watch and her pulse leaped. The Monarchs were leaving for Atlanta in just over two hours. Would they finally win a game tomorrow night or extend their losses to zero and nine two weeks into the six-month season? “I’m already packed. I’ll meet them at the airport once we’re finished.”
Violet nodded. “I’m lucky that my parents and Aidan’s parents are available to babysit when I go back to work. Although I’d like to put Dawnie in nursery school when she’s older.”
Jaclyn stared across the room at the crowd making their way into the dining area. Men and women, young and old. Mothers with their children. “My grandfather had wanted to open a daycare center in the arena and offer it to the community. He said parents should never have to choose between their family and their job. I’d like to fulfill his wish.”
“How are the negotiations going with the Empire’s owners?”
Jaclyn’s grip flexed around the serving spoon. “It all comes down to what they’ll make from our rent. We’ve got to increase our event revenue. Failing that, I’ll have to figure out another way to raise the money.”
“Like what?”
Jaclyn’s gaze took in the people seated at the shelter’s dining table. Her neighbors. “I don’t know. But saving the Monarchs is about more than protecting my grandfather’s legacy. It’s about serving the community. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it going. I just wish I knew what it would take.”
Jaclyn hesitated in front of DeMarcus’s hotel room. They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk on the plane. She wanted to know what he thought of the team’s chances of beating the Hawks, especially since they were playing in Philips Arena, the Hawks’ home court. Jaclyn rapped three times on the door. She looked around the pale gold walls and burgundy carpets. The hotel was clean, quiet and nice. The players should get a good night’s sleep here. She hadn’t been able to sleep all week. Her team needed a win.
She stared at the door. What was taking DeMarcus so long to answer? He wasn’t at dinner. They’d eaten with the players earlier. He couldn’t be asleep. It was just after nine P.M. She raised her fist to knock again. Before she could, the door swung open. DeMarcus stood in the threshold. He wore tan sweatpants and a blue Miami Waves jersey.
Jaclyn’s inspection slid to his bare feet. “I’d rather my head coach didn’t wear our division rival’s logo.”
“Sorry.” DeMarcus’s expression was as cold as it had been hot the night he’d held her against him and explored her mouth with his tongue.
Jaclyn glanced into his hotel room. For the first time it occurred to her DeMarcus might not be alone. “Am I . . . interrupting . . . anything?”
DeMarcus leaned a thickly muscled shoulder against the threshold. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Is this a good time?”
He hesitated. Finally, he stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Sure.”
Jaclyn moved past him. His warm, musky scent brushed her like a physical touch, stirring memories of the night they’d played basketball. She gave herself a mental shake. She needed to focus on the reason she was here and not get caught in desires that would only tangle an already-complicated situation.
Jaclyn followed the plush, royal blue carpet past the entryway, through the living space into the study area. “Ticket sales have slowed, which I’m sure we can attribute to our oh-and-eight start.” She turned to face DeMarcus. “This isn’t going to bring in the crowds we need.”
DeMarcus propped his shoulder against the wall separating the entryway from the rest of the room. “You should have given the team’s postgame speech after we lost to the Jazz Monday night.”
Jaclyn’s eyes narrowed at the bite in his voice. “I’m sure you handled it well.” She noticed again the distance in his eyes and the tension in his stance. “How are the players? Are they tight, loose?”
“They’re fine.”
“And you?”
“Fine.” DeMarcus straightened from the wall and paced past her to the French doors on the other side of the small, mahogany writing desk. He drew the curtains back to study Atlanta at night.
Jaclyn circled to keep him in sight. His movements were stiff, his expression strained. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”
DeMarcus turned to meet her eyes. “Is Rick your spy?”
She wanted to laugh. “What makes you think that?”
“I saw you running with him this morning.” He looked so serious.
Jaclyn swallowed a chuckle. In his current mood, DeMarcus wouldn’t appreciate her humor. “When I wanted you to resign, you threw me out of your office.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “When Gerry wanted you to coach a losing season, you quit. If you have something to say, Marc, you’ll say it. Why would I need Rick to spy on you?”
DeMarcus leaned his hips against the writing table. “He’s a married man.”
Jaclyn blinked at the sudden topic shift. “I know. I went to his wedding.”
“He’s a married man and an employee, but you’re still having a personal relationship with him.”
Jaclyn was speechless for several heartbeats. “You think I’m having an affair with Rick?” DeMarcus didn’t answer. Jaclyn felt her temper stir. “Rick and I have been friends for twelve years. He’s like a brother to me.”
“That’s not the way it looked to me.”
She arched a brow. “Your office is on the other side of the arena. How could you possibly have seen us?”
“I’d gone back to the parking lot before you’d started your run. I’d left something in my car.” DeMarcus stood up from the writing desk and stepped closer to Jaclyn. “I saw you put your arms around him like this.” He lifted her arms and wrapped them around his taut waist. “And Evans put his arms around you like this.” The muscles of his forearms pressed into her sides. “And then he pressed his cheek against yours like this.” DeMarcus husked the words into her ear as he pressed his cheek against hers.
Jaclyn shivered from head to toe. The light stubble on his unshaven cheek rasped against her skin. She took a deep breath to steady her trembling muscles, drawing in his soap-and-sandalwood scent. The strings of desire were reaching out to her. With an effort, she pulled back, lowering her arms from his body. “Marc.” She cleared her throat. “Rick loves Mary. He and I are just friends.”
DeMarcus drew his hand down her back, bringing her close again. “Good. Because I want to be much more.” He covered her mouth with his.
11
Sensation, sharp and sweet, shot through Jaclyn, top to bottom. His touch, his taste made her scalp tingle and her toes curl. Everywhere he touched her—back, waist, hips—burned. His taste made her blood sing. She wanted to get closer to him. She needed to have more of him. She yearned to give him more of her. The strings of desire had captured her. In truth, she’d wanted to be ensnared. She threw caution—and freedom—to the winds.
His scent clouded her mind. She moaned, anxious to feel more of him. Jaclyn rose onto her toes and arched her torso into his. She sighed when DeMarcus held her closer. She slipped her palms beneath his jersey, reveling in his smooth, warm flesh. His hard muscles flexed beneath her fingertips.
DeMarcus released her but didn’t move away
. “You know where this is going.”
Jaclyn opened her eyes. Cool air brushed over her heated face. She blinked. “What?”
A shadow of a smile eased DeMarcus’s strained features. “I want you. But are you sure you want this?”
Jaclyn reached up, cupping the side of his squared jaw. “Very sure.”
“You’re still my boss.”
Her lips curved teasingly. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to do anything kinky.”
DeMarcus remained serious. “I don’t want you to regret tonight.”
“Then tell me you have condoms.”
He finally smiled, bringing out the dimples she loved. “Condoms? More than one?”
“Am I scaring you?”
DeMarcus wrapped his arms around Jaclyn and pulled her closer. Their lips touched. His caress was demanding, encompassing, consuming. He lifted his head. “I can handle it.”
Jaclyn smiled slowly. “I thought you could.”
She slid her hands over the smooth, cool material of his jersey, across his well-developed pecs and six-pack abs. His body was a fine-tuned machine, ripped and ready for action. She wanted to savor every flexing muscle. Her fingers trembled and her body warmed. DeMarcus’s chest rose and fell faster as he watched her watching him. Jaclyn slipped her hands under the hem of his jersey, raising it as she slid her palms back up his torso. All that power beneath her fingertips. He’d been a champion, performing at the highest level of his sport. But he’d walked away from the game when his father had needed him. Courage and heart, an arousing combination.
DeMarcus pulled the sport shirt over his head. Jaclyn moved back and swallowed. She’d been turned on by the feel of him. She was overwhelmed at the sight of him. His dark brown skin was stretched taut over well-developed muscles—sculpted shoulders, sinewy arms, deep pecs and tight abs. The fine hair covering his chest narrowed to a tempting trail down his torso. It disappeared beneath the low waistband of his tan sweatpants. Jaclyn came forward to trace its course. She lifted her eyes to his. “You’re amazing.”
DeMarcus closed the distance even further, till his warmth wrapped around her and his scent spun her thoughts. “Your turn.” He reached behind Jaclyn’s back and drew down her zipper.
