* * *
It was a clear evening, and still pretty warm for the end of September. The park was close enough to the Sound that seagulls circled and squawked overhead as Pierce walked from the parking lot to the field. Slipping his cell phone and keys into the deep pockets of his long athletic shorts, he carried a water bottle in one hand and tucked the soccer ball under his other arm. The grass was soft beneath his sneakers, and the sounds of kids playing carried on the air. Seven o’clock and the sun was just starting to set, turning the clouds into pinkish streaks across the deepening blue of the sky.
It felt good to be there.
Pierce had been spending a lot of time alone, holed up in Tess’s cottage or taking long runs along the Sound. Other than the one night he’d gone out with Dane, he’d basically gone underground. He wasn’t hiding; he just wanted solitude as he licked his wounds. Tess understood, which made him feel like at least he wasn’t losing it altogether. She showered him with affection, shared meals and time with him . . . he’d definitely started to feel a little better since he’d gotten to her house. She was the best sister in the world.
But he needed to get out more. He knew that. He’d been sulking a lot, but also thinking about the future. What would his next steps be? How would he make a life for himself after football? At least he had plenty of time to figure it out. He had plenty of his own money earned in his decade on the playing field. So, in the meantime, he’d hang out at Tess’s safe house, catch up on TV, go to the gym, go to the beach, and coach some soccer.
Scanning the field as he passed the first goalie net, he saw parents dotting the sidelines and two clusters of kids. The team on the closer end of the field had a male coach, so that wasn’t the Jaguars. He squinted behind his sunglasses, searching . . . there she was. Abby’s back was to him, one hand gesturing as she spoke to the boys, the other clutching that damn clipboard. Her straight, blond hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, and her sweet little ass and lovely legs looked delectable in her blue shorts.
“There he is!” one of the little boys screamed. The whole group of them, about a dozen, ran toward him. They swarmed around him like excited puppies, reminding him of the way Bubbles yipped whenever someone walked through the door.
“Coach Abby says you’re gonna be our new coach!” one yelped.
“Is that true?” another one asked.
“You’re really gonna be our coach?” “Are you gonna stay the whole season?” “Can you do that trick with the ball again, the one you did the other day?”
All the boys were talking at once, so ecstatic they were practically bouncing. He chuckled and said, “Whoa, wait! One at a time, I can’t make out anything you guys are saying.” He glanced over at Abby, who stood a few feet away, holding her clipboard to her chest with lips pursed as she assessed him. And yes, she was definitely assessing him. He shot her a grin. “Hey, Coach.”
“Hello.” Her mouth curved downward into a slight frown, her voice stern as she said, “You’re late, Mr. Harrison.”
“Pierce, please.” He took off his sunglasses to better look at her. She didn’t seem happy to see him. He guessed her assessment had him coming up short. The look in her dark blue eyes was . . . wary. He wondered how much she’d read up on him since she found out they’d be coaching together. “Am I late? I thought practice started at seven.”
“It does. But you were supposed to be here at six thirty so I could go over some things with you first.”
“Oh.” His brows furrowed as he thought. “Really? I didn’t know.”
“I e-mailed you yesterday. Maybe Sofia gave me the wrong e-mail address?”
He winced. “No, it’s probably right. It’s my fault—I don’t check e-mail every day. Sorry. Uh . . . you should always text me to reach me. I’ll give you my number at the end of practice.”
She walked to him and held out the clipboard, pulling the pen free from the clip. “Here, you can write it down now.”
Standing before him, he realized she was actually a bit above average height for a woman—she had to be at least five-foot-six, maybe five-seven. But at six-foot-two, he still towered over her. He was the tallest of his brothers, and had been one of the tallest players in the league. His long legs had helped him in the sport, that was for sure. He dropped the ball and water bottle to the ground and held her gaze for a moment. They were dark blue with a hint of gray, like the ocean during a storm. She looked back at him from beneath long lashes, waiting.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said plainly.
Blushing, she blinked and looked away to the kids, seemingly embarrassed that they might have heard his open compliment. With a grin, he looked down at the clipboard. She had the team roster there, with an attendance record marked off by hand. With a red pen, even. He swallowed a chuckle. There were other papers beneath, and curiosity pinched at him. He wanted to see what else Miss Organization had going on there. But he quickly scrawled his cell number at the top of the roster and handed the clipboard back to her. “Text me or call me anytime.”
She nodded and their fingers brushed as he returned the pen. The faint blush still on her cheeks deepened, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips, an innocent gesture that made his libido spark to life. His blood started to pulse as he realized he affected her. Her looks and words may have been sharp with him, but her body language told another story. He held her gaze for another long beat, then turned his eyes down to the kids. “Okay! So. All of you, just call me Pierce, okay? And just so you understand, Coach Abby and I are both your coaches. I’m not taking away her job. If anything, I’m going to be following her lead. What she says goes. All right?”
The boys all said yes or nodded.
“Let’s get started, then.” He looked to Abby, who was still staring at him. His eyebrow lifted, and the blush on her pale skin deepened again. Ha! Busted. And damn, so adorable. He felt the side of his mouth quirk up, he couldn’t help it. “What do you usually do first?” he asked.
“Um . . . a few light stretches,” she said, blinking. She cleared her throat, and in a flash she was back to her cool, crisp, efficient self. “Let’s go, guys. Sit down, do the leg stretches.”
They all did what she said, lowering to the grass. As the dozen boys leaned over their short stick legs, talking to one another as they stretched their muscles, Pierce moved to Abby’s side. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, so the kids couldn’t hear. “The e-mail thing. I didn’t mean to be late. Not a great first impression, huh.”
She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I just thought maybe you’d changed your mind about coming.”
“What? No. Abby, I want to do this. It’s going to be fun.” He slanted a wry look. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me for the season.”
She looked up then. “I don’t consider myself ‘stuck with’ you. That’s not . . . very nice. I’m not, like, pissy that you’re here.”
“Pissy?” The grin burst across his face. “Oh, good.” He could barely contain the laugh threatening to escape.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. The way you hissed out that word. You just . . .” Now he did chuckle. Her eyes narrowed a bit, and he swallowed the rest of his laughter and cleared his throat. “Why don’t I just follow your lead tonight?” he suggested. “You run the practice how you usually do; I’ll watch, and jump in here and there. Especially with teaching them some basic footwork and strategies. Gotta get their passing game down before anything else, that’s top priority. All right with you?”
“Yeah, sure.” She nodded, but her expression was still tight and wary.
Something in him wanted very much to take that look off her face.
“How about after practice,” he suggested, “we can go out for a drink or get a bite to eat, and go over all the things you wanted to tell me. Sound good?”
“I, um . . .” She blinked again, obviously thrown. He wondered at it. “I can’t. See that kid?” She pointed to a skinny blond-haired b
oy who was fidgeting with his cleats as his feet tapped together restlessly. “That’s my nephew, Dylan. That’s why—how—I got involved with the league in the first place. I have to bring him home after practice.”
“Oh.” Pierce glanced back at the kid again, who was now clapping his hands on his knees like a rock drummer. Cute kid. Boundless energy. “You’re a good aunt, then.”
“I try.”
“Well, after you drop him off, wanna meet me somewhere?” The corner of his mouth curved up as he held her gaze. “To talk soccer. Of course.”
Abby was transfixed by the way his sensual mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. He possibly had one of the most kissable mouths she’d ever seen. Ohhh yeah. Just like she’d surmised: dangerous. “I’m a teacher,” she said. “That’s my day job. I teach first grade, over in Blue Harbor.”
“Blue Harbor, really?” Pierce grinned. “One of my brothers lives there now. He got married recently. His wife lived there, so he left the city and moved in with her.”
“That’s nice. But, um, the thing is, it’s Monday. I have school tomorrow. I go to bed early, because I wake up early. So I can’t first go out at eight thirty or nine o’clock; I go to bed around ten, ten thirty at the latest.” There. That would put him off. That was the truth, and it sounded reasonable. But she cringed inside as she realized it also made her sound like she was a hundred years old. Mister Party Boy Soccer Star was probably laughing at her in his head. A wave of embarrassment whooshed through her.
“Okay, I understand,” he said. He rubbed his scruffy square jaw, an absentminded gesture that she found unbearably sexy. She tried not to let her eyes wander over how his lean, taut frame filled out the tight white T-shirt and black shorts, or the way his tousled dark hair fell over his forehead, or how when he stood so close she could catch his scent, the faint smell of sweat mixed with some coconutty sunblock. And a hint of chlorine. Like he’d been at a pool all day. The sudden thought of him swimming made her girly parts throb. Those long, tattooed arms cutting through the water, his powerful shoulders and back with water cascading down them . . . wearing nothing but board shorts on his sinewy, sculpted body . . .
Heat flushed through her like a tidal wave. She swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? Being near him scrambled her brain, and she didn’t like it.
He flashed another killer smile and said, “How about tomorrow, then? I’ll take you to dinner. My treat, since I was the lazy ass who didn’t check my e-mail today. Is six o’clock good for you?”
She blinked and stammered, “I, uh—no, it’s—dinner?”
“Yeah, dinner. You know, the meal people eat in the evening?” he teased. She scowled at him, and he laughed. “If not tomorrow, are you free Wednesday? Because if the next practice is Thursday, I’m sure you’ll want to fill me in before then, right?” The look in his sparkling blue eyes challenged and teased.
Oh boy. She was way out of her element with him and she knew it. Bucket loads of easygoing charm to go along with movie-star looks? She’d really have to keep her wits about her if she didn’t want to turn into bad boy roadkill.
“Abby?” His lopsided grin widened. “Yes? No?”
“Yes. Tomorrow. I’ll meet you tomorrow.”
“Great. Six o’clock?”
“Sure. Where should I meet you?”
He frowned slightly at that. “Meet me? I can pick you up.”
“Not necessary. I’ll just meet you,” she insisted.
“Okaaay. Um . . . how about the Clam Shack?” he suggested. “You know it?”
She knew the place well. Casual atmosphere, great seafood, with an outside deck that had tables by the water. Just over in the next town, she went there often with friends or her sister when the weather was good. “You know that place?”
“My sister took me there for lunch a few days ago. It was good. Nice view of the Sound. So, meet you there tomorrow at six?” His eyes sparkled as he gazed down at her.
“Yup,” she said.
“Brilliant. And, uh . . .” He leaned in a little to whisper, “Don’t forget your clipboard.” His mouth curved in a deliciously teasing grin.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or kick him.
Chapter Six
Abby tried to calm the heavy thumps of her heart as she drove to the Clam Shack the next evening. Her pulse raced, her face felt flushed, and she flippin’ stammered like a schoolgirl whenever Pierce turned on the charm. It was like he gave her a case of the temporary stupids, and that didn’t sit well with her. She hadn’t had an insanely physical reaction to a man like this since . . . well, a really long time. He made her head spin and her body pulse with desire.
She didn’t like it.
And she wasn’t going to be one of his many conquests.
Not that he’d asked.
But throughout practice last night, she’d caught a few looks he’d tossed her way. Flirty, sexy glances that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. Whenever his back was to her, her eyes glided over his body. She couldn’t deny it if she tried: The man was fine. His tattoos kind of shocked her, though. There were just so many of them. Why did so many professional athletes these days cover half their skin in ink? Pierce’s weren’t that prominent unless he wore short sleeves and shorts. Then, you saw them all, and she did. Peeking out from beneath his sleeves along the clearly defined muscles in his arms . . . along his long, sculpted legs, one of his ankles . . . God, his calf muscles. She wished his shorts weren’t knee-length so she could check out his thighs, too. She bet they were muscled, too, cut, gorgeous . . .
She grunted at herself, a self-reprimand, and made herself concentrate on the road.
Her thoughts went right back to Pierce, though. She’d watched carefully last night as he showed the kids how to pass the ball to one another. It was different than the way that she’d tried to teach them. A better way, she saw, as the kids instantly started to pick it up. He knew the game, that wasn’t in question. But she’d wondered if he’d have the patience to teach kids his moves. Apparently, he could. He was firm when showing them a skill, but encouraging as they tried it, cheering them on as they dribbled the ball, or high-fiving them.
He was having fun with the boys. She liked the boys, but she wouldn’t exactly have called their practices fun. With his help, it wasn’t so much like herding cats; in fact, between the two of them, she saw a small difference in the kids in just one practice. And she saw something in him she hadn’t expected: he was good-natured. She’d also watched at pickup time as Pierce made a point of introducing himself to each parent. Heard him explaining that he’d be her assistant coach and assuring them she was still the head coach, and that he was just there to help with sharpening skills and moral support, for both the team and for Abby.
She was dying to ask him, “Why are you doing this?” What the hell was a pro soccer star, from a gazillionaire family to boot, doing helping out a middle-class kids’ soccer team? A young, free, wealthy man had nothing better to do? There had to be a reason other than he had time to fill. Curiosity gnawed at her. Tonight, she planned to get some answers.
But the fact was—whether Pierce realized it or not—he was a fantastic coach. A natural with the kids.
She had to admit that her main issue with him was that he was hotter than hell and got her all riled up just looking at him. And she didn’t like feeling that way when she knew his reputation.
But she never would admit it to him. She sensed he was the type of guy who was used to people praising him, fawning over him—especially women. No way in hell would she be one of those women. Besides, she didn’t trust him. In her painful experience, men lied. A lot. And from what she’d read online, he was probably as smoothly skilled with lines and lies as he was with a soccer ball.
If only she weren’t so distracted by him. Curious about him. Attracted to him.
She’d never been into alpha guys with tattoos and swagger; she usually stayed away from men like that, and they’d never looked at her either. But
she couldn’t deny that there was something about Pierce. Maybe it was because he was so different from what she was usually drawn to? Strong, sexy, athletic—pure testosterone on low simmer.
He’d told her she had beautiful eyes . . . her nipples pebbled just thinking about how his deep voice had rumbled when saying that, and she shifted a bit in her seat. Ugh. She’d been alone for a long time now and clearly her hormones were out of control. But she had to keep it cool and professional. Coach the team with him and not let him see how he affected her.
She would be seeing him three times a week for the next seven weeks. And had accepted an invitation to dinner, just the two of them, which she’d be at any minute.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
* * *
Pierce took another swig of his beer as he gazed out at the view before him. Boats bobbed on the water, birds flew overhead, and houses peeked from behind the trees across the Sound. It felt good. Getting away from London and the crowds . . . spending more time by the water, and the beach. Pierce wondered if deep down he’d known he’d needed to escape it all in a place like this. He never thought he’d go back to Long Island. But he was enjoying it.
His cell phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up. Text from Troy. Five bucks says she doesn’t show.
Pierce snorted out a laugh and typed back, Ten says she does. And on time.
LOL! That’s my egocentric friend, back in the saddle. Missed ya, buddy. Welcome back.
STFU, Pierce typed back, grinning to himself.
Remember, it’s not a date, Troy wrote. It’s a business meeting. Hands to yourself, young man.
Pierce laughed aloud at that. I make no promises.
That’s my boy.
Someone Like You Page 6
