by Jeannie Moon
*
Adam Miller conferred with his assistants and could only shake his head as he looked at his roster. Their first game was three days away, and the offensive line had more holes than a cheap hooker’s panties. The way things were going, he’d be down a quarterback by halftime on Saturday.
“I got almost 1500 pounds on that line, they should be able to block something,” Adam mumbled.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Drew Griffin, one of the assistants, said. “There’s no way we could have anticipated those two injuries.”
That was true. More than half of their starters from last year’s team had either graduated or were no longer eligible to play. Then two of his veteran offensive lineman got hurt within days of each other. He had to get used to the fact that his team was green, and the best he could hope for was that they would get better with experience.
He flipped the playbook closed and stuffed the pen into his pocket.
“Adam? Looks like we’ve got company.” Joe Rand, his defensive coordinator and best friend, pointed toward the end zone. There, sitting with his legs pulled up, was a kid. Alone.
“Damn.” The last thing Adam wanted to deal with right now was a misplaced kid. He hoped one of the other coaches would make a move to check things out, because there was no reason a kid should be on this part of campus by himself. But no, eight of them stood there, and suddenly not one member of his staff was making eye contact with him. No one even looked up. Great.
“Here, take this for me.” Handing off his binder to Joe, Adam walked down the field.
He guessed the boy was maybe eleven or twelve years old—hard to say, hunched over like that—but when the kid saw him coming, he scrambled to his feet and looked scared shitless. Adam had seen kids react to him in a lot of different ways, but this one was new. The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and when Adam got close enough, he could see the kid had been crying.
“Hey,” Adam said. “You okay?”
“I guess.”
“Lost?”
“Sorta.”
“Sorta?” The kid sure wasn’t giving much.
All Adam got this time was a shrug. He blew out a long breath and extended his hand. “I’m Coach Miller.”
The boy met his eyes and shook his hand. Still nothing.
“You got a name?” More silence.
“Ben DeAngelis.”
Finally something. Maybe he could figure out who owned this kid. “So, Ben, where are you supposed to be?”
Adam realized he’d asked the million-dollar question when Ben looked down and moved his feet uncomfortably.
“With my aunt at the library.”
“Ah. She’s a student?”
“No, sir. She works there.”
“Does she know where you are?”
“No, sir,” Ben whispered.
Adam widened his stance, folded his arms, and stared down at the boy. Intimidation would go a long way with this kid. He was too respectful not to respond to an adult’s request. “What do you think you should do?” He gave Ben some time to think through what he wanted to say. Sure enough, it came eventually.
“Go back to the library.”
“Good answer.” Adam was relieved he wasn’t going to have to pressure the kid, but he had to regroup quickly as Ben turned to walk away. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen, not when Ben so much as admitted he was lost.
“Whoa.” He reached out and took him by the arm. “Come back to my office and you can call your aunt.”
Ben nodded and the two of them started toward the field house. Kids usually talked up a storm around him, but this kid wasn’t saying much. Maybe a little activity would get him to open up. Adam pointed to two footballs on the sideline. “Go grab those two balls and toss them to me.”
The kid’s eyes lit up and he ran to the side of the field. He picked up the first ball, turned it in his hand a little and threw it to Adam. Not bad.
The second throw was better.
When Ben returned to his side, Adam stopped walking, dropped one football, and handed Ben the other. “Let me show you something. Put your fingers here and here.” He moved the boy’s fingers into position over the laces and Adam marveled at the size of the kid’s hands. He was born to hold a football. “That’s good, but not so tight. You want to have a little space between your hand and the football.”
“Like this?” Ben had made an adjustment and the ball sat perfectly in his hand.
Adam nodded. “Good. Throw it.”
It was poetry in motion. Ben dropped back a couple of steps, planted his feet and threw. The ball took off like a rocket. Damn.
They watched the ball’s flight and Adam grinned at Ben’s stunned expression. “Much better.” Tossing him the other football, Adam said, “Now, do it again.”
*
Once he started talking, Ben told Adam a lot about his recent move to Compass Cove. In the fifteen minutes he’d been with him, Adam had gotten an earful from Ben about why he’d run away, the ridiculous school rule about football that was at the root of his problem, and his aunt who wanted him to follow all the rules, no matter what.
That rule following thing sounded pretty boring to him, as did Ben’s aunt. But she was a librarian; he could just picture her, all serious and uptight. It sounded like she needed to let the kid be a kid.
He thought about his own mother, who’d let Adam pursue every dream, even after his father died. He couldn’t imagine being brought up in a bubble. Poor kid.
“So, what did your aunt say when you called?”
Ben took a drink from the water bottle Adam had given him. “That she was glad I found an adult and that I called. She said she’d be here soon.”
Adam had been surprised to hear the kid was only ten. He looked older. “Do you go to school at Jennings Elementary?”
Ben nodded, but didn’t look very happy.
“Don’t like school?”
“School is okay. But like I said, we just moved here from Maryland.”
Adam understood: it wasn’t easy being the new kid. “Give it time.” Adam took a long pull from a bottle of water that he had on his desk, processing the information. “Where did you live in Maryland?”
“Right near Washington.”
“Yeah? I played close to there, in Baltimore. Now I live in Compass Cove, like you.”
“Like you played pro football?”
Adam nodded. He didn’t want to tell the kid it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“That’s so cool.”
A door opened and closed and decidedly female footsteps approached.
“That’s my Aunt Mia.”
Adam braced himself. He told himself she was probably a perfectly nice woman, and that he shouldn’t judge, and that she—she—Adam swallowed hard when the librarian entered his office.
Oh. Damn.
This woman blew every librarian stereotype right out the freaking window. She was gorgeous. And she was young.
Her hair was a mane of loose brown curls, the same color as the toffee candy he used to find on his grandfather’s desk. It was pulled loosely off her face, tumbling almost to her waist, and long, dark lashes surrounded her big brown eyes. Adam had to shake off his reaction before he could say something coherent. There had to be something wrong with this. Wasn’t there some librarian rulebook that kept attractive off the grid?
She swept into the room and went right to Ben.
“Oh Benny, thank God.” Her arms wrapped around the boy and Ben hugged his aunt’s middle.
While the reunion took place, Adam adjusted to the real Aunt Mia. She was beautiful like an angel would be beautiful, soft and gentle. There seemed to be an aura that surrounded her.
Shit. What the… he had to get a hold of himself. It was enough that the sudden surge of blood to his groin was something he hadn’t experienced since he was in his twenties, but auras? What the fuck?
Still, he couldn’t deny that something about her made his heart pound,
and the rush in his ears was freaking him out. Thank God her focus was on her nephew, and not him. Adam didn’t need her to see how affected he was.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said.
“Me too. But don’t you ever run off like that again. I’ve been worried sick!”
Ben nodded and Mia finally glanced at Adam. She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Mia DeAngelis. Thank you so much for taking charge of Ben, Mr.…”
“Coach.” Shit.
“Mr. Coach?”
“I mean Miller.” Damn, he thought. She was standing there, grinning, probably thinking he was an idiot. Jesus, he thought. When did he ever react this way around a woman? “Adam Miller,” he said as he took her outstretched hand. “Please call me Adam.”
“He has the same name as your library,” Ben said. “Is it named after you, Coach?”
“Ben, Miller is a fairly common name—” Mia began.
“My grandfather,” Adam interrupted. “The Miller Library is named for my grandfather.”
“Oh. Well,” she said awkwardly. “I stand—um—corrected.” Immediately her back stiffened and Mia looked away, keeping her hand firmly on Ben’s shoulder.
An uncomfortable silence descended, the chill going right through him. Adam had blown this first impression big time. Mentioning his family was obviously a mistake. What a way to sound like a pretentious ass.
Then, as Adam began to gather his wits, Mia blinked those soft brown eyes, made a little noise in her throat and his vision clouded again. Just like that.
What the hell was going on?
Nodding deferentially in Adam’s direction, Mia pointed Ben toward the door. “Thank you again. We’ll get out of your way.”
Damn. Where was she going? “You’re leaving?” he said quickly.
“Is that a problem?” She stopped, confused, her twitching hands telling him she was nervous. Think fast.
“No, no… of course not. It’s just…” Recover, man. You have to recover. “I’m done here. Let me walk you out.”
She nodded, but Adam could see she was being polite. He watched her twist her hands and noticed her left ring finger was bare. With any other woman, he’d think the nerves were a sign she was interested. But given her earlier reaction, he figured the nerves were about his family name. Then again, maybe she just didn’t like him. He looked at her again and what struck him was how innocent she looked, how young. Maybe she was thirty. Maybe.
The silence between them was once again uncomfortable, and before he could stop himself, Adam stepped on another landmine.
“Ben’s got a great arm,” Adam said as they walked toward the parking lot. Football wasn’t the best choice of subject, but he really wanted to know what Mia had against football. “He could play quarterback right now with the way he throws.”
“Football, again?” Her already icy manner cooled about another ten degrees. Wow.
Okay, maybe he was wrong about her not fitting the stereotype. The woman may not look like the blue-haired librarian of his nightmares, but she sure acted like her. “What’s wrong with football?” He shouldn’t have baited her, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Mia slowed, straightened her back, and turned to him with narrowed eyes. Now she was on the defensive. “From where I’m standing, pretty much everything.”
“He told me you don’t want him to play,” Adam said, recounting what Ben told him before she arrived.
He knew a lot of moms were nervous about contact sports. Sure, there were risks. Anything worth doing had some risk associated with it, but at Ben’s level they were small. Now, though, as he watched her face tighten, he knew he’d pissed her off. Mia started to say something and then stopped, allowing him to continue. Like an idiot, he did.
“It’s good exercise and a great way to channel a kid’s energy.”
“It’s dangerous.”
Adam looked away for a second, blew out a breath, and then looked back at her. “When a player is properly trained, and has the right equipment, at his age it’s as safe as riding a bike.”
“A bike? Are you kidding?” Yeah, she was mad. “I wonder if all the players with permanent brain damage, or their families, might disagree with you.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he grumbled.
“No? Well, is playing tackle football on a playground with no equipment, no coaching, and no supervision safe? Is it? Is that as safe as ‘riding a bike’?”
“I don’t have a bike either,” Ben shot out, but just as quickly, he snapped his mouth shut. The kid realized too late that after running away, and scaring her so bad, he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Oh, don’t start.” Her temper flared, and Adam liked seeing her lose a little bit of that control. “I didn’t want you riding around our old neighborhood. I don’t have a problem with you riding a bike here.”
“Then why don’t I have one?”
“What? A bike?” She stopped at a very sensible small car. “Oh, gee… I don’t know,” she snipped. “Getting us settled in a whole new place has taken up a lot of my time, but once we get you one I’m thinking I’ll need a degree in engineering to figure out how to put it together.”
Adam grinned. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t. It wasn’t any of his business, but he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity to look at her for an entire afternoon. “I could give you a hand.”
“What? Oh, no. Truly, that’s not necessary…”
“Really?” Ben’s smile flashed like a thousand-watt bulb. Gorgeous aunt or not, that sealed it. Adam wanted to help the kid out and there was no way a bike was coming home in that compact.
“It’s no trouble,” Adam said. “We have a game Saturday, but Sunday I’m free. We could grab lunch and go bike shopping. There are a couple of good shops in town.”
“I don’t know…” Mia held her keys in a death grip while she examined him very carefully. Based on her expression, she didn’t know what to make of what was going on between them any more than he did. God, she was something. Beautiful and smart.
Adam smiled. “It’ll be fun. I’ll show you around.”
“Please, Aunt Mia?” When she looked at her nephew, Adam knew she was going to cave. Mia’s shoulders relaxed, her eyes brightened—her whole demeanor softened. Ben’s sad look was obviously her weakness. She might try to act tough, but the woman was mush where the kid was concerned, and Adam felt his opinion of her click up a couple of notches.
“Okay,” she sighed. Adam almost felt bad as he watched a defeated Mia fish a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse and proceed to scribble some information before he could even offer to let her add the information to his phone. “Here’s our address. And if you need to get in touch with me, calling the library would be your best bet. But here’s my cell number, too. I don’t get great reception on campus.” She handed him the slip of paper and he smiled, hoping to crack the veneer.
“Twelve-thirty okay?”
“Fine.” Mia swallowed hard and opened the rear passenger door.
As Ben got in, Adam reached out and gave him a fist bump. “Later, Ben.”
“See ya, Coach.”
The back door shut and Adam looked over. “Nice meeting you, Mia.”
She barely said good-bye, mumbling something as she got into her car, and he walked toward his truck. Man, she was tough, but Adam smiled anyway. Saturday’s game was probably going to be a bloodbath, but Sunday was definitely looking up.
Find out what happens next…
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About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Jeannie Moon has always been a romantic. When she’s not spinning tales of her own, Jeannie works as a school librarian, thankful she has a job that allows her to immerse herself in books and call it work. Married to her high school sweetheart, Jeannie has three kids, three lovable dogs and a mischievous cat and lives in her hometown on Long Island, NY. If she’s more than ten miles away from salt water for any longer than a week, she gets twitchy.
Visit Jeannie’s website at www.jeanniemoon.com.
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