Pete Sebastian, Coach

by Jean C. Joachim

  “Chicken Caesar salad. I heard it’s your favorite,” Jo said, laying out the containers on the gigantic table. Her jacket rested on the back of a chair.

  Pete made out the faint outline of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse. His pulse kicked up as her lovely scent greeted him. “Thank you. Who ratted on me?”

  “Lyle’s secretary. She ordered the food. Claimed to know just what you like.”

  He smiled. He liked it when a woman went out of her way to please him. He’d have to bring his best game with this one, because she was good, very good. Her charming smile, obvious intelligence, and sexy body had already won her a place in his dreams. “How about you?”

  “I’m having the same thing. Want to see how good it is.”

  “Tony’s makes a great one. Hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  The way she looked at him, standing so close, her lips so perfect, he wanted to kiss her. Business. It’s business, asshole. Don’t be stupid. No more false steps with her. What if you kissed her and she sued the team for sexual harassment? He shuddered briefly. Self-control would be his motto. But it sure wasn’t going to be easy.

  * * * *

  After the coach left her office, Jo’s façade fell. Her happy face melted as emotion grabbed her throat. She leaned on the desk, taking a couple of deep breaths. Damn it! I let him see he scared me.

  She held herself together long enough to stop at Edie’s desk to place the lunch order then she headed for the ladies room. Jo entered a stall, shut, and locked the door. Plopping down, she hid her face in her hands as her self-control cracked. Tears oozed from her eyes. Fighting to overcome her emotions, she let out a shuddering breath.

  Unprofessional! I almost cried in there. What was I thinking? Was he going to smack me? That would be insane. But his face was so angry, and his tone of voice… She took two more deep breaths and tried to dispel the image from childhood of her mother’s angry face, a raised hand, and a low, threatening voice. Dr. Sumner said there would be triggers. He said not to worry. It would pass. She unraveled some toilet paper and wiped her face as she waited for her pulse to return to normal.

  The door to the ladies room opened.

  “Jo? You in here? Are you okay?”

  “Fine, Edie. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No rush. Food’s here. I’ll put it in the conference room.”

  “Thank you.”

  The door closed again, allowing Jo to command the sink. A cold paper towel to her eyes helped get rid of the redness. She opened her purse and fished out the supplies she needed to restore her makeup.

  She had been surprised to find Pete Sebastian so young and good looking. The coaches she’d worked with before had been older, paunchy, and married. When he had walked into her office all sweaty and gorgeous, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. She loved a man with hair on his chest, and Coach Bass seemed to have just the right amount, from what she could see. He was trim, his arms muscular. He had filled the doorway with a male sexiness that made her shiver.

  Then, he had gone into his chauvinistic bullshit, and she had become angry. No old-school coach is going to deep-six this job for me. This is my dream. I’ve worked for it, earned it, and I’m going to stay. He’s pretty sexy, until he flies off the handle. Then, look out. Keep it business, Jo. Yeah, he’s got a cute butt and an amazing chest, but hands off.

  She pasted a smile on her face as she left the ladies room. Stopping to thank Edie, she noticed the older woman staring with serious eyes. Jo avoided her look, not willing to explain anything to anyone. My feelings are my private business.

  Once in the conference room, her professional side kicked into gear. She placed her jacket on the back of a chair then opened her folder. After sorting the proposals from several therapists and professed experts on anger management, she laid them out on the large table. Then, she arranged the food.

  When the Coach arrived, she was taken aback by his appearance. Obviously, he’d done more than just rinse the sweat off. He’d shaved, put on a navy sport jacket, white button-down, gray slacks, and Kelly green and blue rep tie, and combed his hair until perfect. He looked fantastic. He looks almost as good dressed as undressed. Watch it, girl! With his height, bright, white smile and wide shoulders, Coach Bass was impressive, a man any woman would give a second and third glance.

  It’s business. Stop staring at him. He’ll know you’re checking him out. He’s not stupid. She turned her gaze to her food, and they made small talk while they ate.

  “Is this your first PR assignment for a football team?” he asked.

  “First? Oh, no. I did an internship right out of college with the L.A. Tigers. That turned into a full time job. From there, I went to St. Louis.”

  “Were you there when they won the Super Bowl?”

  “It was amazing!”

  “Now the Kings. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Not at all. I’m thirty-two. I’m hoping to make The Kings my home.”

  “You like football?”

  “I used to watch the games with my dad. He got me into it. Since then, it’s been a love affair.” She felt her cheeks heat. “I mean, it’s been my dream to work in the NFL.”

  They ate in silence, eyeing each other warily.

  “What about you? Did you play?” Jo finally spoke up.

  “I’ve spent my whole career with the Kings. I was the starting quarterback until my knee went out.”

  “Surgery?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Noticed the scar.”

  “I became assistant coach on offense then took that over when Barney Stanton retired.”

  “How long have you been the head coach?” She nibbled a piece of lettuce.

  “About five years.”

  “It’s a challenge?”

  “Damn right.” He laughed. “Every year is different. Someone new gets hurt, and we have to reshuffle the team, invent new plays. We work our tails off.”

  “I’m sure you do. You have a great record.”

  “Oh?”

  Embarrassed, she hurried on to explain. “I keep up with these things. It’s my career. I mean, I didn’t end up here by accident.”

  “No?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “I chose the Kings. Longevity of the coach is always a good sign. Means he’s happy, being treated well, and respected by the owner. And a winning record is important. To me, it’s all about the coach. If he’s good, then the whole team is happy.”

  His face colored slightly. “So, you researched me?”

  “It was your job I researched. Not you personally.”

  “Whew. For a minute there, that might have gone to my head. Don’t want any false compliments.” A quick hurt passed across his face before he shoveled in a forkful of salad.

  She rushed on. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean that you’re not important. I mean, who you are, how you do what you do, and what kind of man you are, are all key to a great team.”

  He waved his hand. “It’s okay, Jo. Don’t worry about me. I’m made of iron. Besides, I’ve coached the winning Super Bowl team. Nothing can bring me down.”

  Why am I so flustered around him? He’s just a coach. But Pete Sebastian was nothing like the other coaches she’d worked with. He was single, handsome, trim, athletic, and sexy as hell. Just being in the same room with him raised her blood pressure. Now at his charming best, she wondered why he had gotten so angry with her before. It seemed out of character. Or was he coming on to her in a subtle way? The idea warmed her in private places. Maybe I overreacted? Business. Back to business. “I’m sorry, Coach. Didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He watched her in silence then lowered his gaze to his food.

  “You’re right about this salad. It’s delicious.” She smiled, and he returned it.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture with his arm at the piles of papers.

  “I’ve sorted the proposa
ls. Some are by real therapists, some by people who say they are anger management experts, and a few that straddle both categories. I guess what’s most significant is how they plan to create a program and how much they’ll charge.”

  “Have you looked these over yet? Why don’t you lead me through this?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Give me your thoughts.”

  Pete sat back, guzzled some water, and listened as Jo took him through each one. They spent two hours talking, shaping the proposals into one, workable plan.

  “So, we’ve decided to hire Dr. Wendy McMillan?”

  “She seems to be the best. Besides, she’s willing to throw in some private sessions for the guys at half price. Seems like a good deal.”

  “Private sessions?” Pete raised his eyebrows. “I thought a couple of these small groups would fix up everyone, and we could move on.”

  “It doesn’t work like that. Problems that cause excessive anger don’t go away with the wave of a magic wand by a therapist. It takes time. Some of the guys may have deeper issues they need to explore.”

  “Sounds like you know a lot about psycho stuff.” He stared at her.

  Jo looked away. “Stuff I studied. Besides, it’s only logical.”

  “Not to me. What’s your connection?”

  She shifted in her seat, avoiding his eyes. “Nothing important. Boring, really.”

  “Not to me,” he said, reaching over and pulling her chair closer.

  Before she could answer, Lyle Barker, the team owner, walked in the room. “Glad to see you two getting along. Rumor had it you were fighting earlier.”

  “Who’s spreading those lies?” Pete’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Just a healthy difference of opinion, right Jo?”

  “Right!” She nodded. Was that all there was to it?

  Lyle’s grin widened. “This is just the way I pictured it. Gotta go, Tiffany’s waiting.”

  “Where you off to?” Pete inquired.

  “Shopping. Where else?” Lyle frowned briefly then his jovial attitude returned. “Have fun, you two.”

  After he left, Pete shook his head.

  “What?” Jo asked.

  “After Lyle’s wife died, he married Tiffany. He’s seventy. She’s thirty-five. All she wants to do is spend his money.”

  “Lyle, a sugar daddy? I’m surprised. He seemed pretty gruff and business-like in my interview.”

  “Oh, he is. With everyone except her. Guess he’s having fun. I wouldn’t trade places with him.” Pete pushed to his feet and stretched.

  “You don’t like women in their thirties?” She batted her eyelashes, pretending to be offended.

  He laughed. “I didn’t say that. I’d never pick a woman whose main interest is my money.”

  “Just teasing.” She gathered up the trash, with his help, and returned her papers to the folder. “I’ll write this up for Lyle and send you a copy.”

  “Fine. I’ll work on getting the guys to go along.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Pleasure.”

  He stopped in the doorway, and the moment got awkward. She sensed he was about to do something, but then he didn’t. He blushed as a sheepish look crossed his face, and then he raised his hand and left.

  Jo shrugged. Men. They can be so hard to figure out.

  Chapter Two

  After he left the conference room, Pete wandered over to Lyle’s office, but he was already gone for the day. Edie was there. She glanced up at him then smiled widely.

  “How you getting along with Miss High and Mighty?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  He ran his hand over his smooth face. “Please don’t remind me!”

  “She sure pulled your chain.”

  “Just a misunderstanding. Do you have her paperwork?”

  “Sure. Resume enough?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Suspicious?”

  “Curious. Can you email it to me?”

  “You got it.”

  Pete knew the job paid a hundred and fifty thousand, so the woman in that position had better be worth it. He ambled back to his office. The resume was waiting when he got there. He opened the document and started to read.

  Stanford undergrad. Psych major. Explains how she knows this stuff. Harvard M.B.A. Intelligent. Hmm… Three years with the Tigers. Five with the Sidewinders. Impressive. There was a list of programs she had implemented in St. Louis. St. Louis had gotten a lot of positive press for those. A good image for a ball club increases ticket sales, bringing more money for bonuses. Lyle’s smarter than I thought. Hiring her was a great move. That asshole who had the job before her never did anything but have four-hour lunches with reporters.

  She’s not going to take any shit from me or Lyle either. Is she a ball buster or just smart? Pete lounged back in his executive chair, put his feet up on the desk, and laced his fingers behind his head. He gazed out the window, speculating about Jo Parker. Now that he had his lust under control, or at least partially subdued, he wanted to know more about her. Her resume said she was from California, but this babe was no airhead, beach bunny spending her day in a string bikini on a surf board, although that image flitting through his brain was far from unpleasant.

  No siree. This woman was the real deal—smart, independent, and able to take care of herself. His brows knitted. Why’d she get so scared when I raised my voice? Can’t be the first time someone’s yelled at her. Hell, I had no intention of hurting her. She overreacted. Why? Do football players have such a bad rep?

  The shuffling of feet broke his concentration, diverting his attention to the door. Brodsky, offensive linebacker, Buddy Carruthers, wide receiver, and Robbie Andrews, the kicker, were huddled there.

  “So, did ya ask her out yet?” Carruthers asked.

  Pete lowered his legs and sat up straight. “Who?”

  “You know who,” Brodsky whispered so loud it could be heard down the hall.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And my social life is none of your damn business.”

  “Come on, Coach. We just walked by her office. Jo Parker is hot,” Robbie said.

  “Blazing!” Buddy put in.

  “Smokin’,” Brodsky added.

  “Get out of here before I think up a reason to fine you!” Pete pushed to his feet and lunged toward the door. The big men scattered like roaches in harsh light. While he found their behavior annoying, he had to chuckle to himself. Christ, it’s like middle school. Are they going to be watching Jo and me? Probably. Better keep it clean.

  Pete checked his watch. Five o’clock—quitting time during off-season. He noticed the light go out in the office next to him and grinned. He’d know when she was leaving and could time things to meet her for a walk to the parking lot. Who knows? The parking lot could lead to a burger at The Savage Beast. And that could lead…who knows where?

  “Heading out?” he asked at her doorway.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Come on. I’ll walk you to the parking lot.”

  “Why? Isn’t it safe?”

  He snapped his head around to look at her, but she was laughing.

  “A joke, Coach Bass. A joke.”

  He grinned and put his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the door. She didn’t need guiding, but it was his excuse for touching her, and she didn’t seem to object. When they got to the exit, she stopped.

  “Wait!” A man was running down the corridor. “Wait, Jo. Wait.”

  “Nelson. There you are,” she replied.

  Nelson Barker, Lyle’s nephew, joined them, panting, out-of-breath. At about five foot eight, he had to look up to Pete. But his sandy blond hair and blue eyes could be construed as handsome. “Hi, Pete. Don’t take her away. We have a dinner date.”

  “You do?” Pete couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Taking her to The Sweet Magnolia,” Nelson said.

  Heat moved up in Pete’s body. I was planning to take her
there. Shit.

  Nelson offered his arm. Jo folded her fingers around his puny biceps, and he walked off with the girl of Pete’s dreams. Coach Bass stood in the parking lot, next to his car, and watched them drive away.

  * * * *

  Jo wasn’t expecting much from her dinner with Nelson Barker because she had taken an immediate dislike to the arrogant man. But he was the boss’s nephew, so she figured one meal with him would help smooth her way in her job. She planned to eat fast and return home.

  The date was a disaster. He was boring and a braggart who took credit for the accomplishments of others. He leered at her, staring at her chest, making his plans obvious. She had to swat his hand off her knee more than once. Nerves kept her from eating much, angling to leave as soon as possible.

  Once they were in the car, Barker was like an octopus with eight arms, his hands always in the wrong places. Jo tried all the tricks she had learned in self-defense class. The only one that worked was punching him in the throat. When he grabbed his neck, she pulled the lock and opened the door. He reached for her, but she smashed her knuckle down on the back of his hand. He yelped and pulled away. She ran, on shaking legs, back into the restaurant. Ugh. Disgusting letch.

  Fortunately, Nelson drove away instead of confronting her. Without her vehicle, Jo was stranded. She tried calling a local cab company, but there was no answer. Probably closed for the night. She bit her lip and paced. With a sigh of resignation, she accessed her new Kings directory and called Coach Bass.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you. Geez, maybe you’re on a date or something, but I’m kind of in trouble.”

  “Jo? What is it?”

  She explained about Nelson.

  “Don’t move a muscle. I’m on my way.”

  She perched on a window seat facing the parking lot as she waited. Bad form, Jo. You’re able to take care of yourself. You’re self-sufficient. Don’t need the coach. He’s got a temper, and who knows about his past? The safest thing for you is to be alone with Daisy.

  Shame and embarrassment at the stupid damsel-in-distress routine she had pulled on Coach Bass compelled her to fill in some details when he got there. “Thank you so much for coming. The restaurant confirmed that taxi service in Monroe is closed at this hour. I’d walk, but these shoes wouldn’t take me one mile, let alone five.”