Pete Sebastian, Coach

by Jean C. Joachim

  Lyle sank down on the sofa, his brow knitted in thought. Jo shot Pete a warm smile and crossed her fingers.

  “Well, since you put it that way, might be worth it. The guys sure will feel different if they’re not fined. And if they want some extra cash, well, this is an easy way to get it.”

  “They’d have to attend all five sessions,” Jo put in.

  “Okay. Sounds reasonable. Hell, that’s two grand just for showing up,” Lyle said. “Five grand. A grand a session.”

  “Works for me,” Pete added.

  “Okay. Let me run it by the guys and see. Wait! No. Pete, you tell ’em. Tell the whole team at the same time. Let’s see who comes to me complaining. And we’re getting rid of the fine, right?”

  “Right.” Pete nodded. “The guys always work better with positive reinforcement than negative.”

  Jo pushed to her feet. “I’d better get this fixed. Thank you, Lyle.”

  “Great teamwork you two.” Lyle grinned. “Pete, can you hang a second?”

  The coach nodded, but his gaze was on Jo. He loved watching her walk away. “What’s up, Lyle?”

  “What do you really think of this cockamamie idea?”

  Pete’s eyes grew wide. “You think it’s stupid?”

  “Seems kinda farfetched.”

  “I thought you hired Jo because of her ability and experience.”

  “She’s got a great pair, Pete. Edie’s great and all, but she’s not much to look at. Jo, on the other hand…”

  Shame filled Pete. He’d had the same feeling about Jo’s looks. “You mean you hired her for her…her rack?”

  “Needed someone to fill the job. Saved fifty grand over that drunk, Gowan, too. Besides, Stanford, Harvard, and great tits are an unbeatable combination.” Lyle laughed.

  “You’re paying her fifty grand less than Gowan?”

  “Yep.”

  “But he didn’t do shit, and she’s made a difference in the first five minutes she’s been here.”

  “She keeps this up, and she can get a raise in a year, maybe,” Lyle said.

  “You’re going to back the program, aren’t you?” Pete started to sweat.

  “Ah, don’t get ’em in a twist. I said I was, and I will. But I don’t expect much. Hope only a few guys sign up. It’ll be cheaper.” Lyle eased himself down into his big chair behind his desk. “I thought you might get it on with her. But I can see there’s nothing there. You must be blind, son, if you don’t see what I see. Still, she’s pretty bright. Guess every man’s gotta do his own fishing.”

  Lyle picked up the phone, which was Pete’s signal to leave. He hit the hallway in shock. He’d never seen the chauvinistic side of Lyle. Not to this extent. He knew how the owner felt about his wife, but this—well, this was too much. Pete was overwhelmed. He didn’t know what to do. Shame at staring at her chest and other rounded parts filled him. Am I like that too? Am I a pig? Do I judge women by their bra size? Oh my God.

  He sank down on the chair at his desk, rested his elbows on the wood, and put his face in his hands. I’m not like that. I supported her idea. I listened. I helped. I took her seriously. Can I help it if she’s beautiful and I’m attracted to her? Thank God Lyle doesn’t know. I’d never hear the end of it.

  A tapping on his door interrupted his thoughts. Jo stuck her head in his office. “Can I come in?” He motioned her inside. “How can I ever thank you? Your idea of a reward was sheer genius. You had Lyle eating out of your hand.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But yeah, it gave him a reason to back the plan.”

  “I owe you, big time. Dinner out. On me.”

  He looked at her. Her gorgeous face flushed with happiness and victory, her eyes shining. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to tell her to run as fast as she could to another job. “I…I…I…” he stammered. Here was his dream—dinner alone with this wet dream on legs—and he couldn’t even talk.

  “Good, it’s settled. Saturday night?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll pick you up at six thirty. How about The Sweet Magnolia?”

  Even the restaurant was his dream. “Sure,” he squeaked out.

  She bounced out of his office, humming.

  Pete didn’t know what to do. He rose and paced in front of the window. To tell her. Not to tell her. To tell her. Not to tell her. I can’t tell her. Lyle’ll kill me, and she’ll be crushed. Shit. Fuck. I hate secrets.

  His phone rang. It was Lexie, his daughter. Relief filled him to be consumed by his daughter’s good news about her grades and her new boyfriend. Pete didn’t usually like hearing about boyfriends because he knew what was on their minds, but with the girls far away, it wasn’t in his face, so he was more tolerant. When he put the cell down, he silently congratulated himself for raising such a level-headed, smart girl. Her mother’s fashion model looks and my brains. Perfect combination.

  Soon, his thoughts returned to the “Jo problem,” as it had become. So Lyle picked her for me, eh? Pete laughed. Guy’s got good taste. No chemistry? Pete chuckled again. Good. Let him think that. Bad enough the guys are watching us, don’t need Lyle on the case too.

  When he returned home, Pete hit the closet. His more fashion-conscious daughter, Alyssa, had taken him shopping. He had the clothes she had insisted he buy stuffed in a back corner. He yanked the zippered bags from their spot and opened them.

  Then, he picked up the phone.

  “Alyssa. I’ve got a date on Saturday. Need some help with those new clothes you made me buy. Yeah. What goes with what?” He sat on the bed and followed her instructions.

  Chapter Three

  Jo unsnapped Daisy’s leash after their Saturday afternoon walk. It was cool for early May, chilly, but sunny. As hot water filled the tub, she perused her closet. What to wear tonight?

  She had a lovely collection of colorful sundresses she had found in a little shop on Cape Cod the summer she had rented a vacation house with Mitzi and Beth, her two best friends. But those were for summer. She bit her lip, as nothing else would do. What do you care? Pick something. This isn’t really a date. He’s a colleague. As she rummaged through outfits, hanger by hanger, she discarded everything as not good enough, until she came upon a straight, pink and gray tweed skirt.

  She had bought it in London. It was a heavier weight wool, and she had hardly worn it. She laid it out on the bed then fished her pink, cashmere sweater from the dresser. The color was a perfect match. Cashmere sweaters always made her feel sexy, very conscious of her breasts, caressed by the soft fabric. And when a man touched her, even just her arm or shoulder, he always remarked about the soft feel of the wool. It had a gently scooped neck and three quarter sleeves. Perfect!

  She turned off the faucet and eased down slowly into the steaming water. The heat felt good, dissolving the stiffness in her muscles. She didn’t understand why she was tense. It’s not like a real date. It’s a payback for his supporting my idea. That’s all. Nothing more. She laughed out loud. “Who am I kidding? Of course it’s a date,” she said, turning to face her pug. “I asked the coach out on a date. Daisy, have I no shame?”

  The pooch sleeping on the dog bed in the bathroom cracked one eye open to check on Jo then went back to sleep. Sunlight filtered through the white, ruffled curtains. The scent of her expensive bath oil permeated the room, bringing with it thoughts of romance. As she snuggled under the water, the image of him all sweaty, half naked, and gorgeous when he had first walked into her office flashed through her mind. Does he look like that after he makes love? Stop thinking about him that way.

  When he looked at her, the light that shone through his experienced eyes made her shiver. He moved with a subtle grace and ease, like he was comfortable within himself. Everything about him screamed sex. Maybe he had a temper, but then he apologized and listened. He had treated her with respect. Coach Bass’s self-assurance drew her to him, like a bear to honey.

  Tired of insecure young men who looked to her for reassurance, Jo had been
ready to give up dating. Guys who hadn’t a clue where they were going bored her to tears. She’d met too many who didn’t know women, a woman’s body, or didn’t care if sex was good for her too. Or worse, men who assumed that sex with them would satisfy her, without any effort on his part.

  Something about the way Coach Bass looked at her gave her the idea he’d know very well how to satisfy a woman. She had a hunch he’d be a good bed partner.

  She shuddered, remembering an unpleasant conversation with the last man she had dated. He had called her frigid. She had laughed at him, because there was nothing frigid about Josephine Parker. She had told him to leave and never come back.

  Pete Sebastian was older by ten years. He had two daughters in college. What’s that about? Why is he raising two girls alone? Her curiosity about him grew. What kind of man is he? That’s what this date is about. Getting to know him. Nothing more. Finding out the facts. Daisy raised her head to stare at her mistress.

  “Okay, so maybe that’s not all. Not completely all. But I’m not going to sleep with him. He might not even want to.” She laughed again. She knew he wanted her. Realized it from the first time their eyes had met. The moment he had stepped in, the lightning between them had raised the temperature in her office by twenty degrees.

  Jo fed Daisy then dressed, selecting a tiny, seed pearl necklace and matching earrings. After applying subtle makeup, she sprayed on her signature lily of the valley scent, picked up an ivory, wool coat, and locked the door behind her.

  Her Volkswagen Jetta seemed cheap after Pete’s sumptuous Mercedes, but it would have to do. She’d been successful, but never made the millions a good coach could earn. She’d talked him into letting her pick him up. She drove down the fancy street with large, sumptuous homes. The road ended in a cul-de-sac, and there it stood—his house. Mansion is more like it.

  Hugging the semi-circle was a sprawling three-story building. The weathered Shaker shingles contrasted with crisp white trim. A huge picture window in the front let her see right through the residence and out the same-size window in the back. She could see the ocean as a backdrop and Pete moving through the living room. It took her breath away.

  Budding flowers and small shrubs lined the perfect flagstone path that gradually inclined to his mammoth, white front door. She took a breath. It was a bit hard to reconcile the down-to-Earth, business-like Coach, so unprepossessing, with a man who lived in such a lavish place. There’s a lot more to this guy than meets the eye.

  She rang the bell then did some deep breathing to relax her muscles. When the door opened, there he stood, impeccably attired in a navy blazer, tan pants, white shirt, and a blue and cream print tie. He was clean shaven, brown hair perfectly combed and trimmed. He smelled divine.

  “Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”

  She followed him into an entry way that opened all the way to the ceiling. The floors were wide plank hardwood, stained a taupe color, she guessed. The walls were a light taupe color. The huge, sectional sofa facing the picture window was covered in white canvas with large comfy-looking cushions. It called to her.

  As she sank down into the pillowy softness, he grabbed her elbow. “Wait. Don’t sit yet. Let me give you a tour.” He stopped. His fingers rubbed against her arm. “What are you wearing?”

  “Cashmere.”

  “It’s incredible. Never felt anything so soft except bare skin,” he said, then blushed at his own words.

  Gotcha. She laughed. “It’s amazing and really warm too.”

  “I’ll bet. Come.” He guided her into the dining room, which also had a long window and a view of the ocean. Each room on the first floor was designed to face the sea. While she didn’t know about the man, she fell in love with his house. Then, they hit the kitchen.

  It was at least as big as her living room. The earth-tone, granite counter tops set off the white cabinets to perfection. There was an island with a work station and barstools. She pictured him there with his coffee and newspaper in the morning, his face scruffy, looking sexy. Jo swallowed and turned to see him disappear up the stairs.

  “The den on the first floor is where I watch footage of our team and others and work when I’m home. Upstairs is for fun. This is the girls’ section.” He led her into a large room set up with a sectional sofa, huge television, and a mini fridge. The walls were papered in a lively, tiger print in pink, orange, black, and white. Through a Dutch door was their enormous bedroom. Twin beds, placed catty-corner, flanked a large window with a view of the sea. This room was painted dark pink with white furnishings. Everything was doubled. There were even two rocking chairs.

  “What I wouldn’t have given for a room like this.”

  “The girls love it. Gives them some privacy too.”

  At the end of the hall was Pete’s bedroom.

  “That is my room,” he said, steering her back to the stairs.

  “No, no. I want to see.” She eased out of his grasp and walked inside. You can tell a lot about a man by his bedroom. The room was carpeted in dark green. The walls were a light sea green. The furniture was walnut. The bedspread had a charming, paisley pattern with aqua, green, and white. An overstuffed, reclining chair faced the window. The king-sized bed wasn’t made, and there were clothes draped over the arm of the chair.

  The site of the unmade bed sent a shiver up her spine. Damn. In his bedroom, inches from where he sleeps. Whew. It’s hot in here. She wiped a bead of sweat from her upper lip.

  There were pictures of his daughters hanging up. Jo examined them, nodding. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They are. Sorry about the mess. I didn’t intend to bring you in here.”

  “Why not?”

  Again, he blushed. “Didn’t think bringing you into my bedroom was…well, might make you uncomfortable.”

  Got that right. “I’m fine.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her eyes. Jo had always been a bad liar. She moseyed over to the picture window. Imagine making love with him, in that bed, to the sound of the waves. She wrapped her arms around her middle to stifle a tremble.

  “You are uncomfortable. Come on, let’s go.” He ushered her out of the room and down the stairs. “Do we have time for a drink? When’s the reservation?”

  She checked her watch. “We’d better go.” No more temptation. I’m only human. I need to get outta here.

  Pete opened the door and followed her down to the car.

  “That’s quite a place you’ve got,” she said, putting the car in gear.

  “Take a right at the next corner. Shortcut. Thanks.”

  She followed his directions.

  At the front of the restaurant, the maître d’ greeted them, shaking hands with the coach. “Ah, Mr. Sebastian. Coach Bass. I didn’t know this beautiful lady was having dinner with you when she called for the reservation. Let me change your table.”

  “Thank you, Simon.”

  Jo cocked an eyebrow at him. “Eat here often?”

  His cheeks reddened. “Occasionally.”

  “Eligible bachelor around town? Bring a lot of dates here?”

  “Maybe.” His face grew redder.

  “So, that’s how it is?”

  “Your table is ready.” There was a look of relief on Pete’s face as Simon led them to a table inside facing the stone patio and the mill. “Not warm enough yet to open the patio. Will this do?”

  Pete motioned to Jo. “This is her party.”

  “Oh. Pardon me. You approve, miss?”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you,” she replied.

  Simon held out her chair and put the light blue napkin in her lap. “May I get you a drink?”

  Jo ordered a Cosmopolitan and Pete a Johnny Walker Black on the rocks.

  “By the way, bring the check to me when we’re done, Simon.”

  “I’m sorry, Coach, but the lady has already made payment arrangements.”

  Pete shot her a dirty look. “Women don’t pay for me.”

  “Tonight I do.” She
sat back and grinned at him. Why do I enjoy making him squirm?

  “Do you plan to be one step ahead of me every time?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He laughed. The waiter brought drinks and took their orders.

  “Since you’re paying, I might just have the filet mignon.” His gaze met hers, merriment twinkling in his eyes.

  “I can afford anything you can eat,” she joked, returning his stare.

  He grinned. “So, tell me what you learned in St. Louis.”

  “Rat out the competition?”

  He leaned closer to her on his elbows. “You’re not working for them anymore. So why not?”

  “I signed a confidentiality agreement, good for six months.”

  “Damn! Tell me about you then.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where are you from? Siblings? Friends? Favorite foods? Begin anywhere.” He sat back and took a sip of his drink.

  “Okay. I’m from a small town in California. Perriville. I had an older brother, but he died before I was born. No younger sibs. My two closest friends, Mitzi and Beth, are sorority sisters. And you’re getting to see some of my favorite foods tonight.”

  “What happened to your brother? If you don’t mind me asking.” His tone softened.

  “Bobby was the perfect child. I’ve seen pictures of him, and I agree. He was beautiful. Handsome, with a big smile. When he was ten, he died in a boating accident. My parents were destroyed. Bobby was their world. They have scrapbook after scrapbook of all their trips together and all his childhood milestones.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “After the initial stage of grief was over, they decided they needed to have another child. Unfortunately, they got me.”

  He took her hand. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m no Bobby. I was shy. He was outgoing. I was awkward. Didn’t develop any athletic ability until my early teens. Bobby was the captain and the star of every team he joined. I was quiet and bookish. Bobby was friendly and popular.”

  “If you never met him, how do you know this?”