by Maggie Wells
“What the hell?” She caught the mischievous gleam in Millie’s eyes. “When did… How…”
“One of the students posted it to his PicturSpam this morning.” Millie rose gracefully from the guest chair, every hair in place, every fingernail perfectly polished. As it should be. Women like Millie didn’t sweat—they glistened. And men certainly didn’t scowl when they looked at her.
Kate squashed the stab of envy by dropping into her own chair with a huff. “You are not going to post that.”
Millie cocked her head, smiling wistfully as she tapped the tablet’s screen. “God, I love these kids. They can snap a picture faster than I can blink, and I’ve got dry eye syndrome.”
“You can’t…” Kate sputtered. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I could.” Millie’s smile simmered to a smirk as she switched off the screen. “But you’re right. I wouldn’t. Why would I want to release a picture with you looking like that?”
“Hey!”
Millie brushed off her indignation. “Whose side do you think I’m on anyway?”
“It’s not a matter of sides,” Kate protested.
“Bullshit.” The smile was gone, chased off by the hard-bitten sentiment. Millie’s lips tightened into a thin scarlet line. “It’s always a matter of sides.”
“Millicent is right.”
Both women looked up. Avery Preston—Wolcott’s first and only women’s studies and feminist literature professor and the third member of their unholy alliance—stood in the doorway. With her flowing skirt and flyaway hair, Avery reminded Kate of the holy-roller mother in the film version of Stephen King’s Carrie.
Millie blinked as if their friend’s appearance was painful to behold. The two women rarely agreed on anything beyond their mutual affection for adult beverages and the undiluted sexiness of Alan Rickman’s voice. “I am?”
“Life is all about choices. Knowing which side to choose is a valuable skill,” Avery asserted. “We’re on yours.”
“I always back the winner,” Millie said with a decisive nod.
Kate barked a laugh and wagged her head at the pair of them. “I don’t see the big deal. I’ve hardly exchanged more than twenty words with the man.”
“Yeah, well, I wish you would,” Millie said as she tucked her ever-present tablet under her arm. “Wolcott is a guppy in a pool full of sharks. The school needs all the free press we can get, and if Coach Stud Muffin is what it takes to get it, then I’ll do what I have to do to keep him in the news.”
“That’s our Millie,” Avery said with an amused laugh. “Do we need to buy you a big pimp feather for your hat?”
Turning on her stiletto heel, Millie exaggerated the sway of her hips as she strolled to the door. “I bet I could rock that feather. Are we meeting at Calhoun’s?”
Avery nodded. “I’ll be there. Shaping young minds gives a woman a terrible thirst.”
Millie gave Avery a slow once-over, then gave her a syrupy sweet smile. “I wish they could figure out exactly what causes a woman to choose such a terrible skirt.”
“Ladies,” Kate warned. “No bickering until we have fuel to throw on the fire.”
“Oh, I have fuel.” Millie held the darkened screen up in silent reminder.
Kate sat up straighter. “You promise you won’t release that picture?”
Millie glanced at Avery, then turned back, her eyes alight with challenge. “Get me something better, and I won’t have to.”
“Blackmail.”
“Incentive.”
“Extortion,” Kate shot back.
“On that note,” Avery interjected, “see you two lovebirds at happy hour.”
The moment their fashion-flouting friend was out of earshot, Millie refocused on Kate. “Buy yourself some new workout clothes, Kathryn. You look like a refugee from the nineties.”
Falling back into a sulk, Kate crossed her arms over her chest and slumped in her seat. “I am a refugee from the nineties.”
Millie shook her head in disgust. “Looks like it’s time we had another shopping excursion. I can’t have you delivering commencement addresses in your shorts and sneakers.”
“But I rock the shorts and sneakers look.”
Millie’s expression softened, but she glanced warily at the wall rack that held Kate’s extensive collection of athletic shoes. “You do, but…no.”
“Lunch too?” Kate would submit to thumbscrews rather than say it aloud, but she loved shopping with Millie. The woman was flashy and irreverent and Kate’s personal heroine. Kate never failed to return from one of their expeditions feeling a little brighter.
Millie inclined her head, her ever-perfect pageboy curling over one cheek. “We will need food.”
“And wine?”
“I have been trying to consume more fruit.” Millie bit the inside of her cheek. “Think we can get Avery Steinem to join us?”
Kate snorted. “Not likely.”
Tapping the pointy tip of one glossy fingernail against the dark screen, Millie sent her a stern but sympathetic look. “I promise I’ll never leak a picture of you without lip gloss, but remember, I have to feed the beast.”
“Duly noted.”
“And I am on your side, doll.”
“I appreciate that.”
Millie raised her fist, then waggled her fingers in a girly wave. “Solidarity, sister!”
Kate chuckled as she jiggled her mouse to wake the computer. A document with the usual rhetoric half filled the screen, but even the daunting task of writing yet another speech failed to dampen her spirits. An afternoon of basking in Millie’s brashness was exactly what she needed to shake the fog that had enveloped her for the last few days.
Two weeks had passed since Danny McMillan’s hiring was announced, and the whole campus was abuzz. All questions of ethics and integrity were swept aside. Danny was the anointed one. The man destined to bring their never-a-contender football team to glory. Kate snorted and shook her head as she placed her fingers on the keys. Coach McMillan was going to need more than Millie’s manic publicity grabs to meet that goal. He needed a freakin’ miracle.
*
Wolcott University’s football facilities left something to be desired. Truthfully, they left a lot to be desired. Like a practice field that wasn’t actually a field.
Mike shifted his weight from one foot to the other but kept his gaze locked on the action on the field. “Not exactly what you’re used to, I know—”
Once upon a time, Danny’s scrimmages had taken place in a two-story, indoor practice arena carpeted with the latest and greatest in synthetic turf and boasting a weight room that spanned the length of the field. Today, he stood in a field of mushy weeds watching a ragtag bunch of walk-on wannabes play hot potato with a football. And it still wasn’t the worst he’d seen in the last few years.
“Yeah. That sandy hardpack the boys at Rio River Junior College played on was sure nice,” Danny murmured, his eyes trailing after a running back who wasn’t completely without promise. “Go Rattlers.”
“Danny—”
“Stop fretting. You sound like my mother.”
“How is your mom?”
Danny had to smile at Mike’s eagerness to change the subject. “Relieved.” Wolcott might have been a step up from his last couple of jobs, but his had been an extremely long fall from grace. “And still too much woman for you.”
Mike sighed. “Probably always will be.”
But as much as Danny liked to brag about her, his public humiliation had taken a toll on his indomitable mother.
“And Tommy?”
Take care of Tommy. Protect Tommy.
With my life, Ma.
At the mere mention of his little brother, the ache in Danny’s jaw came back with a vengeance. He hadn’t been the only McMillan to lose his job that day. “Doing fine,” he replied tightly.
And it was the truth. After the shitstorm finally died down, Danny had made a few calls. His baby brother had come out a damn sight
better than he had, career-wise. Hell, Tommy was a hot commodity these days. One of the best specialty coaches in the business. Ironic, considering his little brother was the one who screwed everything up in the first place. But Danny spent a lot of time and energy trying not to think about all the ways Tommy had fucked him over.
“Your office okay?”
His office was little more than a shoebox filled with shipping cartons, but he couldn’t care less. “It’s fine.”
“I think you have some potential in the backfield.”
Danny winced. The needy edge in his friend’s voice both annoyed and shamed him. The fact that Mike had taken a risk in hiring him wasn’t lost on either of them. “Possibly.”
“You can do what you want with most of the staff, but I’ll ask you to keep Mack Nord if you can find a spot for him. The guy is one of Wolcott’s longest-tenured employees and kind of an institution.”
“Seem to have a lot of those around here.”
“Tradition is important at Wolcott. It’s a pretty, uh, conservative community overall, and you know people will be watching…”
Mike trailed off, and the awkwardness grew thick between them.
Danny fixed him with a level look. “Watching what?”
“Everything.”
The word fell to the spongy ground with a thud. Shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, Danny zeroed in on a cornerback who seemed to have no clue how to defend the post. But instead of mentally tracing the route, his thoughts churned through the clues Mike trailed through their conversations.
They were as simple to decode as a Cracker Jack mystery. The kinds of shenanigans that got him sent to Division II purgatory would get him exiled for good next time. This was his second chance at the big time. There wouldn’t be a third.
As if he would risk this opportunity. Not only had he gotten older while he was wasting the best years of his career at the JuCo level, but he had also managed to grow wiser. A part of him wished he’d thrown his staff under the bus, but that wasn’t how things were done. The head coach was responsible for everything that went on under him. He wasn’t the first coach to own up to a laundry list of NCAA recruiting violations. Hell, most of the big guys had. Taken in context, his indiscretion was small potatoes.
But then the shit hit the fan in college athletics, and suddenly, zero tolerance was the rule of the day. No one wanted perspective; they wanted blood. The NCAA had been poised to make an example of someone, anyone. He was just the first to own up to committing some sins after college football was rocked by a series of scandals so salacious no breach of ethics could or would be forgiven. Particularly not when it was discovered that the coach in question was also involved in a relationship with a gorgeous redheaded grad student.
He turned to face his new boss. “Mike, I’m really glad to be here.” The simple statement seemed to put the AD at ease, but even thinking back to those jumbled, frantic days still twisted Danny’s gut into knots. “I think I’ll get a dog.”
The lack of segue didn’t seem to faze Mike in the least. “As long as it’s not one of those little yappy ones.”
Danny crossed his arms over his chest as he watched a wobbly spiral arc through the air. “You think I look like the type to carry a dog around in a purse?”
“I’m just saying.” Mike shrugged. “A Lab or a shepherd maybe.”
A lazy wide receiver loped down field, still chasing the ball as it bounced end over end toward the far sideline. “I’m cutting that kid,” Danny said without a glance in Mike’s direction.
“Your roster isn’t deep.”
The statement was a reminder, not a warning, and Danny knew it. “I’d take an enthusiastic water boy over a slug like that.”
“You’re the coach.” For the first time since Danny had stepped foot on campus, his friend broke out a genuine smile. “So, Millie wants you to—”
He didn’t bother to hide his wince. The conversation he’d had with the head of the PR department had been oddly confrontational, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done to offend the woman. “Yeah, I talked to her. I don’t see how—”
He was cut off by a shout of, “Hey, Coach!”
His head popped up automatically. He scanned the overgrown field looking for who’d called him, but every player was facing the road, not him. He shot Mike a puzzled glance, then searched the field again. “The hell?”
Shielding his eyes from the slanting afternoon sun, he caught sight of a slender, shapely silhouette set off against the fender of a classic Mustang convertible. Recognition kicked in, and a burst of warmth pulsed through his veins.
Two weeks had passed since he’d started picking apart the film on his half-assed football team. He’d tried to erase the image of Kate Snyder sauntering down those steps, her hand extended and her sharp jaw set. The sight of her lifting weights encased in nothing more than a yard or so of skintight spandex fired his imagination to the point that he’d skipped his workout three days in a row, something he hadn’t done since…ever.
He’d been avoiding her. Fat lot of good that did. Even from this distance, he could tell he’d failed at banking the inferno her cool handshake sparked in him. Dangerous. The woman was dangerous. He needed to remember that. Career suicide on legs.
His pulse rate kicked up when she pushed away from the car and started toward the field. Danny rolled his shoulders back and widened his stance. Fit as he was, he clenched his abs just a little bit as he watched those long legs eat up the ground. In a gesture he was coming to realize was habit, she tucked her shiny, brown hair behind her ear, then shooed the slackers away.
“Back to work, or I’ll have all y’all running laps,” she called to his players.
Beside him, Mike stiffened and shot him a sidelong look, but Danny wasn’t about to take the bait. He wasn’t an impressionable young player or the hotheaded prima donna he’d once been. He wasn’t about to let a woman trip him up. Never again.
“Afternoon, Coach Snyder,” he called as she approached. “What brings you here?”
“I was just driving by on my way home, and I saw you boys out here.”
She made one of those flirty, fluttery gestures meant to deflect and distract. It wasn’t until Danny caught himself staring at those graceful fingers that he realized how powerful a weapon it truly was. Giving himself an internal shake, he forced himself to step forward rather than retreat. This was his turf, damn it. Literally. He wasn’t about to challenge her on the basketball court. She needed to stay the hell away from his practice field.
What little action he had happening on the field ground to a halt. Only old Mack Nord had the ability to keep his head in the game when Kate Snyder happened past, and he’d returned to the drill he was running with a friendly wave. The other two guys Danny had inherited as assistant coaches weren’t so cool. Neither were the players who were pulling cell phones out of he didn’t want to know where and snapping photos as if her appearance marked the start of coffee-break time.
He nodded to the milling players and raised his voice. “As you can see, we have our work cut out for us. Don’t we, fellas?”
The phones disappeared, and his team snapped back into action. After all, they had an audience to impress now. Danny focused his attention on the woman in front of him. That was both a blessing and a curse. Her eyes were big and thickly lashed, a medium brown that might have looked muddy if not for liberal flecks of gold. The healthy glow of her skin was the kind no cosmetic could mimic. Her lips were bare and pink and fucking perfect. He forced himself to look away as he grappled to gain the upper hand.
“Nice of you to stop by.” He managed a smile he hoped wasn’t as dorky as it felt. He couldn’t make a bigger fool of himself than the gaggle of man-children showboating up and down the field. “I can’t wait to crash one of your practices.”
A hint of color appeared in her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, shuttering the flash of annoyance that flared in those mesmerizing eyes. She tipp
ed her head just enough to free the curtain of silky, brown hair. He had to curl his fingers into his palm to keep from touching it.
He heard Mike’s warning cough, but it sounded a million miles away. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing in the world could have pried his eyes from the pearly flush creeping up her throat. The urge to chase it with his mouth hit him like a two-by-four upside the head. She swayed slightly, and he followed, leaning into her as if they were connected by an invisible string.
A string their esteemed athletic director seemed to be determined to snap. Thank Christ.
Mike executed an expert pivot and inserted his shoulder between them, effectively drawing Danny’s attention. “Other than the green-gold game, Coach Snyder doesn’t hold open practice sessions.”
Glancing from the AD to the glorious woman across from him, Danny forced a tight smile. “Yeah, I never did either, but I guess there’s no way to block the lookie-loos out here.”
Kate’s eyebrows rose. The effect was almost as potent as the smile she’d used to subdue his players. Lines creased her high forehead, but the marks only made her more attractive. They spoke of a life lived open to surprise and amusement. The sudden need to know every little thing that tickled her funny bone or ticked her off made Danny’s mouth run dry. He needed to know so he could figure out how to rank number one in both of those categories.
“Lookie-loos?” Her smile was syrupy sweet. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “If that’s the case, I hope you can find some soon.” She made a point of scanning the nonexistent sidelines for equally nonexistent fans. “Seems kind of…sad out here.”
Kate glanced down, and he had to force himself to unclench his fists. Of course, he was a second too late. Her smile widened as she backed away.
“The Sentinel is looking for an interview,” she announced, darting a glance at the boss man.
Danny frowned, confused by the swift change in topic. “The Sentinel? Why are you telling us this? You the new secretary or something?”
Mike nearly cracked one of Danny’s ribs with his pointy elbow. Kate, of course, caught the not-so-subtle warning. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened. She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her options. But when she spoke, her drawl was as thick as molasses.
