by Maggie Wells
“We get the money, we get the facilities,” Richard stated with an impatient wave. “We need a team first.”
“Tell me, Coach,” Jacinda Donner interrupted, placing a bold hand high on Danny’s thigh. “Do you really think we can go all the way?”
He was saved from answering—and the awkward business of removing the woman’s hand—by a student server who chose that blessed moment to serve their salads. He beamed up at the young girl as she plunked the plate of field greens onto the table in front of him.
“Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”
“Iron deficient?” Kate asked, lifting an innocent brow as she picked up her salad fork.
“Hungry. Mere moments from passing out.” Eyeing her plate with wary skepticism, he raised an eyebrow. “No dressing? Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
A faint smile curved her lips, but she didn’t glance at him as she replied. “No, I never diet.”
“My kind of woman.”
That made her look up. Those startling amber eyes met his directly. “I just don’t see the point in wasting the dressing when I have no intention of eating these weeds.”
He couldn’t help himself. Those golden eyes drew him in like a tractor beam. Leaning closer still, he whispered, “You’re just going to push them around a bit?”
“Or a lot.”
“Bully,” he chided.
“Wait until you see what I do to the poor croutons.”
“Vivisection?”
“I devour them whole.”
He chuckled, but a shiver of excitement ran down his spine. He eyed the stemmy lettuce as if it warranted closer scrutiny. To his credit, he didn’t jump like a scalded cat when Jacinda Donner’s hand landed on his thigh again. Shooting Kate a sidelong glance, he murmured, “I wish I had one tenth of your strength of character.”
Kate rewarded him with one of those wide grins. “Maybe when you grow up.”
With a grimace he hoped would pass for a smile, he turned to the ballsy blond on his other side. “Would you mind passing the ranch dressing?”
Danny spent the entire salad course thanking God above for making Kate Snyder tall. Had she been a few inches shorter, he’d have had a clear sightline down the neckline of that chili pepper of a dress. Just the thought of it was enough to make him sweat.
He should have hated her. Resented her at the very least. This woman made a chump out of him in front of his guys. But despite his competitive nature and her prickly disposition, he had a hard time making himself dislike her. She was her own woman—strong, capable, and completely unapologetic about it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met a woman like her. If she had insecurities, and surely she must have some, she kept them well hidden behind her game face.
In short, the woman made him itch to touch her. Every time he came near her, all he could think about was feeling those lean, taut muscles soften and grow lax. The memory of short, sharp puffs of air hitting his skin haunted his nights. He wanted to hear her panting in his ear. Preferably his name. With maybe a “more,” “please,” or “harder” tossed in just to keep him motivated.
Apparently, he’d let his leg wander along with his thoughts, because the next thing he knew, Mrs. Donner had her hand on his thigh again. This time, she didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with subtlety, because she came high and decisive. He flinched, his torso jerking forward in response to the demanding squeeze. Heat flared inside him, but not the welcome warmth of desire. He looked around in a panic, but everyone seemed to be engrossed in other conversation.
Everyone but Kate, whose gaze drifted toward his lap before moving on to some point in the distance beyond his private hell. Then she knocked the folded program that marked the line between his place setting and hers to the floor.
“Oh!” She smirked as she turned to meet his gaze. “How clumsy of me. Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Shifting his chair back, he managed to dislodge Mrs. Donner’s hand as he swooped down to retrieve the program. Kate’s eyes met his as he rose. They glowed with amused sympathy.
“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice husky with overdone sincerity.
“You’re so welcome,” he replied.
Kate placed the program in the center of the table. “There.” She nodded, satisfied with her save. “Now we’ll have a little more room.”
Danny scooted his chair back to the table and a few inches closer to Kate. He made it through most of the main course by keeping his leg far enough away from Jacinda Donner to make her ploys obvious. Unfortunately, there was no easy way of avoiding Richard Donner and his never-ending pontification. The man ran on and on about television rights, expanding seating for bigger ticket sales, and branding and media rights.
“Let’s face it. You’ve done a real good job of keeping Wolcott in the running conference-wise, Coach.” The moron actually nodded to Kate and then brushed her achievements away with a dismissive wave of his manicured hand. “But girls’ basketball will never be where the big money is.”
Hectic color lit Kate’s cheeks. Danny’s spine stiffened when he saw the mottled splotches of red creeping up her neck. Kate remained stoically silent—a feat Danny thought should have earned her a medal—but they all knew the rules to the donor dance. They had to nod, smile, and somehow refrain from reaching across the man’s groping wife to jab a fork into the back of Donner’s hand.
On the other side of the table, Ty Ransom’s eyes were so hard they gleamed. Danny didn’t need to look at Mike to know he’d be in total accord. The tension at the table was palpable. There was no way in hell they’d let a hairless dweeb who probably never caught a ball in his life insult an athlete and coach as fine as Kate Snyder.
They needed a distraction.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Donner, I believe that’s my napkin,” he said, pointedly removing the woman’s hand from his lap. “Let me get yours for you.” He made a show of bumping his elbow against her chair as he presented her with the square of Warrior-green linen he swiped from her lap with a smile so innocent his cheekbones ached. “It’s awful close in here, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Clearly peeved, the woman placed her napkin in her lap and reached for her nearly empty glass of wine. “Thank you.”
“Too many helmet heads in one room,” Kate murmured. When he glanced over at her, he saw that her smile was soft and a little rueful. “You boys should have left your shoulder pads in the locker room.”
“We were told they were back in style,” Danny quipped.
Kate’s smile turned wicked. “I see so many of your players here tonight. Will you be handing out participation awards?”
He grimaced, but it quickly morphed into a grin as he acknowledged the hit. “Apparently I have a lot of graduating seniors on the team. They’re just here for the free food.”
“And more graduating with honors than most any other D-one school, I’d wager.” When he rolled his eyes, she rewarded him with a husky laugh. “This could be a good thing. You’ll get a fairly blank slate.”
“Feels like a small consolation at this point.”
“So, your team seems to have a new attitude, Coach. What did you do? Promise them all ponies?”
“I’ve been taking them out for ice cream after practice.”
“Ah, well, that explains it.” Kate beamed an open, cheerful smile at the young man who bent to remove her plate. “I’ll do just about anything for ice cream,” she whispered.
Danny choked back fifty filthy things he wanted to say and settled on scowling at the gangly, young waiter who held Kate’s attention.
“Thanks, Robbie. How’s the knee?” she asked.
“Better. Looks like I won’t need surgery after all,” the young man said, grinning at Coach Ransom as he collected the other plates. “Coach said to take it easy for a couple of months, then we’ll start building back with the camps this summer.”
Kate nodded, and her already-bright smile amped up a notch as she glanced from Robbie to T
y and back again. “That’s very good news for the boys’ team,” she declared the moment the young man was out of earshot. “Maybe someone with a penis can win something around here for once,” she added, not quite under her breath.
“Ouch.” Danny chuckled as he and Ty shared grim smiles across the table. “I believe we’ve been challenged, Coach.”
“Sounds like it,” Ty agreed.
“In the meantime,” Kate interrupted, blocking any chance he and Ty had to plot payback for the insult, “I need to get ready to sing the praises of my girly little national champions. Coach McMillan, can I ask a favor?”
“Yes?” he inquired, keeping his tone light.
Her lips curved into a tight-lipped smile so serene it belonged on a portrait of a saint. He watched in rapt fascination as she worked the clasp on her evening bag and withdrew a small digital camera. “Since you won’t be busy handing out awards, I was wondering if you’d mind snapping a few candid shots while I do mine?”
Chapter 7
Kate yanked open her front door and almost dropped her beloved Tea-Rex mug as she stared bleary-eyed at the surprise addition to her front porch. An oversized shoe box sat on her “Come back after basketball season” doormat.
She toed the mystery box, then glanced from left to right, making sure no one lurked in the shrubs waiting to snap a picture of her bending over in stretched-loose gym shorts and a faded T-shirt. The warm mug curled close to her chest, she squatted and flipped the lid off the box with one finger. Breath caught in her lungs, and she blinked in surprise.
The shoes nestled in the folds of tissue paper were a swirl of outlandishly obnoxious neon colors. So bright mere humans would need a pinhole projector to view them properly. She fell in love on sight.
“Come to me, my pretties,” she whispered, setting her tea aside to draw the box closer. The tissue crinkled as she pushed it back. “Where did you come from, huh? Shoe fairies?” She touched one neon-orange lace and sighed. “Are you looking for a good home?” She peeked at the label on the box. “Look at that. Just my size.”
Caffeine and nowhere-to-be-seen newspaper forgotten, she lowered the lid, gathered the box in her arms, and carried the precious foundlings inside.
Perched on the edge of the sofa, she stared at the prize in her lap. Her heart thrummed against her breastbone, and a giddy, bubbly rush of anticipation simmered in her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had given her a present, much less one this heart-trippingly perfect. She bit down on the tip of her tongue as she tossed the lid aside. A girly laugh of delight rushed past her lips the second she caught a glimpse of the shoes in the light.
Hooking her fingers under the laces, she plucked them from their tissue nest. The box fell to the floor unheeded as she gave the shoes an impetuous little hug. She knew it was silly but didn’t really care. Let other women swoon over toothpick-heeled Jimmy Choos. She was a pushover for leather and mesh uppers with gel-filled insoles.
Setting one shoe aside, she gathered the tips of the laces to line them up. Her greedy gaze cataloged the number of eyelets and mapped the exact route she’d take through the tongue flap. It wasn’t until she reached for the second shoe that she noticed the words inked inside the box lid. The thick, bold slashes of black magic marker seemed harsh and sharply incongruous with the colorful gift.
DINNER? D
She stared at the message, the pricey shoe dangling from her fingertips and her heart lodged in her throat.
Danny.
She shook her head hard. No. It couldn’t be.
Or could it?
She’d caught him sneaking peeks at her all through the awards banquet. A couple of times, she thought he might have even been trying to look down her dress, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Why would he want a gander at her barely theres? Still, she’d had fun sparring with him that night. More fun than she’d had with a man in a long time.
She dropped the shoe to the floor, and her fluttering pulse slowed as the realization sank in. Of course the shoes weren’t from Danny. And double-goddamn Millie for planting the seed. She and Coach McMillan weren’t even on a first name basis, for cripes’ sake. He didn’t know where she lived, what she liked, or her shoe size. They couldn’t be from him.
The D was for Davenport.
She hated Jim’s habit of referring to himself by his last name. Hated that she’d picked up on it too. It made her feel like she was back in sixth grade, awkward and too tall, trying to be buddies with the boys for fear they’d reject her if she drew attention to the fact that she was a girl.
She gazed at the rainbow-colored trainers and shook her head, trying not to wish they’d come from another source. It wasn’t fair. The terse message was Jim to a T, but the gesture was unprecedented. Romantic gifts left on her doorstep? Not a part of their game plan. At least not so far. Then again, they’d never been as close to sealing the deal as they were now.
Turning the shoe, she inspected the intricate pattern of tread and tried to ignore the pang of disappointment reverberating in her gut. She should have been happy. This was easily one of the most thoughtful gifts any man had ever given her. These shoes said he knew her and liked her just as she was. A chick-flick sentiment, but one that worked like a damn charm.
But charm, sentiment, and surprises weren’t Jim’s forte.
He liked khaki pants, polo shirts, and brown loafers. His athletic shoes were never even stark white or inky black but a neutral silver-gray. Kate found his monochromatic bent ironic for a guy who’d told her he once dreamed of becoming a color commentator.
She frowned as she wove the laces through the eyelets. They already had a date for dinner scheduled. Why would he buy her the world’s brightest shoes when she was already locked in for a night of pasta and stats?
Then again, it was gratifying to see him finally step up to the line. Of course, she wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d inspired it all on her own. The video of her encounters with Coach McMillan always received a little play on both local and national sports news. Then there were the candid shots students kept snapping and Millie kept leaking. The crazy woman had started adding cryptic comments and pseudo-challenges to the department’s social media posts. And it was all working like a dream. The world was clamoring for another Kate and Danny sparring match.
The only trouble was, the last thing she wanted to do was fight with Danny McMillan.
Maybe these shoes signaled a turning point in her relationship with Jim. There might not be any scary sparks or sharp-edged baiting, but she didn’t have to worry about a clash of the egos each time they went out. They’d settle into their semiregular banquette at his favorite Italian place. It had to be Italian this week, because last week they’d gone to the steak house. But it would be good. Satisfying.
Wasn’t it better to be with a man who made her feel cool and comfortable than one who made her bristle like a porcupine each time he came near?
She gazed at the new loves of her life and hugged herself tight. If they did indeed come from Jim, she’d have to give him credit for bringing his A game. These shoes were awesome enough to bump him solidly into double-bonus territory.
*
The building was empty but for two members of the maintenance staff Danny spotted emptying trash cans, their headphones clamped to their ears. The quiet closed in around him.
The day had been fairly easy, and he’d planned to unpack the boxes crowded into his office. Inspired by Kate Snyder’s shoe collection, he’d ordered some racks for his hats. They’d been delivered and were ready to be filled, but a call from the athletic director informing him that good old Dick Donner was on campus put an end to that plan. Housekeeping and the best intentions were no match for a guy with deep pockets.
That was how Danny spent most of the day mapping routes with a computer nerd who considered himself a gridiron tactician. Richard never failed to let a conversation pass without reminding Danny that he’d been instrumental in giving a certain disgraced for
mer football player a second chance at coaching Division I. Danny had known from the moment he accepted the plane ride up here that he’d be at the guy’s beck and call, but he’d hoped for an off-season grace period with no armchair quarterbacking.
Donner was so smug, it was hard for Danny to keep a lid on his inner smart ass, but he had. For Mike’s sake as much as his own, he made it through the entire meeting without acknowledging the fact that the Wolcott Warriors hadn’t had a winning record since the Reagan administration—a stat that sports analysts and a few of his fellow coaches had mentioned a time or twenty since the day he was hired. That bottom line wasn’t going to magically change overnight. Progress would be slow, but it would happen. There was no telling Dickie that though. He wanted results, and fast.
Heaving a tired sigh, Danny shoved his binders and tablet into his battered briefcase. As he gathered his things, he thought about Kate and the look of total understanding they’d shared at the banquet. He’d liked the intimacy of that look almost as much as he enjoyed the barbs they traded. The peachy-pink that colored her cheeks when their knees touched under the table. The sly curl of her lips when she had a zinger locked and loaded, just waiting for the opportunity to sling it at him.
Earlier that day, he’d caught himself searching the severed nets and framed jerseys lining the hallways for hints of what she might be like when she wasn’t wearing her game face. The pantheon of gleaming wood, brass, and crystal proved she had every right to be cocky. But he liked the pictures best. The determination. The drive. Most of all, the joy lighting her smile in those moments of triumph.
And though every meeting with her felt like they were squaring off at center court, he liked seeing her smile. Live and in person.
Danny pulled the office door closed behind him without bothering to lock it. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely certain there was a lock. He had a sneaking suspicion that his office might have been an equipment closet. When he’d mentioned something about his predecessor’s decorating skills, Mike had grudgingly admitted that the former football coach had a bigger office that now belonged to Ty Ransom. But Danny didn’t push it. Basketball ruled here. It would take at least three acts of God to change that.
