by Maggie Wells
“You can save the lecture,” Danny warned.
The blunt assessment captured Mike’s full attention. “Huh?”
“There was no way it wasn’t going to happen.”
Mike’s eyebrows rose. “I’m scared of both the structure and the content of that sentence.”
Danny had to laugh. Letting his head fall, he rolled the knots from his shoulders and dropped back another five yards to buy himself a little time. These days, Mike looked a lot more like an academic than an all-American. In reality, the man was both. Not only was he smart as a whip, but he also had the heart of a ballplayer. Danny needed to remember that. Unlike the front office guys he’d worked for in the past, he couldn’t bully this one into letting him call his own shots.
“Listen—”
“No!” Mike hissed. “I get it, okay? She’s beautiful, she’s talented, she’s friggin’ six feet tall—”
Danny turned and dropped the heel of his foot on Mike’s instep. Hard. Hard enough to make the man suck air. “Stop right there.”
Mike gritted his teeth, then threw an elbow with enough force and accuracy to restore what little space the two had started with. “Dammit, Danny, just looking at her wrong can get you fired in the blink of an eye.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think she doesn’t?”
Mike slid to the end of the seat and turned to face Danny head-on. “Then what the hell are you thinking? It took you years just to get back to this point.”
The shrill threeeep of a whistle cut though the cacophony, and the disjointed thrum of bouncing balls ceased at once. Danny watched as the girls lined up to place their balls on wheeled racks parked at the far end of the court. One by one, they rushed to the middle of the floor, anxious to see what Kate had planned for them next.
Mike’s growl of frustration was muffled by his palm. “Is she really worth it?”
The silence throbbed around them. Alive. Pulsing with adrenaline. And like a rookie spotting his first opening in the defensive line, Danny dove headlong into it. “How’s Diane? Still worth it?”
It was a cheap shot and Danny knew it, but he was feeling cornered and didn’t care. Mike’s wife had been a cheerleader he’d fooled with on and off in their undergrad days. Then she turned up pregnant just after one of those “on” periods at the end of their junior year, and Mike showed up for practice that fall with a shiny gold wedding band on his finger.
All indications showed that the marriage was thriving. They’d had two more kids after Mike’s pro career petered out. Danny had been to their expensive-but-comfortable house for dinner and spotted the pencil marks on the doorjamb that made the house a home. But still, it wasn’t like Mike had been given a lot of choice once the dirty deed was done.
“I’m sorry.” Danny issued the apology in an instant. “That was… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I love Di.”
Mike sagged back against the seat. “I’m not trying to bust your balls, man. I’m just… The stakes are high. It’s not just your job on the line here. I took a chance on you.”
Danny slumped, the weight of Mike’s reality pressing down on him until he slouched like a sullen teenager. “I know that.”
Tugging at his bottom lip, he watched as Kate divided her worshipful minions between the opposing baselines. Whistle clamped between her teeth, she walked backward until she reclaimed her spot at center court, then gave it a short, shrill blast. The soles of sixty sneakers slapped polished oak. When the first girl came close to touching her, another bleat split the air, sending them back in the opposite direction.
She toyed with them, sending them long then short, reversing their course on her whim, and smiling around the whistle’s rubber guard as their squeals and taunts filled the air.
He closed his eyes. It took little effort to conjure the image of her straddling him. Toying with him. Tormenting him. Pushing him until it felt like everything would explode—his dick, his head, his lungs, his heart.
A long, trilling blast of the whistle jolted him, and Danny sat bolt upright as the girls ran to her. They surrounded her at center, their faces shiny with sweat and tendrils trailing from battered ponytails. They beamed at Kate. Every one of those young, fresh faces glowed with elation. He knew that feeling. It came to him each time he fitted his fingers between the laces of a football, cupped the curved leather, cocked his arm, and let one fly. Love of the game.
Love.
Eyes fixed on the woman towering over her gaggle of munchkins, he let go of the tension inside him. It was time to stop playing it safe and start playing to win. And to win, he needed to lay it all on the line. His job. Decades of friendship. The heart thumping hard against his breastbone. He hadn’t lied when he told his mother Kate was worth the risk.
“I love her.”
He spoke the words no louder than a whisper, but he knew Mike heard him. He couldn’t be bothered with the knuckles glowing white beneath his old friend’s skin. Not when he’d lobbed his heart right at the unsuspecting woman like a Hail Mary. Closing his eyes, he envisioned it slicing through the air in a high, tight spiral, unraveling the closer it got to her. Just like he did. Danny swallowed hard but forced himself to open his eyes. He couldn’t stand envisioning his heart lying bloody and beaten at her feet. “I love her.”
“Does she love you?”
Danny opened his mouth to tell the man it was none of his damn business if she did or she didn’t, but at that moment, Kate raised her head and looked right at him.
Thank God he hadn’t heeded Mack’s advice to move higher up in the stands. For once in his life, he was more than happy to be too slow to outrun Mike Samlin. He answered the eloquent lift of her brows with an exaggerated shrug. A small smile curved her lips as she carried the whistle to her mouth again and blew hard. This time, she took off with the pack, her dark hair bouncing off her shoulders as she raced the girls for the racks that held the basketballs.
He watched as she ripped a ball from the grasp of a girl eight inches shorter and dribbled away. Her throaty laugh rose like smoke. Her erstwhile opponent went after her, bony arms flailing as the NCAA coach of the year squared up and stepped into her defender, unwilling to give even an inch when it came to the only thing that mattered—taking the shot.
He drank her in, memorizing the line of her. Eyes fixed on the rim and toes pointed at the goal, her body curved into a graceful bow, her strength and power breathtaking to behold. She was his. And she loved him too.
“Yeah, she does.”
Mike heaved a sigh heavy enough to crush a lesser person. Danny twitched when the man’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder, but Mike’s voice was quiet and calm when he spoke. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” And he was. He knew with every fiber of his being that she loved him back, even if they hadn’t said the words yet.
Mike sighed. “I can’t stand the thought of watching everything you’ve worked for blown sky-high because of some woman.”
Danny turned to look at his friend. “Not some woman. The woman,” he corrected gruffly. “Before I met Kate, the only thing I had to look forward to when I left the office at night was hours of game film. The only goal I had was getting back, getting better, and getting my hands on that trophy.”
Mike held his gaze. “And now?”
The smile started, and there was no way he could stop it. Pure joy. Powered by love. Of the game, and of the right woman. “Now I want all that and her.”
The AD rapped his wedding ring against the plastic armrest and stood. “Well, there goes Millie’s publicity plan.”
Squinting up at the other man, Danny shrugged. “Oh, I bet Kate and I can keep fighting for the cameras.”
“Hard to buy two people going at each other if you know they’re getting it on at night.” Mike shoved his hands into his pockets and tossed down another put-upon sigh. “Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King never fell in love.”
Danny barked a laugh. “There were reasons for that.”
<
br /> “I suppose.” As if the man thought he still had any room to maneuver, Mike cast a sidelong glance at Danny. “Keep it off campus.”
“There goes my plan to bend her over the trophy case.”
His words dripped with sarcasm. As it was, he’d been actively plotting payback for the locker room tryst for weeks, but the right opportunity never arose. He wouldn’t cross it off the list, no matter what Mike wanted.
“I guess I’ll have to make do with away games,” Danny said.
“Okay, I’ve said what I needed to say.” Mike patted his shoulder again but this time gave it a friendly squeeze. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He started to slide from the row, but Danny caught his arm. “I’m sorry about what I said. It was a cheap shot. You know I love Diane, right?”
“I do too. No matter how rough things were at the start.”
Danny didn’t even try to fight the flush that crept up his neck. He deserved every scorching bit of it. “I get you. And I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.”
The AD caught the apology with the same grace he used to show only when snatching footballs out of thin air. “Now you know how I know you’re not bullshitting about Kate.”
Danny watched his friend walk away without another word. Down on the court, the assistant coaches were herding the campers into lines for layup drills. Kate huddled with her two famous volunteers on the sideline. The lights above the court striped her dark hair with streamers of gold. The green-and-gold lanyard around her neck clashed with the neon-pink Nike shirt she wore with black track pants. He caught the Y-shaped outline of a sports bra beneath the high-tech fabric. The shirt clung to the slope of her breasts and flowed smooth over the curve of her hip. The urge to yank them both up to her armpits made his fingers curl.
The squeak of a seat rising alerted him that he wasn’t alone with his X-rated thoughts. A pair of decidedly low-tech sneakers appeared in his peripheral vision. At least the damn things had laces and not Velcro closures. He didn’t need to look to know his inherited assistant would have completed the look with polyester coach’s shorts and a polo.
Keeping his gaze on Kate, he asked, “You got something to add, Mack?”
Mack didn’t scuff his shoes or clear his throat. He didn’t bother with anything as obvious as a tap on the shoulder or whistle blast in his ear. Danny had seen the old coot do it to players on occasion. The tactic was undoubtedly effective but not as potent as stillness and silence.
At last, Danny gave in and looked up. “Well?”
Mack gave him the single nod that Danny was starting to think the man had trademarked, then gestured to the court. “Just glad to hear you finally got your head in the game.”
Kate walked her guests to the ramp that led to the locker rooms. Her thanks were effusive. Handshakes turned into hugs and kisses. The guy from the Knicks held her a little too long for Danny’s liking, but she simply laughed and punched the future Hall of Fame candidate in the arm as she pulled away. Poor Mack had to resort to a light slap upside his head to regain Danny’s attention.
Shocked, Danny turned to glare into crystalline-blue eyes, for the first time noticing that the shade was startlingly similar to the reflection that greeted him in the mirror each morning. But this man was nothing like dodgy Dan McMillan. This man knew who he was, where he belonged, and exactly what the next play needed to be.
“Yeah, Coach?” Danny asked, his voice hoarse with anticipation.
“Just make sure you play every minute of every quarter. Right to the last down.” He glanced at Kate and then back again. “Every second counts, kid. Hell, these basketball players, they’ll even take it down to the tenths and hundredths of a second. Play hard if you mean to win.”
“Gotcha.”
The old man thumped his back, then rose. “We’ve been spotted.” He jerked his chin toward the court. Kate stood in the center circle once more, a ball tucked under her arm and a gaggle of preteen girls gathered close. She raised a hand and waved him down. Of course, Mack was off like a shot. “Looks like you’re about to get drilled, and not in the good way,” he said with a chuckle.
Unable to resist her smile, Danny rose like a man in a trance. The soles of his athletic shoes were silent as he jogged down the steps, but the second he stepped onto the polished hardwood, they sang out his surrender.
Smiling at the chorus of giggles that greeted him, he trotted out to meet the group, his shoes squeaking like someone had stashed a pair of rubber mice in the insoles. “You beckoned, Coach?”
“Think fast,” she blurted, then winged the ball she’d been holding directly at his chest.
He caught it just before it knocked the wind out of him. Palms stinging, he shot her an arch look. “Fast enough for you?”
Kate simply smiled that saccharine smile he’d come to know and love and pointed to the far goal. “Hit it.”
Without breaking eye contact with her, he dropped the ball into an easy dribble. “Hitting it, Coach,” he replied with a smirk.
She let him have two steps before she unleashed her gaggle of flying monkeys with nothing more than a simple, “Get him.”
*
Kate drew up short when she spotted Danny lounging against the trophy case outside her office door. “Oh. Hi.”
He didn’t straighten or return her burgeoning smile. In fact, he didn’t look happy to see her at all. He looked…determined. She’d become fluent in Danny McMillan’s body language over the past few weeks. The tightening of his abs when her fingers bumped over his ribs marked him as ticklish but unwilling to admit it. A quick downward tug at the corners of his mouth signaled amusement he was reluctant to show. The sharp, jerky nod he gave her told her he was holding himself on a tight rein. His fingers were curled into his palms, not quite fists.
“You and your minions have fun making me look like a slug out there?”
Her ears burned, and her nipples went on high alert. That old saying about someone being beautiful when they’re angry came to life. He stood there, pissed off and gorgeous in all his high-definition glory, and, Lord, she wanted him. It had been less than six hours since he’d rolled out of her bed, but that didn’t make her any less eager to have him in it—and in her—again. Judging by the heat flaming in his blue eyes, he felt exactly the same way.
“You looked like you wanted to play.” She brushed against him as she aimed her key at the lock on her office door. He stiffened just the slightest bit, and she shot him a sidelong glance as the door swung open wide. “I would have introduced you to Alec and Shaundra, but they couldn’t stick around for the slaughter.”
“Your friend Alec can shoot, but he plays golf for crap.” The words sounded like a typical jock jibe, but Danny wasn’t wearing the requisite smirk to go with them. Instead, he kicked the door shut, twisted the lock, and started toward her, blue eyes locked on her like laser beams. “And given how I did against a bunch of twelve-year-olds today, I’d say I’ve got more than enough trouble trying to handle one Amazon woman. Two would probably kill me.”
“I wasn’t offering to set you up.” She leaned back to perch on the edge of her desk, bracing her feet wide and tipping her chin up to hold his gaze. Invitation or challenge, he could read it either way he wished. “Besides, you’re not her type.”
That cocky smirk she loved so much finally made its appearance. Danny stepped between her legs. Her eyelashes fluttered when he ran his big, rough hand over her hair. But when he wound a hank of it around his fist and tugged not so gently, her eyes snapped open, and her head tipped back.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked. “I’m every woman’s type.”
“I hate to break this to you, lover boy, but I can tell you for a fact that I’m more her type.”
It took a half second for the full impact of the taunt to sink in. The metamorphosis of his expression was priceless. So was the sheepish but delighted smile he settled on at last.
“Day-yum,” he drawled. “If that’s not a th
ought to keep a man up at night, I don’t know what is.”
Kate grabbed his belt buckle and pulled him a little closer, all the while staring him straight in the eye. “Stop being a pig. Besides, she’s not my type.”
He blushed as he rubbed his thumb along the base of her skull. “Sorry, I know that was bad, but…can’t I keep it? Just for…inspiration.”
“You’re playing with fire, Coach,” she warned.
“Never did develop a healthy fear of it.” He lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug. “Now, with you, I think I might be turning into a damn pyromaniac.”
She wet her lips, then let her hand fall away from his waistband. “I saw Mike up there too. I assume he was warning you off.”
“He tried.”
“Danny—”
“He failed.”
The stark ferocity of his assertion stopped her. Whatever she was about to say crumbled to dust on her tongue. She stared hard at him, searching for a crack she might slip through to inject a little reason, but all she saw was the impenetrable granite of sheer determination. Still, she was a champion, and champions never stop. Even when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds.
“He’s going to fire you.”
“No, he’s not.”
His rapid response startled her. She squinted at him, trying to read whatever convoluted thoughts had led him to his new certainty. “How do you know?”
“I know.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. Riding the wave of impulse that seemed to swell whenever this man was too near, she rose up and pressed her lips to it. The smile blossomed and spread as she moved to give the other side of his mouth equal playing time. She loved kissing him happy. Danny’s smiles had a taste all their own, spice and heat, as if each bump of his lips served as a thermostat. Oh, she loved his other kisses too. The ones rich and intense as dark chocolate. Those quick pecks that were savory but also achingly sweet. She particularly relished the moments when his innate coordination failed and he got a little sloppy.
