by Jill Shalvis
“You both agreed to do whatever it took to not be suspended, correct?”
Another long glance between the two players.
“Yeah,” James said.
‘You’re going to work as volunteer construction crew on the fire rebuilds, then every afternoon you’ll coach at the rec center.”
“That sounds okay,” James said. “Especially if the coach gig involves that hot little counselor they had running the car wash. What’s her name… Rainey? Loved her wet T-shirt—you guys see that?”
Casey grinned. “I loved her whistle and clipboard, and the way she barked orders like a little tyrant. Sexiest tyrant I’ve ever seen.”
When James chuckled, Mark’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “She’s off limits.” He ignored the third long look that James and Casey exchanged. But they had one thing right. Rainey was a tyrant, especially when she decided on something.
Or someone.
And once upon a time, she’d decided on him.
“So we’re not going to the Biltmore?” James asked. “Cuz there’s always plenty of hot babes there.”
“James,” Mark said. “What did I tell you about hot babes?”
James slumped in his seat. “That if I so much as look at one you’re going to kick my ass.”
“Do you doubt my ability to do so?”
James slouched even further. “No one in their right mind would doubt that, Coach.”
“And anyway, you’re not allowed back at the Biltmore,” Casey reminded James. “That’s where you got caught with that redhead by her husband. You had to jump out the window and sprained your knee and were out for three weeks.”
“Oh yeah,” James said on a fond sigh. “Madeline.”
Mark felt a brain bleed coming on. He exited the highway, a good twenty miles from the beach and any “hot babes.”
“Damn,” James murmured, taking in the fire ravaged hills on either side of the narrow two-lane highway, then repeated the “damn” when Mark pulled up to a small, run-down-looking motel.
“Home sweet home for the next month,” Mark told them grimly. “The Santa Rey Welcome Inn.”
Casey and James just stared at the single story motel. The stucco walls were pea-green, the windows lined with wrought-iron grates. The yard was dead grass.
“They’re on water restrictions,” Mark said, and clapped them both on the backs. “You’ll be reminded of that come shower time in the morning. There’s a three-minute shower requirement here. Let’s go,” he said to their groans.
The Welcome Inn sign blinked on and off in flashing white lights. The door to the office was thrown open, letting out the scent of stale coffee and air freshener. Inside the office was a desk, a small couch, and a floor fan on full blast aimed at the woman behind the desk. Celia Anderson was sixty-something, and glued to the soap opera on the TV mounted on the wall—until she saw Mark. With a warm smile, she came around and squeezed him tight. “Aw, you’re such a good boy,” she said. “Throwing us your fancy business.”
Boy? Casey mouthed to James.
“Sometimes homey is better than fancy,” Mark said to Celia.
She patted his cheek gently. “Your father raised you right. I’ve got the three rooms you requested. Cash or credit?”
“Cash,” he said, knowing how badly she needed the cash.
“I’ll give you a discount.”
“No,” he said gently, putting his hand over hers when she went to punch a discounted rate into her computer. “Full price.”
She beamed at him and handed over their room keys.
Which were actual keys. Casey looked at his like he didn’t know what to do with it. They walked down the outside hallway to their rooms. Each had a single bed, dresser and chair beneath the window. All of which had seen better days but were spotlessly clean.
“Coach, I think your assistant screwed up the reservations,” Casey said.
James’s head bobbled his agreement. “I don’t think they even have cable.”
“There’s been no mistake,” Mark said. “Unless you guys wanted to room together?”
They looked at the narrow bed and vehemently shook their heads, both wisely deciding to drop the subject.
Mark waited until he was alone to smile. Operation: Ego Check was in full swing.
For all of them.
RAINEY DIDN’T FALL asleep until past midnight, and dreamed badly.
Sweet Sixteen, and she stood outside Mark’s bedroom door, heart pounding inside her chest so loudly she was surprised she hadn’t woken the entire apartment complex.
Mark had no idea she was here. No one did. She’d stolen his key from Rick and lied to her friends that she was too tired to go out. Wearing a pretty lacy teddy beneath her sweats, carrying a borrowed pair of sexy heels in her hand, she grinned. Tonight was the night. She was finally going to tell him she loved him, that she always had. They’d live happily ever after, just like in all the good chick flicks.
Quietly she opened his bedroom door and dropped her sweats. She stepped into the heels and fluffed her hair. She was just checking her boobs to make sure they were even and perky when she heard it.
A rough moan.
Whirling around, she got the shock of her life.
Mark wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t even in his bed.
He was sprawled in the beanbag chair beneath the window, long legs spread for the woman on her knees between his, head bobbing—Oh, God.
Mark’s head was back, eyes closed, his perfect body taut and his hands fisted in his date’s hair as she…
Rainey must have made a sound, or maybe he’d heard the crack of her heart as it split wide, because Mark sat straight up so fast he nearly choked his date. “Christ. Rainey—”
“Hey,” his date complained, lifting her head with a pissed-off frown. “I’m Melody.”
Rainey turned to run away and ran smack into the door—which didn’t slow her down. Not that, or the sprained ankle from her stupid heels.
“Rainey!”
The pounding of bare feet told her he was coming after her. Not wanting to face him, she kicked her heels off and raced barefoot out into the night like Cinderella trying to beat the clock. Young and desperate, she’d run off looking for a way to prove herself as grown up as she imagined.
She’d been ripe for trouble, and unfortunately, she’d found it.
SITTING STRAIGHT UP in bed with a gasp, Rainey realized it was dawn, and she blinked the dream away. Fourteen years and she remembered every humiliating detail as if it’d been yesterday. Especially what had happened next. But she wasn’t going there, not now. Not ever.
By that afternoon, she’d nearly forgotten all about the dream and Mark. She was running laps with the group of teens who’d shown up after school, counting heads to make sure none had made off with each other into the bushes, when Sharee came up to her side.
Rainey’s welcoming smile faded as she locked her gaze on the new bruise on the teen’s jaw. “What happened?”
Sharee switched into her default expression—sullen. “Nothing.”
“Sharee—”
“Walked into a door, no big deal.”
“Where was your mother?”
Sharee lifted a shoulder. “Working.”
Rainey would like to get Martin alone and walk him into a door, but that was a stupid idea. The man scared Rainey. “You know where I live, right?”
“The Northside town houses.”
“Unit fifteen,” Rainey said. “Next time your mother’s working nights, come have a sleepover with me.”
“Why?”
“So you don’t walk into any more doors. We’ll watch a movie and eat crap food. It’ll be more fun than any date I’ve had in a while.”
“How often do you date?” Sharee asked.
The easy answer was not much. But that was also the embarrassing answer. “Occasionally.”
Sharee nodded, then went back to running laps. Rainey ran again too, until her cell phone buzzed an inco
ming text from Rick.
The help I promised you for the summer league is on their way. You’ve got two Mammoth players and their head coach, who I believe you’ve met. They work for you, Rainey. You’re in charge.
She’d have to kill Rick later. For now, she grabbed her clipboard and blew her whistle. “Two more laps before we scrimmage,” she called out, and began stretching to cool down. She’d figured Rick would get a few local college athletes. But nope, he’d gone all the way to the top.
And all she could think was that Mark would be around for three weeks.
Twenty-one days…
She lay on her back and stared at the puffy clouds floating lazily by, trying not to delve too deeply into how she felt about this. The first cloud looked sort of like a double-stuffed Oreo. She could really go for a handful of double-stuffed Oreos about now. The next cloud came into sight, resembling—“Mark?”
She blinked up at the cloud that wasn’t a cloud at all as Mark flashed her his million-dollar smile.
“Heard you need me,” he said. “Bad.”
AT TWENTY-ONE, Mark had been long and leanly muscled, not a spare inch on him. Rainey’s gaze ran down his thirty-four-year-old body and she had to admit he was even better now. In fact, the only way to improve on that body would be to dip it into chocolate.
He offered her a hand, his grip firm as he pulled her upright. She immediately brushed the dry grass from her behind and the backs of her legs, painfully aware of the fact that once again she was a complete mess and he…he was not. He had all that perfect Latino skin, and the most amazing dark eyes that held more secrets than some developing countries. He had strong cheekbones and a mouth that always brought sinful thoughts to her mind, especially when he flashed that rare smile of his. He’d broken his nose twice in his wild and crazy youth, not that it dared to be anything less than aristocrat straight. But even better than his arresting face was everything else—his fierce passion, his drive, his smarts. And now for the first time, she supposed she could also appreciate his coaching skills firsthand. “We’re running,” she said.
“Really? Because it looked like you were napping.”
Clearly he was in great shape. He could probably run a marathon without breaking a sweat. The thought of what else he might be able to do without breaking a sweat made her nipples hard.
Don’t go there....
Too late. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t stare at him, but as it turned out, he and his hot bod were imprinted on her brain. His world was about coaching million-dollar athletes, and he’d taken it upon himself to be as fit as they were. This meant he was six feet plus of hard sinew wrapped in testosterone, built to impress any guy and pretty much render any female a puddle of longing.
Except her.
Nope, there could be no melting, not for her. She was so over him. Completely. Over. Him.
Maybe.
Oh, God, she was in trouble. Because who was she kidding? She’d never gotten over him, never, and every single guy she’d ever dated had been mentally measured up to him and found lacking.
It made no sense. Yes, she’d known him years ago. Back then she’d been insanely attracted to the way he cared deeply about those around him, his utter lack of fear of anything, and his truck. Apparently some things never changed.
He stepped closer, blocking the sun with his broad shoulders so that all she could see was him, and she forgot to breathe.
His fingertips brushed lightly over a cheek and something deep in her belly quivered. “You’re getting sunburned,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”
The one he’d given her yesterday? She’d tried to toss it into her trash can last night. Twice.
It was sitting on her pillow at home.
But only because it would have been rude to let a gift go out with the week’s trash. And that was the only reason she’d worn it to bed. “I’m wearing sunscreen.”
He was just looking at her. His phone had vibrated no less than five times from the depths of his pockets, but he was ignoring it. She tried to imagine all he was responsible for on any given day, and couldn’t.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Good. And you? Congratulations on your season, by the way.”
“Thanks. It really is good to see you, Rainey.”
She laughed and spread her hands, indicating her state of dishevelment. “Yeah, well it gets better than this, I swear.”
He smiled and looked past her to the girls. “Rick said to let you know the players and I are to report to you for coaching the kids. That’s how both the Ducks and the Mammoths are handling the fallout from the fight. We’re trying to show that players can be role models and help our local communities at the same time. At the end of summer league, we’ll have a big charity fundraising game between the two rec centers and show that it doesn’t have to end in a fight.”
“Hmm.” The idea was fantastic, and in truth, she really needed help. There’d been a time when she’d needed him too, not that she’d ever managed to get him.
And Rick had just given him to her on a silver platter. Oh, the irony. “That’s great.”
“Will the parents have a problem with us stepping in? Don’t they usually coach for summer leagues?”
“Not in this part of town, they don’t. They’re all working, or not interested.”
He eyed the teens on the field, specifically the boys, his sharp gaze already assessing. “How about you let us handle the entire boys’ program?” He turned that gaze on her, and smiled. “It’s been what, a few years?”
“Two.” She clamped her lips shut when that slipped out, giving away the fact that she’d kept count.
His smile widened, and she arched a brow.
“I’ll hug you hello again,” she warned. “And this time I’m all sweaty.”
He immediately stepped into her.
“No,” she gasped. “I’ll ruin your expensive shirt—”
Not listening, he wrapped his arms around her. “You can’t ignore me this time, Rainey, though it’s going to be fun watching you try. And you know what? I think I like you all hot and sweaty.” He ran a hand down her back, smiling when she shivered. Stepping away, he gestured to the boys on the field. “Bring them in,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
While she blew the whistle, he eyed the two baseball diamonds. There were weeds growing in the lanes, no bases, and the lines had long ago been washed away.
“Why are they dressed like that?” he asked.
The boys were in a variety of baggy, saggy shorts and big T-shirts. Some of the girls wore just sports bras and oversize basketball shorts. Others wore tight T-shirts, or shirts so loose they were in danger of falling off. “We don’t have practice jerseys.”
He pulled out his cell phone and walked a few steps away, either to make or take a call, and Rainey absolutely did not watch his ass as he moved.
Much.
When he came back, she’d divided the teens up into boys and girls, and sent the boys to the further diamond to scrimmage because they were much better at self-regulating than the girls.
She’d split the girls into two bedraggled, short teams and Sharee was at bat. She hit a hard line drive up the first base line. Pepper, their pitcher, squeaked in fear and dropped to the mound.
“Nice hit,” Mark said. “But why is the pitcher lying flat on the ground like there’s been a fire drill?”
“Pepper’s terrified of the ball.”
