After a few moments, Gibb looked over, head tilted, studying me with unreadable dark eyes.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re a bit of a puzzle, Connor McGuire.”
She wagged her head back and forth as if deciding her next words, and I waited patiently to hear them. But instead of her Georgia peach voice, I got an earsplitting buzzer.
Time for next period.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
“Hey, Coach,” Orlando Reyes said as he slung his backpack on his shoulder, walking out the door.
Gibb and I answered at the same time: “Hey.”
Our eyes met. We were both coaches.
On the same football team.
She had the title.
I was left with assistant coach next to my name.
And I wanted to punch myself because of everything I’d just revealed.
I hauled ass back to my classroom, needing to get away.
A woman I’d dated had once told me I was cold. She was a therapist and said I hadn’t reached the top of Maslow’s hierarchy, and that if I wanted to be a self-actualized person I needed to work on my intimate relationships and self-esteem. I told her she was full of shit.
I was an actualized person. I just actually didn’t care to talk about my personal life to other people. That conversation in the middle of a crowded high school cafeteria was definitely a first.
But once practice started, we went back to our usual routine. It was a relief not to have to think about Gibb as a friend, or how weak I’d looked when I told her those personal details about my life. At practice, we were football coaches. There was no silence between us to interpret.
After a particularly bad play, Gibb raised her hand to me. “McGuire, what’s your offense doing out there? Are they taking this week off after winning a game?”
I tugged my hat farther down my head and called Nate over. “You’re bouncing all over the place, and it’s slowing you down.”
He stuck his mouth guard in his helmet. “I’m trying to get rid of the ball. Bernie missed the block and—”
“Forget Bernie. Hopping around in the pocket isn’t going to help you. You’re off-balance, and you can’t find your receiver under pressure. Drop back, keep your knees bent, plant your foot, find your target.”
I mimed the last two steps, accentuating how to settle into his knees and plant his foot before the release.
“Stay on your toes but keep those knees bent as you move or else you might as well be standing still. Got it?”
“Yeah, Coach, yeah.”
“Good. Show me.” I smacked his helmet twice, and he ran back onto the field to the huddle.
Gibb clapped a few times. “Let’s go! Simpson, stay on your man. If Anderson gets sacked one more time, everyone’s running laps.”
A collective groan rolled over the players.
“On your toes, knees bent!” I reminded Nate through cupped hands as he set up behind Krajewski on the line.
He took the snap and dropped back, and I zeroed in on his feet, watching as he did exactly as I’d told him. He released for twenty yards, straight to Marcus.
I raised my eyebrows to Gibb in a challenge. She waved me off before circling her finger in the air. “Run it again!”
CHAPTER
12
Charlie
We were down by one with a minute some left on the clock, but we’d just scored. The opposing team’s defense was fast; twice they’d intercepted Nate’s passes for touchdowns, pushing us to move to a running game at the beginning of the second half. But with literal seconds left, we needed to go for the two-point conversion to win the game.
“Take the kick,” McGuire said in my ear through the headphones, crunching on a lollipop.
I clenched my fist, tempted to slap the candy out of his mouth. “I’m not confident we can get the W with the extra time.”
“Well, I’m not confident Jaylin can get through that line. Sixty-two’s been on him all night.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. “Remember what happened in game one?”
“Thanks for the reminder.” I pulled my headphones off. “Anderson!”
Nate turned, and I gave him the signal for the conversion play. He nodded, and set the team up at the line.
I glanced over to McGuire, who shook his head. I fantasized about strangling him.
Nate called the play, took the snap, and tossed to Jaylin, who had miraculously sprouted wings like Icarus and flew over the heads of the defense right into the end zone.
There wasn’t much time for cheering because the other team was already taking positions for kickoff, clearly anxious to try to take it back. Joel Cooper, the skinny-ass kicker, took his place, and landed an onside in perfect placement for us to recover it. Nate took a knee and the clock ran down.
The team went wild.
Another W in the books.
I marched directly over to McGuire and shoved my headphones into his chest, digging my knuckles into his pec. “Next time, I will choke you with those lollipops.”
He caught the headphones when I let them fall before I spun away from him. When would he learn? I had gotten this job for a reason.
I grabbed Jaylin by his jersey and pulled him close to me. “You earned this one. You earned it!”
He grinned through his face mask. “Thanks, Coach.”
I bumped my forearm to his before congratulating a couple of other players, the whole time sensing eyes on me. I glanced around until I saw him, the other team’s coach blatantly glaring at me. I ignored it and lined up behind my players, shaking hands, hearing murmurs of “Good game” all around me.
Until I got to him.
This guy, Brad, who I read had come from Alabama, sneered at me. “What’re you doing out on this field?”
By habit, I met his extended hand. “Excuse me?”
He squeezed hard, and I ground my teeth together to keep from flinching. He dragged me in close to him to whisper, “Go back to the kitchen where you belong.”
I smiled as politely as possible, knowing our players surrounded us. “Hey, let me ask you a question. What’s it like for your mama to also be your cousin? I heard you like to keep it all in the family where you’re from.”
“Somebody should shut up that smart mouth of yours.”
I yanked out of his grip. “Don’t ever t—”
A hard grip around my bicep dragged me to the side, and I flipped around to find it was McGuire, who took my place in front of Brad. I didn’t hear what he said to the older man, but whatever it was made Brad back up two steps.
“You wanna run with the big dogs, but you can’t even fight your own battles?” Brad said to me, his face bright red, his index finger pointed at me.
I started to make another retort, but McGuire forced me to move, shoving me back, saying, “Leave it. The jackass isn’t worth it.”
I growled and pulled my wrist out of his grip, torn between appreciation for him sticking up for me and fury for him sticking up for me. A couple of the kids caught the scuffle, but I couldn’t look at them, the shame and anger of what the other coach had said washing over me. I knew his small-mindedness wasn’t my problem, but it affected me. Made me feel two inches tall, like I was back in middle school when the principal had sat me down to tell me I couldn’t play on the football team because “it’s just not what girls do.”
I’d won that particular fight, but that didn’t mean I wanted to keep having it over and over.
A girl got tired after a while.
I could barely muster up a smile for the team in the locker room, so McGuire took over, congratulating them and instructing them to get on the bus as fast as they could. He glanced at me over his shoulder, his face blank but eyes full of emotion. I think he was just as angry as I was.
Normally I didn’t mind the smell of sweat and grass once we were trapped on the bus, but tonight I did. I sat in my usual seat in the front and dragged the window down, letting the chilly air cool me down. I lean
ed my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, listening to the players sing stupid songs and make jokes. I couldn’t laugh along tonight.
The seat dipped next to me, and I lifted my head.
“You need something, McGuire?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“Check on me?” I jerked my head back. “Since when?”
He didn’t answer.
“I don’t need you to fight battles for me,” I told him.
“I know that.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Our eyes met in the glow from the passing streetlights. “Because even though you can do it doesn’t mean you should have to.” And after a few moments he said, “We’re on the same team, aren’t we?”
And in spite of myself, my lips curled up in a small smile. He patted my knee twice, then folded his arms across his chest and turned his head to watch out the front of the bus.
“We weren’t expected to win that game,” he said after a while.
“I try not to read the papers or the analysis.”
“You should. You would’ve seen the write-up on our improving offense.” When I didn’t show gratitude, he rolled his head toward me. “You’re welcome.”
I backhanded him in the stomach, noting that it wasn’t the first time my hands had found him tonight.
“Hey,” Ken said from behind us.
My head popped up. The bubble that had formed around McGuire and me had burst.
“You coming to the bar tonight, Gibb?” Ken asked.
I looked to McGuire next to me, not for permission but to see if he had any opinions on the matter.
“We go to Blake’s bar,” McGuire said. “You should come.”
I kept my face straight while my heart danced. Maybe it was a little immature, like that time I was invited to Lindy Crane’s birthday party in sixth grade, but I was finally being accepted into the club. And by Connor, no less.
“I’ll be there.” I nodded to Ken and turned back around in my seat.
McGuire and I didn’t say anything again until we ended up next to each other at the Public. The place was pretty crowded, the brick of the walls and metallic of the exposed pipes and décor melding to provide a trendy but welcoming atmosphere.
We were all seated in the corner next to the windows, still in our clothes from the game, except for Ken, who’d changed into a button-down and jeans, earning some mocking from the rest of the guys about his GQ fashion. Apparently, he wasn’t one to ever sport his Otters uniform off the field.
“Blue and yellow just aren’t my colors,” he said with a laugh.
“What is your color?” I asked.
Dave leaned in and answered for him. “Anything that takes away from his fat head.”
“All my smarts have to go somewhere,” Ken said.
“What do you do again?” I asked.
“Chemical engineer. My company separates elements in different gases to sell them to other companies.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Join the club,” Ronnie said, sipping his dark beer.
They were all more than halfway done with their drinks, while I hadn’t really touched mine.
“Not a fan of beer?” Erik asked, digging into a basket of food.
“I’m more of a wine drinker myself,” I said. “Red wine.”
“Fancy,” Erik joked after stuffing a couple of freshly made chips in his mouth.
“Here.” McGuire slid his light-colored beer bottle to me with one finger. “Try this one.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a . . .” His eyes went off into the distance until he snapped his fingers a moment later. “Grisette. Piper said it means gray . . . or something. I don’t know.”
I picked up the beer and raised my brow to make sure he really wanted me to share his drink. He nodded and watched as I brought it to my lips to take a sip. I swallowed, and his eyes followed. When I licked my lips, his gaze stayed there as he asked, “So?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Still don’t like it.”
He scooted the bottle back in front of him, leaving a trail of condensation on the dark wooden table. He wiped it away with the palm of his hand, and I stared at the way his long fingers curled in toward his palm. Noticed the small scab by his knuckle. The muscle of his forearm.
I’d been around athletes for as long as I could remember. I’d seen plenty of muscular men in my lifetime, shirts off, or even only in their underwear, and I’d been unfazed. Walls of muscle all sort of blur together after a while, so not being able to take my eyes off of his forearm was new. Wondering what the weight of his arm would feel like had me thinking that maybe a few sips of beer was a few too many.
Before I could completely lose myself in these crazy thoughts, Blake made his way over to our table. He greeted everyone with a “Next round on me, fellas.” Then he grinned down at me. “And lady. Another big win, huh?”
“Five more games until playoffs.”
“Think you’ll get there?”
“Next week’s game will put us in contention if we win.”
He nodded. “Nice.” He pointed to my nearly full beer. “Not a fan of the Natural Red?”
I wrinkled my nose. I hated to admit that I didn’t like Piper’s beers.
“She likes red wine,” Connor interjected, and I flicked my eyes to him, still unnerved by the awareness buzzing between us.
“That’s all right,” Blake said, putting his hand on my shoulder as he picked the bottle up. “This happens to be my favorite from Out of the Bottle.” The way he said the name of Piper’s business exuded pride in every syllable.
And it made me a little sad that I’d never experienced the love of a man like that.
“Can I get you anything else? We’ve got a few choice liquors, soda, water . . . ?”
I waved the offer away. “Nah. I should be heading home anyway. Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” Blake asked. “Doing what?”
My chin bobbed up and down—caught in my fib. “Well, we have films tomorrow morning, and then I’ve got to go to Target.”
“Big day . . . at Target?”
“I love Target,” I said, moving to grab my car keys.
“Who doesn’t? But that’s your big day?”
I jingled my keys. “I’ve got to get my car checked. It’s been making a funny sound.”
Blake’s brows narrowed, one hand on his chin. Piper had told me that in his previous life, he was an attorney, and I could see that in how he stared at me. I began to sweat.
He looked to McGuire, then back at me. “Why don’t you get your car checked out and then come over to our place tomorrow night? Piper has been bugging me to have a game night.”
“I won’t have a car,” I lied, the words coming out before I even thought of them.
“Connor can take you,” he suggested.
I blanched. My gram had a saying about liars: I don’t tolerate liars. I’m a nice person, not a stupid one.
But in this case, I was the stupid one. If I told them I was lying about my big day tomorrow, they’d think I was a loser. But if I kept it to myself, I’d have to be in a car with Connor.
“Thank you for the invitation, but I don’t think so.”
For a second, Blake’s focus split to Connor, who was silent behind me. I half hoped he’d jump in to say there was no way I was allowed in his car. Would’ve saved me from all this floundering.
Blake shifted his weight, staring at me until I gave in.
“Fine. I’ll come over for game night. Although I refuse to play charades.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Connor,” he said, snapping, “pick the lady up at seven. We’ll have dinner.”
He left, and McGuire still hadn’t said anything by the time I stood up. I lifted my arms in question to the eternally stoic guy next to me.
He shr
ugged in answer. “I like Clue.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to murder you in the library with the wrench.”
“I don’t mind playing dirty,” he said with a smirk that said a million more words than he ever would.
And I made it all the way to my car before I took a real breath.
CHAPTER
13
Charlie
With Sonja away for the weekend, I was able to enjoy my big day in peace. I got to play Britney Spears as loud as I wanted, soak in a chamomile bath for over an hour, and paint my toenails bubblegum pink.
Eventually my day of self-indulgence had to come to an end. And my night of strange had to begin.
With one single knock.
I opened the front door to find the bill of a cap in my line of vision. “What’s with the hats all the time?” I asked. “I know you don’t have a misshapen head, what are you hiding?”
He tipped his head up, and our eyes met. In the dark, they seemed much more silver. And scary. They moved from the top of my ponytail, down my leggings, to the tips of my gray tennis shoes. “What’s with the baggy sweater? What are you trying to hide?”
I pulled at the oversize knit bargain I’d found on sale that suddenly strangled me. The foot of distance between us was so narrow yet oddly too far.
“It’s cozy,” I said, averting my eyes, refusing to give anything away. I grabbed my coat and scarf because balmy Atlanta had spoiled me for Arctic tundra Minneapolis. I locked the door behind me, mumbling, “I’m not built for this weather.”
He sniffed a laugh next to me.
“What?”
“Guess no ice fishing for you.” He flipped his car keys in his hand.
“Absolutely not. The only thing worse than sitting for eight hours in a boat hoping to hook a fish is sitting on the ice for eight hours hoping to hook a fish.”
“I go every year with Sean,” he said as he opened the passenger-side door of his truck.
I stopped at the gentlemanly act, and he gestured up toward the seat. “You waiting for me to throw you in or what?”
“I’m sure you’d love to get your hands on me,” I said, then immediately tried to reel it back in. “I mean—I meant it like I’m sure you’d love to throw me around.” I shook my head. “You know, because we don’t like each other, so—”
Sidelined Page 8