by Liz Talley
The clock wound down, the half ended and the Owls jogged off the field with a seven-point lead.
“I’m goin’ for coffee. You want any, Coach?” Smiley asked, rising and causing every vertebra in his back to crack. He patted his shirt pocket and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill. “My treat, fellas.”
“You can’t drink coffee this late. You’re gonna be up all night pissin’, Smiley.”
“Don’t you worry about my prostate. I can have a dang cup of coffee if I want it.” Smiley hitched up his pants and walked toward the aisle that would take him down to the concession stand. Half the stands cleared out, making their own way down for a snacks or a smoke.
Abram waved a hand. “Nothing for me. I’m going to be heading out before too long.”
Smiley grunted and eased down the steps.
Abram saw Lou stand, she did a little jerk of her head and he got the message she wanted him to follow her.
Gladly.
He rose. “On second thought, I’m gonna stretch my legs, fellas.”
The older men nodded, already wrapped up in their conversation about the Ville Platte coach and how he recruits kids from the private schools.
After making his way slowly down the crowded aisle of the metal stands, he found Lou standing off in the shadows away from the people crowding around the cinder-block concession stand. Mary Belle stood beside her, looking into a compact, coating her lips with lipstick. She snapped it closed, her eyes zeroing in on him. “Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t my cousin Abram.”
“Cousin Mary Belle, good to see you again,” he said, before turning his gaze on Lou.
Her hair was longer and she’d put on a little weight, which looked good on her. She’d been too thin when he’d last seen her in June. Odd, it had been so long. Seemed like it was only yesterday he held her in his arms in that empty stairwell, and the weekly conversations they’d had for the past seven weeks had knit her even tighter to him. Deeper and deeper he fell into Lou.
“Hello, Coach Dufrene,” Lou said with a mysterious smile.
Mary Belle raised her eyebrows. “Pretty formal for a man you almost got naked with.”
“Oh, my Lord, Mary.” Lou looked like she wanted to choke her friend. A dark blush flooded her cheeks. “That’s not what happened.”
Abram winked at Mary Belle. “Not for lack of trying.”
“Don’t say that,” Lou muttered, looking around.
Mary Belle elbowed her. “No one’s listenin’ to us, sugar. They’re all trying to get nachos before they run out of cheese. And he’s just flirtin’ with us.”
Abram shrugged. “I’d say the statement was false, but that would make me a liar.”
Mary Belle twisted her lips. “I know you want me to stand here to give you cover and all, but I can’t listen to talk of nakedness. I mean, I can, but it’s probably not a good idea. I’m likely to attack the next guy who comes around the corner.”
Smiley walked by carrying two coffee cups and chawing on a dip.
“Ugh, never mind.” Mary Belle shivered. “I’m going to get some peanuts. Be right back.”
Abram didn’t bother watching Lou’s friend walk away. His eyes were on the beauty in front of him. Pink still stained her cheeks and her pretty blue eyes flitted around nervously. She looked inexperienced, unsure and very tempting.
On one hand, it ruffled him his job kept them from one another. On the other, the fact she respected the rules endeared her to him even more—because she loved her brother, wanted to do the right thing, and didn’t know how to juggle wanting to do the right thing with wanting something for herself. No, Lou wasn’t a typical twenty-seven-year-old woman worried about what size diamond should grace her hand or what club had the best selection of potential husbands. She didn’t get pedicures or wear designer clothes. And she didn’t know how to handle a man falling in love with her when it wasn’t a man she could have.
But that man couldn’t stop himself, could he?
Not when he lay in bed thinking about the sweetness of her smile or the way she’d look in her plain white cotton panties. When had granny panties ever been so sexy? Screw Victoria’s Secret. Give him Lou in underwear that came six to a package any day.
Someone brushed against him, drawing him out of his thoughts of unmentionables and into the present moment.
“So how have you been, Lou?”
“You know how I’ve been. I talked to you last night.” Her brow crinkled, drawing her cute nose up a bit. He wanted to drop a kiss on it then gather her into his arms and drop kisses in other strategic places.
“Oh, yeah.” He smiled, looking into her eyes, watching them soften.
“It’s weird. I’ve only seen you in person three times, yet…” She yanked her gaze from his, glancing out at the band trotting off the field. He loved how blue her eyes were.
“I know. It’s like we know each other too well,” he said, wondering if he could touch her in some way without it looking like he was some pathetic overgrown kid. He reached out and brushed the back of her hand with one finger, hoping no one would see the caress.
Something flared in her eyes. She shoved her hand in her front pockets. “You shouldn’t.”
He stepped back. Lou was right. He shouldn’t touch her because the energy humming between them was enough to make him want to do something crazy—like kiss her again. “Sorry.”
“So, you looking at some other kids besides Waylon?”
Football. Yeah, right. The actual reason he was here. “I’ve got a few notes on some kids. That Hayden Verdun is having a good game.”
Lou made a face. “He’s good. I guess. But we’re going to beat the dog mess out of ’em.”
“Spoken like a true fan.” He grinned, nestling his own hands in his jacket pockets. It was safer that way.
“Well, doesn’t this look cozy,” a voice interrupted. He turned to find an older man, a good foot shorter than he, standing behind him. The man wore an expensive leather jacket and ostrich boots. The shirt peeking out of the collar was maroon, designating him a Bulldog fan.
“Don.” Lou lowered her chin, like a queen nodding to her subject. A sort of iciness had entered her voice and Abram got right away “Don” wasn’t well liked—at least not by Lou. He wondered why. Had the man done something to her? His mind galloped with possibilities of this man hurting this woman standing before him. Abram didn’t like him on the very plausibility.
“Lou.” The man returned the nod as cold as January before turning to him and sticking out a hand. “Coach Dufrene, I saw you come in the stadium earlier and wanted to introduce myself. Don Verdun. My son is Hayden, number 88 for the Bulldogs.”
Abram took the man’s outstretched hand. “Good to meet you. Call me Abram, please.”
The man’s grip was too tight. Overcompensating for his stature.
“Hated I missed you this summer—business trip kept me from the closing day at camp. Hayden said he learned a good deal from you.”
Lou shifted in her clogs. How Abram knew they were clogs, he hadn’t a clue. “Well, I’m so glad to see you again, Coach Dufrene. Look forward to our visit in a few weeks when we come up to ULBR.” She looked Don straight in the eye as she uttered those words. They sounded like a throw-down challenge. Don’s dark eyes narrowed.
“Good night, Lou,” Abram said, wishing like hell Verdun would beat it and give him a few more precious minutes with the woman who’d kept him on pins and needles since dancing with him on the dock at Lake Chicot.
“Night,” she said, sliding past them, waving Mary Belle, who balanced peanuts, popcorn and a soda in her arms, over to the entrance of the stands.
He felt Don watch him watch her.
“I enjoyed getting to know your son, Mr. Verdun. He’s a good football player.”
“Yes, he is, and he’s improving each game. The camps this summer helped him.”
Abram didn’t want to stand and talk about a kid that likely had no shot at taking a scholarship slot at ULBR. Ha
yden could play Division I ball, but likely at a smaller program. Abram could tell the father’s dreams for his son were much bigger than reality. “That’s what the camps are for. They’re a win-win. We get to meet some of the best talent in the state and the kids get an opportunity to grow in their positions.”
Don parked hands on his hips. “We’d like to take an official visit to ULBR this fall. We’ve been waiting on ULBR to give us a serious look. Hayden’s definitely worth it.”
Abram took an inward deep breath. “We may have to do that, Mr. Verdun. I’ll talk to Coach Holt and we’ll be in touch.”
Don nodded. “Good, good. I think you’ll be glad you did. Waylon Boyd’s not the only kid around here who can play. I hope you’ll keep that in the back of your mind. I heard about what happened at Rendezvous and understand you have a special relationship with Lou—”
“Hold on a sec.” Abram held up a hand. “The incident between me and Miss Boyd happened before either of us knew who the other was, and it was reported to compliance and the NCAA. We’ve been very honest about that.”
“But I have eyes, Coach. I can see what’s going on here.”
Abram clenched his fists. “There’s nothing going on. I’m recruiting her brother—I’ve made no bones about that. Waylon’s sister is a good person, easy to like, easy to talk to. This isn’t some slimy sort of thing, Mr. Verdun. Let’s not paint it what it isn’t.”
Much.
“I’m not implying anything. Just imparting what I’ve heard, is all. I really hate to see people dragged through the dirt when there’s no need.” The man inclined his head at a few people walking by before turning toward the field. Air horns blasted into the night mixing with the roar of the crowd as the players took the field. “I’ll be looking for that invite for an official visit because I know you want to be fair in all this. Gotta run. My son is always better in the second half and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Abram watched as the man turned on his expensive boot heel and headed for the track skirting the field.
Something in his gut cramped at the veiled threat in the man’s last words. He wanted to follow him, spin him around and tell him to do his damnedest, but then there was the whole slight element of truth to the accusation. On the surface, he had nothing going on with Lou. Underneath, somewhere near his heart, and definitely somewhere beneath his belt, he very much had something going on with her.
The past several years had proven without a doubt a person who wants to make trouble or a name for himself can do so. Unproven accusations against college football players or collegiate programs were squeaky wheels—dangerous squeaky wheels because the press loved them.
If a sports reporter sniffed an inappropriate relationship between him and Lou, he’d blast the airways with speculation, resulting in the media parking their asses on stools at Rendezvous to get the real story. They’d haunt the citizens of Bonnet Creek looking for the slightest wrinkle in any accounting of what went down between him and Lou that night. They’d line the streets in front of Lou’s house. Yes, the few brief encounters he and Lou had had would be turned into some tawdry story of sex, scandal and recruiting violation. Destroying a kid with talent and dreams wouldn’t matter at all if a reporter could get a byline and run with a story, no matter how ridiculous it was.
Abram couldn’t allow that to happen for more reasons than he could name on all fingers.
Which meant Hayden Verdun might need a second look.
It wasn’t that the kid wasn’t a legitimate recruit. He was. It was merely that Abram didn’t have a gut feeling about him being able to fit into their schemes. He wasn’t tall nor athletic enough, and the dad’s interference threw up bigger warning flags. He’d been around football too long not to recognize the type.
“You coming up, Coach?” Smiley yelled across a sea of people all moving toward the stands.
Abram moved along with them, like a salmon upstream. He reached the older gentleman. “Think I’m going to watch the third quarter from down here then head out. We got a game of our own tomorrow.”
Watery blue eyes met his. “Ah, hell. It’s a blindfold team.”
Abram arched a questioning eyebrow.
“You could beat ’em blindfolded.”
Laughing, Abram clapped him on the shoulder. “We better not think that way, Smiley. Having our asses handed to us on the field would be easy compared to the fires the fans will be lighting to burn us at the stake. We prepare for every opponent.”
Smiley gave him a grin that showcased two silver partials and a couple of pieces of tobacco lodged in his teeth. “I’d be bringing the starter fluid.”
“Exactly.” Abram started toward the opening leading to the track. “Tell your buddies I enjoyed sharing the bleacher with them.”
Abram chanced another glance at Lou, finding her watching him as he moved toward the exit of the stadium. He’d watch a few minutes of the third quarter before heading back to Baton Rouge. To stay longer would be too much temptation. Somehow seeing Lou made it ten times worse. Not necessarily out of sight out of mind, but more like looking at a piece of chocolate cake on the counter and inhaling the wonderful chocolatyness of it, knowing you can’t even dip one finger in the frosting for a taste. Better to remove the temptation.
Over the past few weeks, he’d grown to know Lou. Learned the nuances in her laughter, the worry in her voice, and the delight in someone asking about her—what inspired her, what fueled her and what made her who she was. Their conversations had had nothing to do with a pigskin ball and sixty minutes. It had been about Lou. About him. About life.
And he’d starting falling toward love for the first time in his life.
Lou was different than any other woman he’d ever known.
Maybe some would think him silly. Cynics would brand him under her spell only because it was a long-distance, yearning kind of thing, but for centuries people had fallen in love over distance, penning longing letters of passion, of hope for a future. Today people even fell in love online. So was it preposterous to think he could fall in love over the course of a brief telephone call once a week?
Maybe.
He didn’t know if it was actual love, but it was something he wanted to explore…if the opportunity ever presented itself.
And somehow he’d have to ensure it did.
He turned back and watched Lou for a few moments, noting the curve of her cheek, the swing of her straight golden hair shining beneath the lights, the smile focused on her friend beside her.
Yeah, she was definitely something.
As he walked to the gate, he felt other eyes on him. He searched the maroon and gold crowd to his right and found Don Verdun watching him. The man arched a knowing eyebrow.
Worry made a home in Abram at that very moment, and he knew what lay ahead would be anything but a walk in the park.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WAYLON SHOVED HIS helmet on the shelf and straightened the pads so he could shut the locker door. As always, he was the last person out of the locker room, preferring to grab a shower before heading out to tackle the night. After piling off the bus, his teammates had dumped their stuff in their lockers or laundry and hightailed it out the door before Coach could find them and give them an earful about missing a block or dropping off too early in coverage, but Waylon had never worried about getting his ear chewed before.
And he wouldn’t now.
His routine had always been a long shower after the game, and he wasn’t changing it because he didn’t want to deal with Coach Landry. They’d said their piece to one another last weekend. He played for Landry and that was it. Keepin’ it professional. End of story.
Before leaving the stadium in Ville Platte, Lou had tossed him the keys to the truck, electing to stay in town with Mary Belle and a few friends. Lori had skipped the game altogether because her best friend Sara had a birthday weekend planned in Dallas. Lori had given him knucks before heading out the door that afternoon, and she hadn’t looked back. Wa
sn’t too often either of his sisters got invited anywhere. Lou was Lou, and Lori’s cautious nature and nerdy tendencies held her back from too much trouble.
So Waylon was on his own tonight, which suited him just fine.
His phone buzzed as he shoved his wallet in his back pocket. Morgan. “What’s up, babe?”
“Hey. Good game tonight.” She sounded distracted, her enthusiasm forced.
He slammed the locker closed. “Always good when we win.”
“Yeah. Um, look, I’m gonna hang with Leesa tonight. Sorta a girls’ thing, you know?”
“You don’t want to go out?” He held the phone in the crook of his neck as he walked toward the double doors of the locker room. Cool air met him as he pushed into the parking lot to find the old wreck the only vehicle left. Even Coach was gone and he was always last man out. Guess the custodian would lock up.
“It’s not that I don’t wanna hang with you. It’s just Leesa’s been having some issues, and I told her I’d stay with her tonight.”
He rolled his eyes because Leesa always had some sort of problem, and he suspected her main one was she was hung up on Morgan. It wasn’t that he minded a little girl-on-girl action, but not with his girlfriend. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“Nah. I’ll hang with Brian and the guys. They said they were heading out to Vidrine’s camp to play poker and drink beer, so we’re cool.”
“Good. Well, have fun with the guys.”
“Later,” he said to no one, mostly because Morgan had already hung up. She’d been acting weird lately, blowing him off and refusing to have sex with him. Something was off-kilter, but he wasn’t going to overthink it. The victory tonight had him feeling better than he had in a long time. Beating Ville Platte was always a good thing.
And seeing that asshole Verdun sniffling like a bitch had been the icing on the cake.
Lou would say he shouldn’t take such pleasure in something so low. Lou would never grind her heel on anyone when he was down. But Waylon wasn’t like Lou. Or maybe he was. Hell, he’d offered Hayden his hand after the game. The dude had shrugged it off, but it had made Waylon feel better that he’d tried to make amends, even as he had taken satisfaction in watching his rival fall. Waylon guessed he wasn’t as good of a guy as he should be.