Pride & Joie (#MyNewLife)

by M. E. Carter

  He swivels his pencil between his fingers, a tell-tale sign that he’s thinking. “I wonder how he’d do on the offensive line.”

  “You thinking left guard?”

  “Maybe.” The pencil keeps moving. “Lyles is having a tough time keeping people off our QB.”

  “I noticed that,” I agree. “I was gonna watch him a little more closely at practice this week. But I have a bad feeling it’s not his skill that’s causing his problems.”

  “Christ,” Hank grumbles and tosses his pencil on the desk. “I fucking hate when they lose their focus.”

  Having their egos stroked for so long because of their skill level, combined with getting out from under the watchful eye of Mommy and Daddy, can be a disaster waiting to happen for some of these young men. More than a handful of times, we’ve watched kids who worked their asses off throughout high school get to college and fall on their face. The girls, the parties, the freedom . . . football stops being a priority and that’s when the problems begin.

  “We all fell into that party trap in college. It comes with the territory. You know that.”

  He points at me like I’m the offender here. “Not as a scholarship recipient. I don’t give a shit if his daddy is a pastor and he’s never gotten any pussy until now. A few parties is one thing. But when you can’t do the job you’re paid for, it’s over the line.”

  “Agreed.” I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s call him in. Show him the clips. Remind him of what he’s got to lose and put the fear of God in him.”

  “Whatever we have to do.” Hank scrubs his hand down his face in frustration. “I hate adding extra work to our day because some snot-nosed kid has to be called out for being a fuck-up.” He points at me again. “And he damn well better not get shit-faced at the scholarship gala.

  I don’t want our donors anywhere near that kind of shit.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll take care of it. I know how the gala stresses you out.”

  “You have no idea,” he claims, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Renee spent five hundred dollars on a new dress for this hullabaloo.” I let out a low whistle. That’s a lot of dough. “Every fucking year she drops a shit-ton of money on this thing.”

  Once a year, as a thank you to our sponsors, the boosters have a huge fundraiser gala. It’s all cocktail dresses and ball gowns, suits and even some black tie. We make the players, not just football players, but all the school athletes, wear a monkey suit, too. There are caterers and live music. It gives the sponsors the opportunity to meet the kids who are receiving the money from the boosters. It also gives them incentive to open their wallet again and give more. They love it.

  The team? Not so much.

  Hank? Not at all.

  “You’re the head coach. You don’t have a choice but to be there.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs then considers me. “Are you bringing someone this year? Tell me you’ll have a date I can pawn Renee off on, so I don’t have to hear her commentary about all the other dresses this year.”

  I chuckle. “Nope. No date this year.”

  He groans and rests his feet on his desk.

  “Although, now that you mention it, I do have a date this weekend.”

  His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise. Hank was here when Sheila was diagnosed with breast cancer the second time. And he was here when she was diagnosed the last time. When the doctors told us it was terminal, he was one of the first people I called. When I told him about taking Sheila on her dream trip, he didn’t skip a beat and helped me figure out how it could be done without losing my job. Turns out, it wasn’t that hard. I used all of my vacation and sick leave then went unpaid for the rest of it. But having him fast track the paperwork helped so much.

  Yeah, Hank’s seen me at my worst. And while he knows I’m not living in emotional despair, he knows I miss her. It’s no surprise his curiosity is piqued.

  “Anyone I might know?”

  “Unless she’s a trainer and I don’t know about it, nope.”

  His eyebrows furrow. “Why would she be a trainer? Are you . . . is she a student?”

  I open my mouth to answer him, but I realize that this might be against my employment contract, and it never occurred to me until now. Sure, she’s older, and I don’t teach any classes, but this might be a direct violation of university policy.

  His eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Jesus, Pride. Cradle rob, much?”

  I glare at him. “You know me better than that.” He stares at me in disbelief, so I knock his feet off his desk, jarring him from his relaxed position. “It’s true. She’s in her forties and going back to school now that her son is out of the house.”

  “Where’d you meet her?”

  “That’s where it might get sticky.” I run my hand over my five o’clock shadow while I think. “I ran into her outside the Cooper building. Literally ran into her. About knocked her over.” I chuckle, thinking about her bag practically exploding and the look on her face when she realized there were feminine products on the ground. I played it off well, but it was still cute seeing her blush.

  “Why were you at the Cooper building?” he asks. “That’s a hike from here.”

  “I had to go talk to Merrick’s adviser.”

  “Shit.” Hank rubs his eyes. “Again?”

  Benjamin Merrick is a fantastic defensive tackle. Observant. Quick on his feet, especially for his size. Efficient at his job.

  He’s also dumb as a box of rocks.

  That boy has done tutoring, extra credit, study groups. Anything and everything we’ve required of him, he has done without complaint, but he can barely stay in eligibility. We finally worked with his advisor to change his major from kinesiology to communications. There was less math and science, and even then, it was only basic freshman-level stuff.

  Unfortunately, less math and science meant more essays and literature. Which also goes over his head.

  “It was actually a surprisingly good meeting.” Good is a relative term, but I’m trying to stay positive about the guy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep,” I say with a nod. “Not only is he maintaining his eligibility status, he’s on track to graduate at the five-year mark. Just like we were hoping.”

  Hank squeezes his fist together and pumps it in victory. We’ve pulled out a lot of stops to help this kid be successful. Not just in football, but so he’s prepared for life.

  “I’ve gotten a few whispers about him being drafted, too,” Hank confesses.

  “Good. If he goes in, we need to make sure to help him get a good financial planner. I can’t imagine what kind of job he could hold down once his career is over, except maybe coaching. But you know how few jobs there are.” Hank nods. “If he can get a decent deal and a good planner who can help him out, it’ll help tremendously for after he retires.”

  The thing about Merrick is he’s not stupid in general, just with his studies. But unfortunately, that means an agent or financial planner that doesn’t have the best intentions, could easily swindle him out of a lot of money. Hank and I have made it our mission to help ensure that doesn’t happen. Our players are like our kids, and we don’t want to see them fail.

  “I’ll let you know if those draft whispers turn into shouts so you can call his mama and tell her what we’re gonna do. She knows her boy’s been hit one too many times in the head.”

  “I won’t start the conversation like that.” I chuckle and lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out. “But she’s a nice woman. I’ll give her a heads-up.”

  “Speaking of nice women . . .”

  I groan and run my hands through my hair. “I don’t know what to do. I know it’s frowned upon to have a relationship with a student. But I always assumed that was more about a coach dating a player or a professor dating his student. Not a coach dating a forty-something, non-traditional, education major that takes classes on the exact opposite side of campus, and they never cross paths.”

  “Unless you�
�re tracking down an advisor.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “And how many times am I going to have to put this much work into a player’s studies again? Not many.”

  “I don’t know what the official policy is because I’ve had this ball and chain for such a long time.” He flashes his wedding ring at me.

  I snort a laugh. “Don’t let Renee hear you say that.”

  He waves his hand around. “Do you see Renee in this room? I’m not that stupid.” Linking his fingers together and putting his hands back behind his head, he continues, “But I kind of think you’re right about it being a common-sense thing. She’s your age, you’ll never be in charge of her, so the worst that can happen is she can manipulate you for a few tickets. But that would be your own damn fault if you fell for it.”

  “You mean like Matthews did?”

  Hank doubles over laughing, while I sit with a shit-eating grin on my face. “The stage-five clinger! I forgot about that!”

  Several years ago, Matthews met some woman at a local bar one night. Brandy, Bambi, Candy . . . who knows what her name was? For their first date, he brought her to the gala. Apparently, she got a taste of the good life and wanted more of it. Why she thought Matthews could provide it, no one knows. But she did. And he couldn’t shake her. After taking her out on two dates, she was talking about moving in and marriage and babies . . . the whole nine yards. She would show up in the office with a picnic dinner because she “loved” him.

  We thought it was hilarious because he legitimately didn’t know how to get her to understand he wasn’t that into her. He finally had to lay it out and make her cry. And by cry, I mean race up to the office so she could scream and wail and call him all kinds of names you wouldn’t hear coming out of my mouth, and I cuss more than a sailor, all in front of an audience—us.

  Since then, the dumb ass has fallen into that trap two more times. Never as severe as the stage-five clinger. But not without us slapping him upside the head a couple times for being an idiot.

  Hank is still chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes. “You gonna bring your co-ed to this year’s gala?”

  “We haven’t even been on a date yet. I’m not introducing her to any part of this team until I know they’re razing me for a good reason. We’re not the only ones who were there for the clinger.”

  We both start laughing again. “Well good,” he says. “I’m glad to see you getting in the saddle again. I hope you waited this long for a good one.”

  Me too.

  When I open my front door, standing on my stoop is a very dapper Jack Pride. He looks delicious. Which is something I’d never think, let alone say, if that means anything as to how handsome he is tonight.

  He’s wearing jeans and a polo, but something about the way he carries himself makes it obvious he’s a coach. Like he commands respect, even if he’s not on the field. I like it.

  He lets out a low whistle as he takes me in. “You look amazing.”

  I feel the blush heat up my cheeks. “Thank you.” I didn’t pick out anything special. Just a nice pair of skinny jeans with a white, flowy top that makes me feel like the baby gut I’ve had for twenty years is concealed. “Do you want to come in? Or . . . I mean, do we have a reservation?”

  He laughs, a slow chuckle rumbling out from him. “No, we don’t have a reservation. But I don’t need to come inside. I’m a growing boy, so I’m ready to eat.”

  Oh yeah. I like this guy. I like his sense of humor and his wit. I like the way he watches me like I’m beautiful. I like that he says it out loud. And I kind of like that he doesn’t want to come in.

  I know, I know. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. But I’ve always subscribed to the belief that I’m worth waiting for. If you don’t want to build a solid relationship with me first, I’m not important enough to you. And that means you don’t deserve these goods. The fact that Jack doesn’t try to come in means a lot. Like he might be on the same page as me. Which would be one more thing to like about him.

  “Okay.” I turn, flashing him a smile over my shoulder. “Let me grab my purse.”

  It’s hanging on the hook right next to the door, so it takes me no time at all to snag it, pull my keys out, and lock up behind me. I’m strangely nervous and hyper-aware that Jack is walking really close to me, so I don’t notice his ride until we’re right up on it.

  I stop and my eyes go wide. “That is a giant truck.”

  Jack chuckles and pulls the passenger door open for me. “I live in Flinton, Texas. Are you really that surprised?”

  I shrug in agreement because he has a point. Five-passenger, extended cab, extended bed, extended everything isn’t really uncommon around here. I just can’t figure out why they’re necessary unless the owner works in construction or on a ranch.

  After climbing into the cab, and I do mean climbing, I take a few seconds to regard my surroundings. The front is clean. The back? Not so much. There are dozens of empty water bottles littering the floorboard. A few fast food bags, too. It’s like he transported half the team home in this thing. Which may not be completely off-base. He is the assistant coach. I’m sure that kind of stuff happens all the time.

  Before I can think any more about it, Jack jumps into the driver’s side and cranks the ignition. He glances over at me with a smile. “Got your seatbelt on?”

  I nod and off we go.

  “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

  He glances at me and smiles before focusing on the road. “I figured I’d run with the pizza idea. There’s a little place about fifteen minutes from here. DiPashi’s Cuicino. I hope you like authentic Italian.”

  “I do. But how in the world did you find a place like that around here? You live in Flinton. That’s forty-five minutes away from here.”

  “Sheila, my late wife”—I nod in recognition of her name—“used to hate going out to dinner anywhere near Flinton.” He chuckles, a soft look on his face and I know he’s remembering her fondly. “She hated the notoriety of my job. Hated it. So it became our thing to find hole-in-the-wall restaurants.”

  “And what did she think of DiPashi’s Cuicino?”

  “Didn’t like it.”

  His unexpected answer makes me laugh out loud. “But you’re taking me there to eat?”

  A wide grin lights up his face. It should be weird talking about the woman he was married to for so many years, especially since he clearly still thinks the world of her, but it’s not. It’s almost comforting to know there must be something special about me for him to think I might be the same caliber as she was.

  “She didn’t hate it because the food is bad,” he clarifies. “She hated it because she’s not a fan of authentic Italian. It’s owned and operated by this couple who moved here from Sicily. Sheila was fine with Americanized Italian, but she wasn’t a fan of all the basil and olive oil.”

  “Well, no disrespect to Sheila, but she’s wrong,” I joke.

  “You like that kind of food?”

  “I like any kind of food, but authentic is right up my alley. Italian made by someone from Sicily? Yep. Greek made my someone from the island of Lefkas. Let’s do it. Mexican made by someone from Guadalajara? Bring it. I’m a foodie with that stuff.”

  “Well, good. It’ll be nice to eat with someone who appreciates good cuisine.” Suddenly he grimaces and shakes his head. “Ah shit, I’m sorry. I guess it’s not really good dating etiquette to talk about your wife with the woman you’re taking to dinner.”

  I smile, partially as reassurance. Partially because I like his slight Texas drawl. It’s kind of sexy. “I don’t mind. It’s nice knowing those kinds of relationships still exist. There are so many horror stories out there, I like hearing about the good ones.”

  He glances my way a few times, still trying to keep his eyes on the road. “I take it you had one of the horror stories?”

  Crinkling my nose, I think about my answer. It’s been so long that I really am over it. But that doesn’t mean the memor
ies are happy.

  “I was a bit of a wild child for a few years,” I begin.

  “Really? You seem pretty stable to me.”

  “Having a baby when you’re practically a baby yourself forces you to grow up pretty fast.”

  “I take it Isaac’s dad didn’t stick around?”

  “Nope,” I say, popping the p for effect. “Years ago, I was really angry that Isaac’s dad left. How could he leave me on my own with a two-year-old? We both had this baby, ya know? We were both responsible.” I sigh as I put my thoughts in order. “But now that Isaac is the same age I was when he was born, my perspective has changed a bit. I understand how it happens.”

  “You don’t mind so much that he left anymore.”

  “Oh no,” I correct him. “It was still the wrong thing to do. If Isaac ended up in the same position, you better believe I would beat his little butt if he responded the same way.” Jack chuckles, which makes me laugh. “It’s true! I’m not one of those moms who think my child can do no wrong. I know he can. And I’ll be damned if he grows up to treat his own child the way he was treated.”

  I glance over at Jack, who is staring at me. Thankfully we’re at a stoplight.

  “What?” I ask, beginning to feel self-conscious about his eyes on me.

  Jack turns to face ahead as the light turns green and presses his foot to the gas. “You don’t know how rare that is these days.”

  “What? Holding my kid responsible for his actions?” He nods. “Really? I thought that was just decent parenting.”

  “I’ve been coaching for a long time, and I’ll tell ya, there’s been a shift in recent years.” Jack shakes his head like he’s trying to rid himself of some bad memories. “The guys still respond to us because we run a tight ship, but the trust we used to have isn’t there as easily anymore. It’s like the minute we turn our backs, they forget everything this team is supposed to stand for.”

  “I wish you were exaggerating, but I sit next to a chatty Cathy in my lit class. I hear way too much.”

  “I wish I could say what you’ve heard is wrong. But I doubt it strays far from the truth.”