“Kristen, where are we on money for hotels?”
She blinked, then looked at Mindy, who asked. “Sorry, hotels?”
“For the travel.” Mindy Castenelli stared at her from under the helmet of blond hair she thought looked so good on her but really aged her a decade…or more. “The coaches and their hotel rooms. The team covers them. Are we covered?”
Kristen flipped through the clipboard she’d brought with her. “We are…approximately a thousand short for the projected travel through the whole season.”
The mothers all groaned, because they knew exactly what that meant…fundraising. And nothing was the polar opposite of fun than fundraising.
“Ladies, I know, I know.” Mindy went with empathy this time. She was a chameleon, changing her tune to whatever she thought would be elicit positive responses. Kristen preferred a straight shooter, but then again, no other mom had wanted to step up to be lead parent for the team. Mindy, for all her annoying personality traits, got the job done. “But we really need to come up with a way to raise the final thousand. We cannot just hope and pray for good deals.”
“Why can’t the new coach pay for his own room? It’s not like he doesn’t have the cash.” Tilly Illges stared at her nails, picking a little at the cuticle. When nobody spoke up, she looked around and shrugged. “I mean, are we going to just ignore the fact that he’s probably loaded and doesn’t need us to pay for a room at the local Holiday Inn?”
Sienna glanced up at Kristen from her spot two rows down and mouthed, Oh my God!
Kristen, who was at the top beside Mindy and could do nothing more than smile politely, inwardly sighed. Tilly was new to the team this year, because she was Robert’s new stepmom.
Newest stepmom. Number four. Somehow this one seemed to be less intelligent than her seventeen-year-old stepson…which was saying something.
“Tilly,” Mindy said in a gentle, singsong tone, “as we discussed at the beginning, these are volunteer positions. The team takes care of food and hotel rooms during overnight games, and the league compensates them for mileage. We extend the same offer to all coaches, regardless of their ability to pay.”
“But—”
“How about a car wash?” another mom asked, cutting off Tilly’s argument.
“We could offer an additional item or two at the concession stands during our tournament.”
“Candy bars. That was a good one the last time.”
“We could probably just make a calendar out of our new coach and sell them to the other moms,” a mother sitting beside Sienna said, staring out onto the field without even trying to hide it. “The man is delicious.”
The moms erupted into side chatter about whether he was their type or not, how he’d come to their team to begin with, whether he’d actually agree to the calendar—that one was Tilly, who didn’t seem to get the calendar idea was a joke to begin with.
“Kristen found him,” Sienna said, cutting into the noise. Eight other heads turned to focus on her.
Kristen raised a brow at Sienna, who mouthed, Sorry!
“Well, of course she did. He’s one of the Bobcat coaches. The hot one.”
“Ladies, this is really inappropriate,” Mindy stated firmly.
Nobody seemed to care.
“Is he single?”
“I can’t see a ring.”
“You can’t see anything from this far. Kristen?”
“I—”
“He’s not married. What?” Tilly asked, blinking innocently when the other moms looked at her with surprise. “I looked him up.”
“I bet she did,” Mindy stated under her breath. It was the first real human emotion Kristen had witnessed from the woman in the five years they’d been sharing the bleachers.
Kristen liked her all the more for it.
“Spill,” another mom insisted, poking Kristen’s knee.
Hoping for backup, Kristen looked sideways at Mindy.
Mindy shrugged. “Clearly, we won’t get anything accomplished until we hear the man’s life story. Just make it fast.”
“Uh, okay.” Kristen shifted a little, clearing her throat. “He’s, uh, the quarterback coach for the Santa Fe Bobcats, and—”
“We all know that,” a mom complained.
“Details!”
Sienna rolled her eyes over the other heads and pulled a magazine out of her purse. Kristen wanted nothing more than to stage dive her way over and flip through People with her.
“He’s not married,” she tried again, and the women nodded. Why they cared, when over half of them were married, she had no clue. “No children. The Bobcats organization is very big on their staff and players giving back to the community, so when Isaac asked—”
“Isaac asked him?” Mindy interrupted.
“Who’s Isaac?” Tilly asked.
“Jesus Christ, Tilly,” another mom groaned. “He’s Kristen’s son. Robert’s teammate? Keep up.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” Tilly grumbled and went back to picking at her manicure.
“I mean…that’s basically it.” Kristen raised her hands and let them fall again onto her knees. “Nothing major. I don’t have access to his HR files or anything.” That you vultures know of. “He’s just out here helping the team and giving back. That’s basically all.”
“And looking yummy while he does it.”
A few other moms sighed.
“How old is he?”
Several heads swiveled back to her.
That couldn’t possibly be privileged information…could it? “Um, early forties.”
One wrinkled her nose. “Too young for me.”
“Too old for me,” another said, eliciting laughs. Another woman made a cougar-growling noise.
The women began speculating if he was dating but apparently didn’t want to come right out and ask—or didn’t think she would know. There was no way in hell she would be supplying them with that information.
“There goes the meeting,” Mindy muttered, crossing her arms and sitting back against the guard at the top of the bleachers.
“We’ll figure the travel money out. We’ve got enough to get the season started.” Kristen watched as Clay stopped a player to show him exactly why his slide hadn’t worked, complete with demo. The kid tried one on his own, Clay corrected his form while he was still in the dirt, then had the kid try again. Second time was the charm, and he got a fist bump and sent the kid on to the back of the line.
God, he was good with them. Kristen’s heart did that clenching thing again. If it didn’t cut that out, she’d have to see a cardiologist.
And it would be nobody’s fault but her own.
After practice, Clay started to pack up his duffle bag when Anton grabbed his arm.
“You…might wanna give it a few minutes.”
“What? Why?”
Anton tilted his head a little, indicating the parking lot area. “The sharks are circling. And by sharks, I mean women. And by women, I mean the nosy ladies who want to meet you.”
“Please tell me that’s not why they all showed up,” he said on a groan, sitting down heavily on the bench.
Anton sat beside him, hands on his knees, more at ease. “Nah, it was a parent meeting night. They do it every so often. Getting to check you out? Big bonus for them.” He leaned in. “Watch the one named Tilly. Short brunette, probably wearing heels that look stupid at the ball field, and looks too young to have a kid this age.”
“Stepmom?”
“Number four,” Anton confirmed. “And frankly, I’m shocked it has lasted this long. Unless you love claw marks and needy text messages, don’t let that one drag you to a dark corner.”
“Consider me warned.” He packed the last of his gear, casually asking, “Any other moms to worry about?”
“Nah. Most are married, and the few that aren’t, they’re not gonna jump ya.” Anton grinned and stood. “And now we go swim with the sharks.”
“Yeah, but you’re inside the cage o
f safety. Marriage,” Clay clarified as they walked together toward the parking lot.
Anton laughed, long and hard, drawing the moms’ attention their way. And then, Clay realized, the shark analogy wasn’t quite accurate.
More like a pack of sleek panthers. Panthers with bobs and capri pants.
A woman likely in her late forties approached quickly. Oddly enough, her hair never moved even when the wind gently blew. She stuck out a hand, and he shook it with trepidation.
“Mindy Castenelli, parent leader. I’d like to set up a time to meet and go over the parameters of coaching.”
“Mindy,” Anton said, stepping between them. And thank God for it, because clearly, Mindy wasn’t going to let go of his hand. “I don’t think we need to indoctrinate our volunteer with the details right now. I can catch him up later.”
“Yes, but—”
“Why don’t we go over the particulars, you know, head coach to parent leader,” he said, adding serious emphasis on the importance of their titles, “and I can fill in my assistant later.”
Clay shot him a grateful glance when Anton turned Mindy around and guided her by the shoulders toward the parking lot. Anton looked over their shoulders and winked in recognition. Clay owed that man a beer. Or an entire six-pack.
“Hey, Coach!” Isaac bounded over and came to a skidding halt in front of him.
Now that practice had finished up, Clay decided to take stock in what Isaac knew—or didn’t know—about his relationship with the boy’s mom. During practice, it was too go go go to get a read on things. But now…
He’d never dated a woman with a child before. Even a teen like Isaac, who was all the more perceptive, if not quite underfoot like a younger child would be, created a new depth to the whole situation.
But they weren’t dating.
Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?
“What’s up, Isaac?” Clay set his bag down, using the boy as a not-so-subtle shield for any other parents who might approach. He noticed over the boy’s shoulder a few moms watched but didn’t approach. Good.
“Do you have plans for dinner?”
Clay blinked at that and lifted his ball cap to scratch at his forehead. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Then he grinned. “Why, the whole team hoping to score some more free pizza at Pizza Dan’s?”
“Nah, they’ve got stuff going on. I was just thinking you could come have dinner at our place. My mom’s a decent cook.”
“Isaac.” Kristen walked up behind him, her face flushed with embarrassment. She laid her hands on her son’s shoulders, though they were the same height. “I’m sure the coach has plans for his evening. He already gives up a lot of his free time with practices. Let’s not pester him longer than necessary.”
“No plans,” he said easily, and her eyes turned to him, surprised. Was she expecting him to try to get out of it? Did she think if they weren’t screwing like minks they shouldn’t bother enjoying each other’s company? Hold that horseshit. “But I’ll tell you what, Isaac, instead of your mom cooking, how about I grab some dinner on the way over? You good with chicken in a bucket?”
Kristen started to protest, but Isaac nodded. “Yeah! Okay, cool, do you know where we live?”
“I’ll have your mom text it to me,” he said, and as Isaac headed over to the bleachers to pick up his gear, Clay gave her a smile. “So…address?”
“Really, Clay, you don’t—”
“Don’t do that,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
He took a halfstep toward her, leaning in and dropping his voice lower. “Don’t act like we can’t be together outside of work and not handle it like adults. We’re both better than that. I know you are, and I am too. It’s just dinner.”
“Mom!” Isaac called. “You drove me this time, remember? Let’s go!”
Kristen nibbled on her lip a bit—a move that had him fighting off a raging erection—and nodded once. Decisively. “You’re right. Okay. We like mashed potatoes with our chicken.”
Clay rolled his eyes as he picked his bag back up. “Who doesn’t?”
Chapter 8
“Clean everything!” Kristen called out as they pulled into the garage and parked. Isaac had barely waited for the car to stop rolling before he leapt from the car and started for the door.
“Downstairs bathroom is priority number one!”
“Got it!” he yelled back, and the door slammed behind him.
Isaac knew the drill. For all the more she had herself put together at work and liked to present a professional, tidy appearance for the rest of the world...her house was a hot mess. She cleaned sporadically, and though nothing was dirty in the way of Ew, the word she would probably use to best describe the place was...untidy.
Walking in and leaving her purse on the conversation bench by the door to the garage, she took in what there was to work with. They would never unbury the kitchen table before Clay made it back. She could probably clear a single seat, but...no. Turning to the kitchen counter, she sighed at the dishes in the sink. That was the real problem with summer starting...her son ate like three grown men, and he was always home, creating more dishes. More work. Somehow it never ended. That, too, would have to wait.
She hustled into the living room and picked up the few things that were dotted around the room—the one they lived in the most—including a pair of her son’s now-dried socks from a previous practice. Gross. Carrying the hazardous waste material between two fingers, she tossed them into the bathroom where the washer and dryer lived, and her son sat scrubbing at the sink with a wet paper towel.
They managed to make those two rooms presentable before the doorbell rang fifteen minutes later. Smoothing her hair back, Kristen went to answer while Isaac hid the cleaning evidence in the trash can.
“Hey,” she answered, then goggled at the amount of food in his hands. “I’m sorry, when you asked for the family deal, did you tell them we were a polygamous family of twenty-nine?”
Clay laughed and shook his head, walking in behind her and letting the door close. “I know it’s too much, but cold chicken is the best leftover food in the world...after pizza, that is. I figured Isaac might want some for lunch tomorrow while you’re at work.”
“Okay, that’s sweet, but you really didn’t have to think about his stomach two meals down the road.” She indicated the stovetop, which fortunately stayed clear of all clutter for safety reasons, and Clay set the food containers down. “I’m sorry about the house. I’d say it usually isn’t like this, but...it is.”
Clay chuckled and glanced at the kitchen. She tried to see it through his eyes...the faded wallpaper, the tiles that were a bit chipped on the backsplash, the fact that the kitchen table held a small mountain of papers—magazines, junk mail she forgot to recycle or shred, newspapers, homework Isaac no longer needed from the school year... Embarrassing.
“I just spend so much time at work—” she began, but he stepped forward and put both his hands on her shoulders.
“Don’t explain. You’ve got a teenage boy home for the summer on his own, and you’ve got a demanding full-time career. The fact that your place isn’t constantly on fire is enough. Seriously.”
“If blaming Isaac gets me mostly off the hook, I’ll take it,” she said, smiling.
“I smell food!” Isaac sang as he walked into the kitchen, having traded his dusty baseball outfit for a simple pair of gym shorts and clean T-shirt. “Holy crap,” he added, his eyes widening comically when he caught sight of the stove full of takeout buckets. “That could feed the whole team!”
“Your coach wanted to make sure you weren’t being neglected and missing out on leftovers. Grab a plate and say thank you,” she said, giving him a wide berth. Her son didn’t have to be asked twice and heaped a paper plate—because she wasn’t about to add to the current pile waiting in the sink for a good scrub—with enough food to feed her three times over, then walked to the living room.
“So where do
you eat?” Clay asked mildly while they each fixed their own plates.
Her face burned with embarrassment. “In front of the TV, using the coffee table as a plate rest. It’s terrible, I know, but—”
Leaning over, Clay kissed her briefly, almost a peck it was over so fast. “Stop defending your house. It’s fine. Seriously.”
Dazed, she followed him in, sitting on one end of the couch while Clay sat on the other. Isaac remained between them, oblivious to the undercurrents flowing between them.
Clay knew Kristen was embarrassed by her house, but there was no need. They watched SportsCenter while they ate. It was comfortable. No, not how he was raised, but Isaac didn’t seem to care, and from what the kid had told him, this was about the only chance he had to watch TV at all, between practices and games and—during the school year—homework. The boy’s mother had decided long ago that an hour of television while eating dinner wouldn’t kill them, and so this was simply their routine.
Kristen’s phone rang, and she glanced at the screen before shooting him an apologetic look. “It’s his father, sorry.”
“Go ahead.” Clay reached for the remote and muted it, putting a finger to his lips when Isaac began to protest. Clearly, the teen hadn’t heard who was on the phone.
“Hey, you,” she answered with a warm familiarity that made Clay wonder how they managed all these years to keep the relationship friendly. “What’s up?”
She listened, then huffed out a breath. “Well, we just got home from practice and we’re stuffing our faces with chicken. He probably forgot to turn the ringer back on. Isaac,” she added to him, “your dad tried calling your phone.”
“Aw, sh—crap,” he amended quickly. “I’ll go get it and call him back.” He picked up his paper plate and folded it in half, holding out his hand for Clay’s, then his mother’s. Good kid.
“He’s cleaning up and then he’ll call you back,” Kristen relayed to her ex. “How’s Marlie adjusting to the braces? Yeah, uh-huh.” She chuckled. “Poor thing. Just let her avoid photos for a bit while she gets them all situated out. Remember how funny Isaac smiled when he first got his braces? Yeah. Okay, I’ll let you go. Give all three of them my love. All right, bye.”
Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats) Page 7