by Amy Andrews
She liked Jed, despite how often their two departments locked horns over the direction of school funding. He was the kind of guy she was on the lookout for. She could tell that ten years ago he’d have been a real hottie and would have been totally into her. But he’d found the right woman and settled down, and now he had a wife and three little kids who adored him and was sickeningly content.
She was pleased they shared a staffroom. Jed gave her hope there were more guys like him out there.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“The senior boys footy team is a bloody disaster.”
Em laughed. “Aren’t you their coach?”
“Sadly, yes.” He threw himself down into his chair opposite Em. He looked at her speculatively, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. “Fuck it,” he said, sitting forward. “I’m just going to come out and ask you. No. Beg you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “O…kay.”
“Your best friend just married Dexter Blake, right, from the Sydney Smoke?”
Wariness crept into her bones. “Yes…”
“Do you think he might be willing to come and teach a clinic or something?”
“Dex plays rugby union, not rugby league,” she said, stalling desperately while she thought of a suitable response.
“It’s all football,” Jed said. “Although if you tell anyone I said that I will deny it with my last breath.”
Em smiled, but it faded as Jed looked at her expectantly. “Oh…I don’t know, Jed…” She shook her head slowly. She didn’t really know Dex that well yet, and she wasn’t crazy about putting him in an awkward position. She certainly didn’t want to screw up her friendship with Harper by overstepping.
“Please?” He blinked puppy dog eyes at her that had no doubt caused many a woman to change their minds back in his single days. “They’re ranked last. They clearly need professional help.”
A couple of her top science students were on the team and had been talking about their pathetic record all week. They were good kids, too. The kind that disproved the old divide between jocks and geeks. They loved their footy and their science and excelled at both.
“I know, but…I really don’t feel comfortable asking him. If you’re happy to wait for a bit, I could sound it out with Harper first, see what she thinks?
He sighed. “That’s better than nothing. Unless you have a magic wand?”
“Please, Jed,” she teased. “I’m a science teacher. We believe in evidence, not voodoo.”
He laughed and she joined him. When her desk phone rang a few seconds later, she was still laughing.
“I’ve gone back to my original idea of your name being old-fashioned. I’m thinking Emmanuelle.”
Em’s pulse did a funny little jitterbug in her chest that she was becoming eerily used to. Jed gave her a little wave and rose from his seat, mouthing “Later” at her, but even before she could properly think it through, her hand had shot out, stilling him.
On the other end of the line was a guy who wanted something from her. A top national rugby union player, playing in a top national team. She may not have been willing to put Dex in an awkward spot, but she had no such qualms about Linc. “Do you still have the tickets? And do you still want me to go out with you?”
There was silence on the end of the line for a moment or two. She could almost picture the surprised O of his beautiful mouth. “Yes and yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? But I had a whole speech prepared.”
Em smiled at the faux disappointment in his voice. “I have one proviso.”
“Name it.”
Her head spun at his lack of hesitation as she told him about their dilemma and asked him if he’d step in.
“It has to be rugby league?” he asked, but his voice was light with humour.
“Oh, is there a difference?” she teased.
He laughed. “One is the best, the other is a pansy-assed imitation.”
“Ahhh,” she murmured. “That’s the difference.”
“Sure. Okay,” he said, his voice warm and low. “I can do a coaching clinic.”
Em blinked. Just like that he’d agreed to it? She hadn’t really thought beyond asking the question. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have. A guy like Linc saying yes to such a crazy request?
But he hadn’t hesitated. Her pulse jitterbugged some more. “You’ve…coached before?”
“Never. But I’ve been trained by elite coaches since I was seventeen and played for over a decade before that. I reckon I could probably wing it on short notice. For you.”
The last was said deeper, softer, and her breath hitched. His lack of hesitation was startling, and her belly dropped, thinking about how damn eager the man was to get her into his bed.
His TAG a good case in point.
But she didn’t have time for that right now, with Jed frowning at her, wondering who the hell she was arranging to coach his team.
She placed her hand over the receiver. “I’ve got Lincoln Quinn instead. Will that do?”
Jed blinked. “You’re shitting me?”
“Nope.”
“Of course it’ll do!” He grinned. “When?”
Em took her hand away and spoke back into the receiver. “When could you come?”
“How soon do you want me there?”
“Well…they’re pretty terrible.”
He chuckled low and warm in her ear. “In that case, how does after training on Friday sound? I’ll be in your neck of the woods for the show then.”
She slipped her hand over the receiver, trying not to think about the fact she’d just bartered herself into a date. “Friday arvo sound okay?” she asked Jed.
Jed nodded so hard she thought he might just nod his head right off his shoulders. “It’s short notice, but none of them are going to care. How’s one until five sound?”
She relayed the information to Linc. He’d already told her that his training was usually done by midday, so the timing should work for him.
“Yep. That suits.”
“What time does the show start?” she asked Linc.
“Seven.”
“Bring your stuff and you can get ready at my place after.”
She hoped she sounded more nonchalant than she felt. Thinking about him prowling around her house, drinking beer in her kitchen, getting wet and naked in her shower was about more than her brain—and her ovaries—could stand.
Was it bad to be having a hot flush at twenty-three?
He didn’t answer for a beat or two, and she wondered if his thoughts were running as filthy as hers.
“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said, his voice an amused rumble in her ear. “See you tomorrow.”
Em gripped the phone harder as he hung up. She didn’t need to see him to know that perfect mouth of his was curved into a perfectly wicked smile.
It took a moment for the hormone fog to clear and for Em to realise she hadn’t even thanked him. She contemplated ringing him back and doing so—she had his number on her department voicemail. But maybe something less personal like a text was a better plan.
With Jed rushing off to make arrangements for Friday, she retrieved Linc’s number and quickly tapped out a message on her mobile.
Thank you for the coaching clinic. And the tickets.
After all, she may have been doing this to help Jed out, but a part of her couldn’t deny her motives were far from altruistic. She really wanted to see the Nerd Chicks. She’d been an avid follower of their YouTube channel for the last few years, even sharing some of the highlights in her classes.
His reply was breathtakingly quick.
My pleasure. Followed by an emoji of a grinning purple devil.
Em stared at that grinning devil and tried not to think about all the sinful things he could do to her. She could do to him. She pushed them from her mind, determined not to rise to his bait, not to dignify it with a response. Her phone chimed again with another message. A picture of his elbo
w, fringed by the blue, green, and red of his tats filled the screen.
For you, Emmerson. *Not* a dick pic.
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. A warm feeling glowed inside her. She quickly snapped off a photo of her knee and sent it to him.
His answering emoji of a happy face wearing dark sunglasses warmed her even more and put a spring in her step for the rest of the day.
Chapter Five
It was pissing down on Friday. Jed mumbled about cancelling the clinic, but the senior boys revolted. Linc rang just after twelve. Not that Em answered. It wasn’t appropriate in the middle of an eighth grade science experiment with Bunsen burners and a class of boys who seemed to be closet pyromaniacs. She checked her phone as soon as the bell signified the end of the lesson. There was a text.
Not sure if it’s still on but I’m in if it is. I’ll be there in about an hour.
He followed it with a snap of his ear. Em smiled again. Even his damn ear was perfect.
Over the course of yesterday and last night, he’d sent her three more pics. One of his thigh. One of his big toe. One of his chin.
She’d reciprocated. Her ankle. Her wrist. Her neck. Each time her phone had chimed, her breath had hitched and her heart had pounded in anticipation. What would he send next? It was crazy to be so…turned on by it. But she was. Who’d have thought a chin could be so sexy?
And where would it all end? Just how far would he push the exercise? How far would he go? They were running out of innocent body parts. Having already railed at men who sent dick pics, she didn’t think he’d get too risqué, but damn…that was one dick pic she wouldn’t object to.
She tapped out a reply. It’s still on. Worried about your hair? Or do you rugby dudes melt?
His reply was instantaneous. Only for hot biology teachers.
Em smiled at her phone, her heart melting a little at that. Looking around the now empty classroom, she quickly snapped off a pic of her shoulder then sent it and the text off with a big smile.
As promised, one hour later, he walked through the gates of the school—to a freaking hero’s welcome. He smiled at her as he approached, rain darkening his blonde spikes to a dark brown. He produced a shiny red apple from behind his back and handed it over.
“For the teacher,” he murmured, a cataclysmic smile on his cataclysmic mouth.
Em stared at it. How could a gift be so sweet and so bloody hot at the same damn time?
He was whisked down to the sports field—out of sight, out of mind. Except not, given that the classes she was teaching after lunch had a view of the oval. Despite the distance and the rain—misty for the most part, although heavier from time to time—she still managed to track his movements.
Her class sure as hell suffered as a result of her complete and utter inattention. The fact that Lincoln Quinn was in her school, on her oval, talking to her students, was distracting as hell.
And then the bell went, sending everyone home for the day, and she decided it would be churlish of her not to join him down there. After all, she had an umbrella and the luxury of covered bleachers. And she had been responsible for bringing him here. The least she could do was bring him—and Jed—a cup of hot coffee. So he wouldn’t catch a cold.
Or pneumonia.
And the Sydney Smoke lost their next couple of games because of it.
She’d have to nurse him back to health then because of her completely screwed up guilt complex where men were concerned—thanks for that, Dad. Tuck him up in bed, feed him her homemade pea and ham soup, mop his fevered brow.
And other parts of his anatomy that might need cooling down…
The rain cycled from drizzle to full-on torrential downpour for the last two hours of the clinic, but they didn’t stop. Linc was getting in there with them, talking them through every move, physically demonstrating things with his body when he needed. And the boys were lapping it up. All that was left for Em to do was huddle into her warm jacket, wrap her hands around her hot coffee, and watch the proceedings from the bleachers.
Preferably without getting aroused.
By the time he ran off the field at five, she’d failed miserably in that quarter. All the students, and the few parents who’d been resilient enough to stick it out, had scarpered the minute the clinic was done. Even Jed had raced back to his office after a hand shake for Linc and a quick wave to her. Which left her alone with Linc.
His powerful thighs, delineated perfectly in his wet shorts, ate up the first few rows of the bleachers. He was soaking wet and covered in grass and mud splatters, and so damn hot Em’s breath cut off in her throat. He drew level with her, reefing his wet shirt over his head, the tattoos on his arms and chest the only splash of colour against the backdrop of the gloomy day.
The other night in his tux with his bow tie undone, he’d been a study in casual male sexuality. Right now? Soaked, shirtless, his tats on full display, his nipples erect from the freezing cold rain, water droplets clinging to his spiky eyelashes—there was nothing casual about his sexuality.
It was all raw and physical.
He was pumped. Primed. This was the guy everyone saw on the field. The professional rugby player. The young footy star with the big career ahead of him.
And it was a huge freaking turn-on.
He loomed over her, his crotch at eye level—fabric clinging and delineating everything there as well—and she stood abruptly, lest she do something wholly inappropriate and definitely not suitable for work.
“You must be freezing.” She had her own fripples going on, but she wasn’t entirely sure it had much to do with the ambient temperature.
“Nah.” He reached for his bag on the chair next to where she’d plonked herself down, unzipping it and pulling out a towel, rubbing the cloth briskly over his head, across his chest, and down his arms. “Been running around too much.”
He reached into his bag again and grabbed a dry blue-and-silver hoodie, complete with Sydney Smoke logo, and shoved his arms into it. His skin was still damp, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“You’re very hands-on, aren’t you?” she asked, her gaze eating up the section of his chest and abs not yet covered.
There was a sun tattoo on his left pec and flowing script on his right that seemed to be some kind of poetry, but it was hard to know for sure with the hoodie covering some of it. She wouldn’t mind being hands-on at the moment. Her palm itched to slide inside the hoodie, push it back off his shoulder so she could read what it said.
It must have some significance for him to have had it permanently inked on his skin.
“Sometimes the best way to teach is to demonstrate,” he said, grasping the tab of the hoodie zipper and pulling it up, depriving her of her view with a loud metallic rip.
The spell was broken, and Em dragged her eyes off the soft fleece fabric to his face. She was struck again by the beauty and symmetry of it. By how his wickedly full mouth perfectly offset his pronounced cheekbones. By how they’d both be the envy of any woman yet somehow managed to look so damn manly.
His eyelashes were still spiky, and she suppressed the insane urge to run her fingertips along them to de-clump. How could she want to touch him so much, when she barely knew him? And when what she did know about him clashed so much with the things she wanted in her life?
“Just promise me you won’t sue the school if you catch your death, okay? I’m not sure our insurance can afford to pay out for the loss of your income.”
She joked to cover the confusion he whipped up inside her—the dire urge to flee mixed with the desperate desire to cling.
He didn’t say anything for a moment or two, and they just stood there, looking at each other, the only sound the patter of rain on the corrugated iron roof of the bleachers and the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. For one crazy moment, she actually thought he was going to kiss her, and she swore her body swayed a little.
Then he grinned, breaking the tension. “I promise. Now come on, we really should go if we
’re going to make the show.”
“Yep,” she said absently, groping for her umbrella as he picked up his bag and threw it casually over his shoulder. “Do you remember the way to my house, or do you want to follow me?”
“I’ll follow.”
Em’s knees weakened at the statement. She doubted he said those words very much, knowing all he had to do was crook his finger and legions of women would follow him wherever the hell he wanted.
They were at her place fifteen minutes later despite the crazy, rainy, peak-hour traffic. Linc was right behind her when they entered her home through the door that led from the garage into the kitchen. She noticed he’d pulled on track pants over his wet shorts and he had his bag from the school as well as a suit bag slung over his shoulder.
It felt strange having him in her house. Her space. Intimate in a way that it hadn’t been with other men who’d been here specifically to be intimate.
She barely knew the guy, for Pete’s sake, and yet here he was, in her house, about to be in her shower.
Naked.
Just the thought turned her on.
“So the shower is through here,” she said, not even giving herself a second to dwell on his soon-to-be nakedness as she marched through the kitchen and open-plan living room, out one of its doorways, and into a hallway, the bathroom almost immediately opposite.
She was excruciatingly conscious of his height and bulk right behind her. She stopped just near the bathroom door and stepped aside.
“There’s towels in the wicker drawers of the vanity, and help yourself to soap and shampoo or whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” he said, brushing past. He smelled like rain, leather seats, and eau-du-new-car, and she wanted to bury her face in the sleeve of his hoodie.
“I’m just going to heat us up some soup and then get in the shower, too.”
He paused mid-way through the door, glancing over his shoulder at her, his eyebrow quirked, a small smile playing on his beautiful mouth. Heat flooded her cheeks at the innuendo in that slight upturn of his lips.