Coach Love

by Liz Crowe

  “Well, are there other jobs in the district? It’s huge now you know. Way bigger than when we were here since it merged with the county.”

  “My application is system-wide. There aren’t any more temp spots. I have to get a master’s degree to get a real teaching job. Like I have money for that.”

  “You made some dough in the NBA, I thought.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, that’s a common misconception. My agent took a huge cut. And she never got me a decent endorsement. Claimed she had to wait for me to get more playing-time exposure. And we all know how that went, don’t we?”

  Cara sipped then put her glass down and rotated so her thighs were on either side of his chair in a way that made him more than a little dizzy. He gripped his glass and kept his gaze forward. “But, your fiancée is loaded. She’s a partner in a huge firm in Lexington. What’s the problem? Go to school. Surely she’ll pay for it?”

  Kieran looked at her, taking her in, relearning the angle of her jaw and the curve of her full breasts under the little black dress, willing his libido into its cage. Words failed him. Shaking his head and refocusing on the depths of his newly refilled glass, he figured getting shitfaced again seemed like a really great plan. Anything that would force his life into reverse gear to that moment when he’d rushed in to defend the basket on national television. Or even further, when the woman currently in his personal space had looked at him and emphatically stated, it’s over, I don’t love you anymore so he could grab her and kiss her out of that ridiculous concept.

  They sat side by side in silence for a solid five minutes. Kieran’s phone buzzed in his pocket over and over again, but he ignored it in favor of downing two more glasses of wine. The room had gone blurry around the edges when he faced her again. He needed to taste her lips, to hold her, to drown in her, and forget the black hole his life had become. Cara shifted away from him when he reached for her.

  “Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through but I...I’m sorry for you. I guess I don’t get why you can’t go to school if there’s money for it.” She kept her gaze averted during her little speech.

  “It seems pretty straightforward, yes.” Taking the phone out of his pocket, he noted the multiple messages from the lovely, sexy, bossy, bitchy Melinda. He did love her. But when he looked over at Cara, memories of their years together washed over him like a warm ocean wave. “So how is life being absorbed into an old-money Louisville clan?” Unable to resist, he reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. She shook her head.

  “Fine, I guess. If you like being made to feel like the poor-white-trash relation every time you walk into the mansion.”

  “Well, I’m sure once you guys are on your own....”

  “I’m sure, too,” she said, her voice low. Mesmerized by the freckles on her chest exposed by the dress’s neckline, he flinched when she tilted his chin up. “Okay, so, my face is still up here.” Her eyes were dry but dark, and her skin had reddened in a way that sent shockwaves down his spine. He yanked her close, his lips near hers, breathing her in. “I...I want....”

  “Shhh....” The soft tumble of her hair covered his still-shaking fingers, sending the last shred of rational thought flying from his brain. “Just shush...please...for a second....” When he slanted his lips over hers, parted them with his tongue slowly, gently, loving the tiny noise she made, he realized he’d missed it for far too long.

  Tilting off kilter in more ways than one, he drowned in the woman he’d adored as a younger man and who’d nearly destroyed him their college sophomore year. He held onto her and wanted more than anything to be dealing with this crisis with her at his side not the brittle, easily angered Melinda.

  “Holy...crap.” Cara gasped, pushing him away and glancing around at the darkened bar. “We can’t do this.”

  “I know. But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel pretty good.”

  “C’mon.” She got to her feet, a little wobbly but wearing a grin that made him want to weep with relief. He slid off his chair, acknowledging the depth of his buzz as he stumbled. “Let’s get a taxi.”

  “I can’t leave my car here,” he said, but she tugged him out after tossing some money down on the bar so he went with it, content to let her make the call on the next few moments that could, very possibly, change their lives forever. Shaking his head at his over-dramatization, he enjoyed the rear view while she made her way toward the front door.

  While they waited for the taxi to arrive, he yanked her under an awning into the dark and grabbed at her again, covering her mouth with his, gripping her ass, her hair, at anything that might provide an anchor in his storm.

  Letting him shove his thigh between her legs, she reached down and cupped his erection before breaking away, breathless, and pointing to the cab that idled at the curb. He almost fell over in his haste to climb into the back and get his hands on her again. They tongue wrestled and groped their way across town, stopping when the cabbie cleared his throat to indicate they should get out and pay him.

  While part of him acknowledged his fully-wasted state, and knew that falling into bed with an old girlfriend in his condition didn’t rank too high on the good-choices list, his body thought otherwise so he let it lead. And it did. Growling in anticipation once they made it inside, Kieran ripped at Cara’s dress. She fumbled with his belt buckle and shoved his pants down around his ankles, making him drop to his knees when he forgot to step out of them.

  Giggling, she helped him up then shoved him onto her couch and crouched between his legs. He released a sigh of relief as she worked the sort of magic he’d missed. Melinda didn’t give head anymore. Or take it for that matter.

  He forced thoughts of Melinda away while the girl he’d once loved to distraction brought him to the ragged edge of orgasm with her lips, tongue, and fingers. When she stopped and released him with a loud, wet noise he had a tough time getting the two Cara’s to form into one. He groaned and focused on the ceiling, willing sobriety into his bloodstream so he might actually enjoy this a little more. It didn’t work. So he lunged forward, hauled her to her feet, and traded positions with her. She squealed in delight when he dove between her legs.

  She draped her thighs over his shoulders and tilted her hips, pulling at his hair and moaning as he coaxed her to a loud climax. She calmed, and he sat back on his heels, wiping his lips, and palming his aching dick. The room spun even harder than before but his body knew its target. He pressed her down and pinned her wrists over her head then licked his way down her neck to her breasts, angling his hips, bringing him close. He wanted inside her so badly he could barely breathe.

  “Kieran,” she mumbled around his lips. “Honey, I’m...I need you to...get a...oh dear Jesus.” When he stroked into her slowly then withdrew for the simple purpose of getting to do it again and again and again he heard her crying out his name, felt her nails against his flesh. And somewhere in the middle of all that, he came in a bright burst of energy that left him gasping for breath and emptied out in a way that hurt.

  She had her legs wrapped around him, sighing with what he hoped and prayed meant she’d had another orgasm. He’d violated more of his own cardinal rules in the last few hours than he cared to admit. He never came until his partners had at least two if not more climaxes but Cara had been the one to teach him that. They had taught each other so much. Peeling his face away from her sweaty neck, he pulled out and sat, wishing the room would stop its infernal spinning.

  She left the room then reappeared and tapped his leg, forcing him to open one eye, thinking that would help the multiple images merge into one. The glass of water she held out for him sloshed around but he got most of down his aching throat. He let out a low moan, hating what he’d done—without any protection, without even thinking about protection. And after the messes Antony and Aiden had gotten into...but no, they were both happy now, married to the women they loved, regardless of how fucked up that whole thing had been for a while.

  “You should go home.
” Her voice came from somewhere to his left. He tried to get to his feet but that sent the room into an alarming downward spiral. Giving into it, he dropped over to his side and everything faded to black.

  Chapter Six

  Cara blinked into the middle distance, preoccupied, hung over, and fighting the urge to go home and sleep for the next ten hours.

  “Yo, join us here on earth?”

  The sound of her boss’s voice invaded her inner musings. Her face reddened when she realized she’d been ignoring the timer on her latest patient who now winced her way through the tag end of an ice bath.

  “Whoops! Sorry,” she muttered, grabbing the dinging timer. She reached down to help the young woman out, determined to focus on her job, on her looming wedding—the one that did not involve the old boyfriend she’d let drunk-fuck her like some loser co-ed the night before.

  Once she had that patient finished, Cara faced a full load of random knee and hip replacement surgery recoveries—the geriatric brigade, the staff called them. She blew a lock of her hair off her forehead and studied the schedule while shifting in her seat, a little sore from the previous night’s activity. Grinning, she twisted her engagement ring around, pondering how awful it had been, and how much she wished she could get a second chance with Kieran Love.

  “Stop it,” she said, without realizing she’d spoken aloud until her colleague glanced over at her. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged and jerked his chin toward the door where a tall, masculine figure was backlit from the afternoon sunlight. When he entered the waiting area she stopped and nearly stumbled over her own feet.

  “Hey, babe.” Kent emerged, looking well rested and definitely unlike her hungover self. She rallied her inner engaged-to-successful-rich-lawyer-grown-up woman.

  “Hey,” she responded, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and had to acknowledge that having Kent in her face was the last thing she wanted right then. What she wanted was to go home to her shitty apartment, take a shower, drink some wine, and ponder what she’d done the night before.

  “You’re a little ragged around the edges. Rough night out with the girls?”

  Glancing down at her feet, annoyed by his prescience not to mention his presence, she shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.” If she didn’t know better she’d swear a neon sign flashed over her head: Fucked old boyfriend, so drunk I can barely remember it but still...with a couple of red arrows pointing down at her bowed head.

  Kent chuckled. Biting back the urge to tell him to leave her the hell alone with her whirling, confused thoughts, she let him tug her close.

  “That’s my wild girl,” he said into her hair. She pulled away and ducked his lips.

  “Not here. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were in court all day.”

  “Prosecution got a delay. But you know what that means?”

  Completely unable to imagine what that meant, she stayed quiet. He raised a dark eyebrow at her making her suck in a quick breath at his physical perfection.

  And he wants me? I must be living in some bizarre parallel universe.

  “C’mon baby.” He nodded over her shoulder. “Hey, Rich, can I snag my future bride away from the salt mine here?”

  Her boss, Richard Butler, former high school-football super stud and Kent’s college buddy, crossed his arms and gave her a fake frown, making her irritation at them both that much more acute. “Sure thing. Y’all get on outta here before I change my mind.”

  “But...but...Rich.” She clapped her lips shut to keep from stuttering as heat flooded her face at their assumptions about how she wanted to spend the afternoon. “It’s geriatric brigade day. You’re shorthanded. I have a new patient.” She sighed when Kent grabbed her arm. “Guess what I want doesn’t really matter,” she said too loudly. He frowned and let go of her.

  “Well excuse me for wanting to spring you for a surprise afternoon with yours truly.” His expression flattened in a way she’d come to know meant imminent sulking and anger. “Guess I don’t rate as high as the geriatrics?”

  “Make way for your geriatric elders, young man.”

  Lindsay Love winked at her when Kent moved aside.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered her, ever polite.

  “Hi, Miss Lindsay,” Cara said. “Appears as though someone else will be providing your therapy today.” She glared at Rich who shrugged.

  “Oh, that’s all right, hon. Kieran says to tell you hello.”

  Cara let him drag her out the door, but she fumed the entire way to Kent’s expensive imported car which crouched alongside her piece-of-crap-Chevy like a snooty predator. She yanked her elbow out of Kent’s grip.

  “What is all this? I have work to do.”

  The smarmy, patronizing expression on his face lit a match to the smoldering pile of her fury. He tried to pull her to his side again but she moved away, pressing against the car. The thought of him touching her anywhere at that moment made her want to hurl. Of course, being hung over didn’t help. Swallowing hard, she attempted to level her gaze and calm her voice.

  “I can’t walk out of there just because you want me to. I have a job—”

  “Oh, sweetheart, that’s only for a few more months you know that. We discussed this. Once we move, the commute won’t make sense for you. Besides, you won’t need to. Remember?” He flashed those amazing blues at her, his full lips still split in a grin. The urge to punch him in his patrician nose made her clench her fists in an effort not to.

  “I never agreed to—”

  “No more arguing. I’m not in the mood. But I am in the mood to surprise my lovely future Mrs. Lowery with a romantic afternoon. That work for you?”

  She sighed and crossed her arms. Her head still spun from the aftermath of the myriad bad choices she’d made the night before, including consuming double her usual amount of wine. She winced against the onslaught of memory—the rest of the night had been such a strange blur of awful and wonderful.

  “Hon, you all right?”

  When he enfolded her in his starchy, woolen embrace, she couldn’t muster energy to resist anymore.

  “What happened last night?” His low, soothing voice nearly lulled her into a confession. “Did you have to nursemaid Tricia through another silly infatuation or what?”

  Cara took a long, calming breath and settled her mind around the fact that she could never confess anything to this man. The guilty, messy, barely remembered hookup with her longest-running boyfriend must remain safely buried.

  “No. Drank too much I guess.”

  “Well, luckily for you, I have a relaxing afternoon planned,” he said, reaching around her to open the passenger side door. “Leave it all to me, sweetness.”

  “But, my car,” she trailed off, not really meaning the protest anymore. At that split second nothing sounded better than to let Kent take over in his usual, efficient fashion.

  “We’ll worry about it later.” He crouched down next to her open door. “I want to show you a good time today. You game?”

  She nodded, resigned, as he brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips making her shiver. He’d bought some pre-packaged, upscale picnic items from Brantley’s, the deli-restaurant her friend Jen from high school owned with her sister Diana. The sisters made the best barbeque in town from the game Diana hunted and dressed herself and were building a small empire of farm-to-table products that restaurants all over were latching onto for their high quality, organic wonderfulness.

  It made her uncomfortable when he did all the serving for the meal. Kent worked hard and earned every penny he made but liked to be waited on as opposed to the reverse. But her knowledge of him was so limited, he could still surprise her with the odd comment or seemingly out-of-character behavior.

  Their courtship had definitely given whirlwind a new name. She’d grown numb to it, stunned, like a bird that had whammed into a plate glass window by accident. So she accepted the food, which consisted of the girls’ barbeque venison on rich pretzel bun
s, some kind of locally sourced nacho chips with Brantley’s famous salsa and decadent, rich brownies. After accepting a glass of champagne, Cara set it aside when the smell of the fizzy alcohol made her stomach do an alarming series of flips.

  Kent encouraged her to settle against him, once he’d stripped off the suit jacket, tie, and dress shirt and sat in his blindingly white undershirt and dress slacks. Something about his smell—a combination of cotton, leather, and money—oozed the sort of security she had never known. What had she been smoking, or better yet drinking, to think that a roll in the proverbial hay with her erstwhile boyfriend had been a good idea, when the consequences of that meant she’d lose this?

  Kent had secured a perfect spot under a huge tree, no big surprise. The breeze and shade, food and lingering aftereffects of the night before had her drifting and drowsy. But her conscience kept needling, reminding her that she should value what she had in front of her and stop looking over her shoulder for what she’d rejected years ago.

  “Babe.” Kent’s voice rumbled against her back. “I’ve got great news.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I found the office space and negotiated with the owner. Right where I wanted it in Old Louisville in one of the converted houses.”

  Her brain wouldn’t compute his words at first. Staying half-asleep sounded like a better plan than facing the reality of moving to Louisville. She suddenly grasped the purpose of all the pampering. “So, we’re moving sooner then.”

  “I thought that’s what we wanted.” He shifted slightly, which forced her to turn around and face him. “Right?”

  “It’s what you wanted. I don’t want to move. I don’t understand why we can’t live here. Your practice here is good, right? Why move it?”

  “Babe, I told you I wasn’t going to live here. I mean, it’s a nice suburb and all but....” His grin grew a little strained around the edges.