Coach Love

by Liz Crowe

  “You can’t drink all my profits, Red, just ‘cause you’ve found a new career shakin’ your baby maker.”

  Kieran put his head down on the table, thinking that maybe right then would be an opportune time to return to a healthy prayer life. As in Dear Lord, please let me wake up and find out these last three years have been one long, shitty nightmare.

  Dom sauntered down from the stage to the floor. “So the rules about touching, they’re out the window tonight, I assume?” He ran a palm down his firm, tanned, and inked chest, admiring himself a little too much for Kieran’s taste.

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Jackie said, lighting a cigarette in direct opposition to the state rules about smoking indoors. Dom held out his fingers and she gave it to him, squinting through the smoke circling her face. “Private party. Touch all ya want, you perv.”

  Kieran had gone a bit numb thanks to the amber liquor he’d imbibed. But he didn’t care. The only way he could go on that stage and take his clothes off in front of strangers would be stink-ass drunk. Jackie glanced at her phone. “All right, my stable of studs. The ladies are paying a pretty penny for your grand entrance, and their limo is about to arrive. Go on. Scoot.” She smacked their butts.

  A white-hot bolt of terror shot through Kieran’s skull. He snagged another bottle on his way past the bar and followed Dom and Clint, drinking from the neck of it, letting the cheap rotgut burn its way down his throat and settle in his chest.

  “One last bit of advice, y’all.” Clint smeared more of the sparkly lotion on his bulging chest. “Let the lights blind you to whoever is out there. It’s best to imagine that you’re puttin’ on a show for total strangers.”

  “They are strangers.” Kieran pondered the remains of the booze. “That’s the whole point.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised who shows up for this kind of thing. Since it’s not done that much, you know. This way.” He made a little flourish, emphasizing his glistening naked, torso.

  “Whatever.” Kieran took another slug from the bottle then gave it to Dom. “I want it over with.” He put his head down on his arms and tried to take deep, calming breaths. But his heart pounded louder, blood whooshing in his ears, and his knees shook under the table.

  After what felt like five seconds, Clint smacked his shoulder. “Show time, Red.”

  Wobbly from booze and terror, he got slowly to his feet. Dom popped his neck, swung his arms, and bounced on the balls of his feet. They all had on the fake jeans and soft blue work shirts with Velcro behind the line of buttons. Clint held out their hard hats and reminded them the jeans were only held together by a long strip of Velcro along the inseam and outside of the legs so they should make sure they didn’t do anything to make them come apart too early.

  Dom laughed and readjusted his crotch. “Things’re making my balls itch.” Kieran decided to ignore the way his brother was grinning in favor of being horrified by what lay ahead. He took a breath, glaring down at the denim he had to rip off and the shirt he’d strip out of in exchange for a few bucks. The opening strains of the music they’d been practicing to blasted through the club. Clint grinned at him then smacked Dom’s ass.

  “It’s show time, Love brothers.” He stopped and regarded them a minute. “You know, you guys might have something there.”

  “Please just let me get this over with so I can go home and dip myself in bleach,” Kieran growled. Dom laughed. Clint squared his shoulders and led them out onto the stage.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cara stared through the windshield of Kent’s BMW. She flinched at the touch of his palm to her leg and had to acknowledge that she’d forgotten he’d driven her out here.

  “Honey, if you don’t feel like it, then don’t go.”

  “No, I gotta. It’s Helen’s big night, you know.” She gestured toward the nondescript, windowless gray building. The sign under the flashing pink-neon words “Pussycat Club,” read: Closed for Private Party until 10 p.m. Open to the public 10:01 p.m.-2 a.m.

  He patted her thigh, parked, hopped out, and opened her door for her. She tried to smile at him. She’d gone on a seek-and-find expedition on his phone for reasons that still escaped her, unearthing even more distressing evidence of his secret life. And now, today, a mere few days from marrying the man who’d apparently broken up with his boyfriend for good a few days ago, something clicked in her head. She owed it to herself to confront him—to out him at least to her.

  She gripped Kent’s arm. “I know about him.”

  His face paled white in the lurid neon glow. “Know what about whom?”

  Keeping a grip on his hand, the car door between them, she experienced a jolt of resolve to make this work. “We have to talk. Preferably before we take our marriage vows.” She sidestepped him and headed for the club door, her stomach heavy like she’d swallowed a stone.

  “Let’s talk now. I mean...uh...I need you to understand that whatever it is you think you know about is over. Completely finished. I love you. I’m marrying you. My other...relationships no longer matter to me.”

  With her chest surprisingly light and free of anything resembling jealousy she turned to face him. “We’ll talk. I know you love me.” He started to say something else but she ducked inside, unwilling to entertain the conversation yet.

  Cara had no illusions or preconceived notions about gay men, or bisexual men or whatever Kent might be. His mother must know, which would explain her odd behavior on occasion. Cara felt sure his father did not, and would not, ever know that his young, successful lawyer son liked fucking men as much as women and that he had until about three days ago, sustained a relationship with a man who claimed to love him.

  The men had met online, in some chat space, about a year-and-a-half ago. It took them almost a full year to meet face-to-face, which would mean Kent had already been with the guy when he’d seduced her at that bar. Cara shivered, trying to parse the bizarre combination of emotions clashing around inside her.

  The photos were printed on her psyche as if in indelible ink—the men never sent anything with their faces. But they must have used a camera once when they’d had sex. She’d know Kent’s body—all of it—anywhere. And that piercing thing Kent’s boyfriend sported...it disgusted and fascinated her both. But Kent, apparently, loved it, in his mouth and his ass. She forced thoughts about it out of her head, wondering why in the world the man would want to continue the charade with her. But she’d be damned if she could find a second of fault with him otherwise. He loved her, he adored her, downright spoiled her.

  The thought of not marrying Kent terrified her on some level. While running back to Kieran certainly no longer posed a viable option. He had Melinda, and had made it clear to Cara their status at the fish fry, even after messing with her yet again. Which she very possibly deserved. She’d stopped listening to any rumors about them, and considering how busy she’d been with all the pre-wedding fuss the days had sped by without her hearing a word spoken of any one of the Love brothers or their women.

  Maybe she could convince Kent to move to Michigan. She’d liked it there well enough. The best part of living in Ann Arbor had been that no one knew her or her poor-white-trash backstory. Or the part where she’d tossed a perfectly wonderful man out of her life in the most hurtful way she could think of, to prove she could do it. So she could experience other men. She shook her head and chewed on her fingernail before remembering she’d had a manicure that morning.

  Other men indeed. She’d never found anyone she loved as much as Kieran. Until Kent. Because she did love him, in a way she couldn’t explain even to herself anymore.

  She made a disgusted sound down in her throat and attempted to focus on why she’d come here.

  The place assaulted her with noise and odors. The crowd of loud, mostly drunk ladies and blaring music made her head ache. The stage, thankfully, sat curtained and dark for the moment. Cara spotted Helen in the middle of a throng of her fellow nurse friends.

  “Congrats, honey,” she s
aid with a smile. The woman raised her half-empty glass.

  “Here’s to us. Marrying the men of our dreams!”

  Cara nodded, disentangled from her friend’s hug, and headed to the bar. Sipping a weak vodka and cranberry juice, she decided to sit and watch as everyone else got steadily drunker.

  But her mind would not settle. She had no idea how she could go through with marriage but at the same time couldn’t imagine how to break it off with Kent. Someone joined her, a tall, striking brunette who seemed familiar.

  “Hi.” The woman settled into the barstool to her left. “Hope Kerrigan, remember? I’m the principal at the high school?”

  “Oh right. Hey there,” she said, relieved since she sure as heck resembled “that Melinda” from a distance. “How are things so far this term?”

  “Oh the usual mix of chaos, putting out fires, stopping fights, and sorting through personnel issues. You know, a principal’s life.” The attractive woman looked over at the larger group and shook her head. “I sure hope no one catches me on video at this thing.”

  Cara nodded and sipped, wondering how someone so young could possibly be in charge of the large high school. With a jolt, she realized this woman had probably fired Kieran in June. As if reading her mind, Hope leaned close.

  “I’m interviewing Kieran on Monday.”

  “Oh? That’s nice.”

  “We need a basketball coach. It only pays a few thousand but I thought....”

  “Yes. I’m sure he’d like that. We don’t really, you know, talk anymore.”

  No, you run into him at random outdoor events and make out like horny adolescents instead.

  “Well, I thought you might want to know.” The woman kept her gaze down on her glass.

  Cara entertained a brief fantasy about living somewhere she wouldn’t run into the random high school principal who looked an ingénue from the latest young-adult drama and who knew enough about her past to assume she would want to know about her ex-boyfriend’s employment status.

  Both women flinched when the DJ yelled over the loudspeakers. Cara kept her face toward the bar. She’d never been into this kind of man-flesh spectacle and had only agreed to come to support her friend. The music shifted to something else, and the crowd screamed and cheered.

  Ignoring it all, she pulled her phone out of her purse and pretended to be busy checking messages. Hope clapped and laughed along with the crowd but stayed seated next to her. She continued to block it, wishing the clock would move faster so she could go home. Propping her elbows on the bar, she pondered how much she dreaded that prospect.

  The women cheered again in earnest, nearly deafening her. Hope bumped against her shoulder. “You gotta see this.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  She’d made it to within four days of her wedding. She should be home with her fiancé, snuggling or making plans or something, not here staring at half-naked strange men.

  “No, really.”

  Irritation bloomed in her chest but she turned and squinted into the bright lights hitting the three men on the stage strutting around in their jeans, work shirts, and hard hats. Kieran’s brother Dominic was hard to miss with that long blond hair and impish grin as he ripped his shirt open exposing an amazing array of intricate, and somehow familiar, body art. She didn’t recognize the other guy prancing around and the third one remained slightly outside her line of vision. The music changed again. Dom and the strange guy managed to rip their jeans off to the screeching delight of the women.

  The third man’s jeans wouldn’t cooperate at first. He had to give them a few more yanks before they ripped at the seams. Embarrassed for him, she shook her head. When he moved into the middle of the stage, she shrieked and said out loud, “Holy shitballs, that’s Kieran Love up there...taking his fool clothes off.”

  Helen ran over and tugged her forward. Cara tried not to get pulled into the fray but Helen insisted, her boozy breath in Cara’s ear as they sat her in a chair smack in front of the stage. She averted her gaze from Dominic’s crotch, encased in some kind of black shimmery underwear that resembled a woman’s bikini bottoms. The men carried on, evidently unable to see beyond the bright lights shining at them from above and below.

  Kieran’s familiar chest had some kind of sparkly glimmer to it. His hair shone in the spotlights and he could hardly walk from nervousness, or possibly drunkenness, she couldn’t tell. The other two seemed fairly natural at the hip-thrusting dance moves. He followed them around, smiling blankly, awkward, and more hilarious by the minute. She giggled then couldn’t help but break into cheers when Dominic danced around the pole in the middle of the stage. For a split second, she fixated on his tattoos as a sickening sort of déjà vu hit her.

  Gripping her chair when the ladies ran past her to the stage, shaking dollars at the men she sensed her ears burning, which meant her face must be blazing red. When the men all crawled toward the edge of the stage she shrank back, praying Kieran wouldn’t spot her, the momentary confusion at the sight of Dom’s body art forgotten. The disco ball spun, sending shimmery dots of light everywhere, while the women pawed at, stuffed money into, and blatantly stroked the front of their underwear. With a cry of protest, she shoved her way forward, blind with jealous rage.

  “Hey, cut it out!”

  “This one’s mine!”

  “Ow! Bitch!”

  The protests filled her ears. But she remained intent on her goal. Kieran was on his knees now, thrusting his pelvis around. She saw the sweat beading on his forehead and noted how hard his hands were shaking. Latching onto some woman who had her fingers creeping up the inside of his thigh she pushed her into some other bitch who had her whole palm on the man’s black satin-covered dick.

  “Get off,” she growled.

  “Wait your fucking turn.” The last woman practically bared her teeth and kept her palm planted on Kieran’s junk.

  “Plenty to go around ladies,” he slurred.

  “Kieran Francesco Love.” She snagged his ear and yanked his face down close to hers. “Get your bare ass off that stage right now.”

  He goggled at her, and stretched his arm forward as if to crawl towards her. Women kept pulling at her, cussing her, and demanding she let them at the hot redhead. The music deafened her to them but when he pitched forward, having run out of stage to crawl across he fell right on top of her, knocking them both to the smelly carpet. She landed on her elbows with a cry of pain. Kieran’s entire body pressed against her, making her skin zing in response. The room quieted, and a circle formed around them.

  “Okay now, ladies,” a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Come on to the stage and dance with the boys!” The women scrambled away, leaving the two of them sprawled and glaring at each other.

  “Get off me,” she said through gritted teeth, her face hot with rage. He didn’t move. If anything he ground his hips down harder, miming sex in front of the crowd.

  “You don’t get to have a say about me anymore, remember?” He pressed his lips to hers before she could speak then got lost in the scrum on the stage to the delight of the women. She scrambled to her feet, breathing heavy, chest tight with anxiety. Someone’s strong grip on her biceps kept her from stomping to the door.

  “He’s almost finished, hon,” an attractive older woman dressed in a slinky red dress told her. “You can wait in the back if you want.” She steered Cara away from the simulated orgy on the stage. “Sorry, I didn’t know Red had a sweetheart.”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m not...I mean….”

  “Come on.” The woman propelled her behind the stage and into a dressing room lined with mirrors and filled with girls in various stages of naked. Embarrassed and averting her gaze, Cara followed her into a cramped office and got pushed unceremoniously down on a butt-sprung couch. “Wait here. I’ll send him to you.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’m...a friend.”

  “Whatever, honey. Wait here, k?”

  Cara glared at the door a few minu
tes then paced the length of the small office. Finally, it creaked open, revealing Kieran, re-dressed in his real jeans and a dark T-shirt. Something in her released at the sight of him. Tears streamed down her face as she fell onto the sofa. He waited in the doorway, silent, immune as always to her blubbering. She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell him everything, including the fact that she had a sickening suspicion about Kent’s love interest.

  “Is Dominic gay?”

  Something resembling fear flickered across Kieran’s face.

  “Why do you need to know?”

  She took a breath.

  “Kent’s...he’s...I don’t....”

  Kieran grabbed her arms, digging his fingers into her flesh. “You’re getting married in four days. Get a grip on yourself. We’re done. I don’t know what Dominic has to do with any of this but I’m guessing I don’t want to know.”

  “But he...he’s....” The words would not form themselves. She couldn’t say it, as if admitting it to anyone, even one of her oldest and best friends would be admitting a failure on her part. “Never mind.” She moved past him. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was just shocked to see you, you know.” The awkward unanswered question stayed that way.

  “Gettin’ naked for cash?” His infectious grin caught her off guard. “A one-time deal, I promise you that.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Now I have to go do my real job.” He jerked his thumb to the door. “Bouncer, ID checker, whatever.”

  “I heard you have an interview at the high school.” She brushed the tears off her cheeks and attempted to calm her breathing.

  “How did you hear that?”

  “Hope Kerrigan told me. She’s out there tonight.”

  “The principal?” His voice broke, his face flushed red in a way so familiar to her it made her chest ache. “Here?”

  “She seemed impressed. I think you only helped your cause.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a coaching job and only part-time. I get to keep my glamorous night job.”