by J Santiago
“Me?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then smiled tiredly. “I’m okay. Just trying to hurry this along, so we can have Tank on the field this weekend. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“I can do that.” She looked around the office, listening for sounds of life. “You done for the night?”
Again, he scrubbed his hands over his face and ran them through his hair. “Yeah, I’m done.”
Her tongue burned with the desire to move them forward, to bend a little and offer up some small caveat of a peace treaty. She opened her mouth to chip away at the wall between them, but she came with a lame, “Okay, well, I’ll see you at home.”
Then, she stood up and turned toward the door, escaping as quickly as she could, wondering how she could get over the two years of withholding information and emotions from her father. She imagined it’d just take an opening, one that would gradually grow bigger with each sentence she might be willing to share. Theoretically, she got it; she just wasn’t sure what it would take to actually apply it.
Thirty-Two
“Is he going to play on Saturday?” Higgs asked, worry creasing his brow.
Franco leaned back in his chair, attempting to infuse confidence into his answer. “I’m not leaving campus on Friday without him.”
His coaching staff was finishing up their post-practice meeting, and Franco had desperately tried to keep the agenda focused solely on practice prep and game-planning, but he could tell his coaches’ minds were elsewhere, wrapped up in the turmoil of Tank’s situation.
“But will they clear him to play?” Higgs said, asking the same thing in a different way. “Shouldn’t we start running Jackson through more?”
At that moment, with their questioning gazes focused on him, Franco wished that he ran a dictatorship. Don’t fucking question me, he wanted to say. But that wasn’t his style. His was a cooperative leadership.
So, he kicked himself forward and placed his elbows on the table. “We are not doing anything different at practice than what we always do. I’m not going to give anyone the impression that we don’t think he’ll be playing on Saturday. No one’s told me he can’t play, and until the moment the party line changes, we are proceeding as usual.” His tone, his demeanor, didn’t invite questions or doubts.
As they finished up and made their way out of the room, they didn’t necessarily look relieved, but he could tell that they knew he wasn’t holding anything back from them.
But the glimmer of doubt that reflected in the eyes of his coaches burned the remainder of his good humor away and pushed him toward the compliance office without him even remembering that he’d made a decision to go. When he rounded the corner, he heard the din of a conversation being softly spoken, coming from Molly’s office. He recognized both her voice and that of the general counsel. He took a seat in the chair outside her office and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, so he could try to make out what they were saying. Perhaps he should feel guilty for eavesdropping, but his protective instincts were too churned up to allow him to give much thought to the sliminess of trying to listen in without making himself known.
“But you believe him, right?” Molly asked.
“Yes. I don’t think that Antony knew anything about what’d been happening. But how would we prove that if there were something unsavory happening with his father? Chantel Jones’s assessment of things has me worried.”
“Me, too. But not enough for me to want to hold Tank out of the game this weekend. The moment we do that, people are going to think he’s guilty.”
Franco found himself smiling at her words, words that he’d spoken to her not twenty-four hours ago. Feeling better than when he’d ventured down there, he was contemplating leaving when the door opened, and they both filed out of her office. Molly’s eyes widened when she noticed Franco sitting close to the door, and he knew that his face reflected his guilt.
He stood quickly and held out his hand to Joe Grant.
“Coach Franco,” Dr. Grant gushed, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Dr. Grant,” Franco said charmingly as he extracted his hand from the slightly overzealous pumping. “Nice to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Yes. Terrible business,” he said. “But I think we will get it worked out quickly,” he said, reassuringly.
Franco smiled and looked toward Molly just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Well, that’s good news,” Franco said before he held out his hand to Dr. Grant again. “I really appreciate all of your help with this.” Franco grabbed Dr. Grant’s shoulder. “We’d love to have you down on the field sometime, if I can get my compliance director to agree to that.” Franco glanced at Molly. He made sure Dr. Grant’s attention was focused away from him and then Franco winked at her.
Dr. Grant puffed up like he’d just been handed the winning lottery ticket. “My wife would really love that.”
“Great. We’ll send some passes over next week,” Franco promised him.
“Thanks so much,” Dr. Grant said before he left.
The moment he was gone, Molly turned her back and trudged into her office. Franco followed, a huge grin on his face. When she threw herself into her chair and glared at him, Franco laughed.
“That was the most ridiculous case of groupie worship I’ve seen in a long time. It’s such bullshit. He hasn’t had a pleasant thing to say all day. All day, I’ve been defending Tank, and he’s only worried about the image of the university. Then, you walk in, and it’s like he wants to kiss your ass.”
Her frustration radiated off of her, and Franco would have felt a little bit sorry for her, but he was so used to his role that he just accepted it. Knowing that, he didn’t attempt to appease her.
“I don’t mind a bit of worship every once in a while,” Franco teased.
Molly rolled her eyes. “No shit.”
“Wanna try?”
“Don’t you wish?” she retorted, regaining some of her humor.
Suddenly, all sense of playfulness evaporated as heat flamed in Franco’s eyes. “Actually, yes,” he answered, the volume of his voice dropping.
He saw Molly’s eyes shift away from him, and the pulse point in her neck fluttered faster. He willed her to look at him, unable to gauge her thoughts when she refused to meet his eyes. Tired of circling his attraction to her, he got up from his chair and walked around her desk. When she still refused to look him in the eyes, he moved between her chair and the desk. Leaning back on the edge, he crossed his arms over his chest, his presence forcing her to look up at him.
When he finally had her attention, he asked, “Aren’t you tired of fighting this?”
Molly was pretty much in the throes of her worst nightmare—sitting in her office, the door partially ajar, with her head football coach waving their attraction in her face as she attempted to investigate his number one player.
Okay, so maybe having Mike Franco want her was an amazing fantasy, but why did it have to be now when she could end up embroiled in a major NCAA investigation? Why, after three years of working together, was he interested in starting something? The timing made her nervous. Not that she really thought he’d seduce her in an attempt to impede the investigation, but she wanted some sort of guarantee that one didn’t have anything to do with the other.
Looking into his chocolate eyes, she lost her way out of the maze of denial. She did want him, and she was tired of fighting it. “Yes.”
Franco cocked his head to the side. “Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m tired of fighting this.”
He looked slightly surprised by her honest answer.
“You weren’t expecting me to say that?” She’d meant it as a statement, but it managed to come out as a question, like she couldn’t believe he didn’t believe that she’d gone there.
He smiled.
Oh, the things Mike Franco’s smile did to her—and probably any woman in his vicinity.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t expect you to
say that.”
She shrugged a little and looked away. Did she admit that she hadn’t really intended to say that either, but she’d gotten lost in his gaze and lost her smarts? She tried to focus on a spot on the wall, so she could avoid his stare, but after her admission, she knew it was a losing battle. She felt rather than saw him push himself off the desk and lean forward. His hands circling her upper arms, he pulled her out of the chair and into his body. She found herself between his legs. He held her hips in his hands as he pulled her in close.
She fidgeted because she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She knew she wanted to wind them around his neck and plunge her fingers into his thick black hair, but she continued to hold back. Almost like he knew the problem, he pulled his hands from her waist and grabbed ahold of hers. He placed them on his shoulders, leaving the rest up to her. But, still, she hesitated. He didn’t.
His mouth captured hers. It was just like the last time, except she was now resigned to her fate, not cursing it. In fact, as her lips parted for his, all her thoughts just faded away. She forgot about Tank Howard, she forgot about her open door, she forgot that she was the director of compliance and she was kissing her head football coach. She wanted him, and as wrong as she knew it was for her career, it was every kind of right for her body and soul.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, his hands roamed away from her waist, and her breath mingled ever so intimately with his. Every thought and fantasy that she’d had about Mike Franco played out in her kiss. She left it all out there for him.
Franco pulled away from her mouth to kiss his way down her throat. “We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he murmured as he bit gently on her earlobe. “We should go.”
“I know,” she managed to say, breathless as he’d stolen it with a nip at her throat.
“If I let you out of my sight, are you going to disappear?” he asked.
She pulled away from him. Her dazed eyes met his, and he looked at her, the question hanging in the space between them.
She shook her head before her mouth could form any words. “No, I’m not going to disappear.”
“Okay. Can I meet you at your house in thirty minutes?”
He hadn’t released her, but she could feel the weight of her job pressing down on them. She thought she’d covered it up, but he seemed to sense her hesitancy. He met her lips with a hard kiss.
“Don’t.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Thirty minutes?”
Checkmate.
“Molly?”
“Thirty minutes,” she responded.
Thirty-Three
Amber had successfully avoided Tank in the training room since her first day of rehab. She had no reason to think that today would be any different. As she made her way back to the pool though, she saw him sitting on the edge, almost like he was expecting her. Shaking off the droplets of happiness at the sight of him, she kept walking toward Glenna, who was waiting for her at the treadmill.
As she got closer though, she realized he was talking to Glenna, seemingly oblivious to her approach. She almost turned back, but she’d become so good at pulling down the shutters that she moved forward, cloaked in nonchalance.
“Hey,” she said to the room at large.
Glenna smiled at her, and Tank noted her appearance but merely nodded.
“Same as Monday?”
“Yes,” Glenna said, getting the machine ready to hook her up.
As she attached Amber to the machine, Tank got up, leaving them alone and moving to the front of the training room. An exasperated sigh escaped from her lips, and she flinched inwardly as she saw Glenna take note of it. Averting her eyes, she began her workout, dreading the thirty minutes of a blank mind and nothing to keep her thoughts at bay. She tried to keep from looking toward the front of the room and the beacon that was Tank’s presence. But he was a magnet for her, even as she fought against his pull.
It wasn’t like her to let someone else determine her actions. She was worried about Tank even though he’d been a complete dickhead to her. He had deliberately hurt her, but she still felt the compulsion to reach out to him. And trying to deny it was starting to wear her out.
As she finished up, she realized that she was done trying to stay away from him.
Glenna appeared as her time expired. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Shouldn’t this be getting easier?”
Glenna just smiled. “It will eventually.”
Amber rolled her eyes. “It’s been eventually.”
“Are you doing anything aside from this three days a week?”
“No.”
“So then, it will get easier. Eventually.”
Amber snorted. “Gee, thanks.”
As she was untangled from the treadmill, she tried to track Tank’s movements through the training room, hoping he wouldn’t disappear before she could catch up with him. Even though she could feel Glenna’s gaze on her, she chose to ignore it. Finally released from the tether of the machine, Amber grabbed her towel and dried off quickly, watching to make sure she had Tank in her sights.
“Got somewhere to be?” Glenna inquired innocently.
Amber stopped what she was doing and looked at Glenna. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Oh. Well, you have about fifteen minutes before you need to move, so you can take your time.”
Grateful for the information, Amber sat down on the bench and proceeded to get dressed. “Thanks.”
Since she didn’t have access to the locker room here, she always brought sweats and just pulled them over her wet clothes, the drive not too far. She slid on her sneakers and bided her time, trying to look like she had a reason to continue to sit there. When she saw Tank grab his backpack and head toward the door, she made her move. Following him out into the hall, her hope for subtlety failed her. Because his pace was so much quicker than her own, she found him to be too far away to touch.
Swallowing her remaining doubts, she grabbed the last option.
“Tank!”
The sound of Amber’s voice stopped Tank mid step. Turning to face her, he stood impatiently, waiting for her to catch up to him. He probably should have met her halfway, but he stood there, holding his ground, feeling belligerent and hopeful all at the same time.
“Hey,” she started, a little breathless from her struggle to catch him.
He acknowledged it with a nod.
He watched her bristle a little, her eyes narrowing with a what-the-fuck look.
Oh, Sunshine, he thought as he fought a smile.
Standing directly in front of him now, she looked around, noting the increased activity, as the building started its day.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Did he want to talk? was more the question. He knew where talking to her would lead. The moment he’d felt her presence this morning, he had known that he’d missed her, wanted to talk to her about all the shit that had been going on. It’d hit him hard, like a sack from his blindside, this thought that he wanted her around all the time. And that scared the shit out of him, just like his reaction to her on Sunday night. He wasn’t normally that much of an asshole, but something about this girl made him stupid.
He hesitated because he couldn’t figure out if he was man enough to navigate this with her.
She got antsy with his prolonged silence, and he could almost see her force herself to look him directly in the eyes. That was where he lost his pseudo resolve—when he got caught up in the emotions dancing in the brown depths.
He glanced at his watch and nodded. “I’ve got some time before I have to be in class. Let’s go to my place.” He grabbed her hand and gently pulled her to his car, not allowing her the opportunity to escape.
The silent short drive had them pulling up to his apartment in no time. But the confined space had amped up his desire to both touch her and talk to her. Following her up the stairs, he had the absurd notion to just pick her up and run, so they could get to where they were going faster. In the la
st couple of days, he’d felt her absence, but he hadn’t realized how much he wanted her until he had seen her. Not quite out of sight, out of mind. More like, out of sight, easy to deny.
When he opened the door, he fought not to tackle her and get inside her as quickly as possible. So, he moved to a place where there could only be distance between them. She sat awkwardly on the couch, the exertion from rehab and following him through the corridors catching up with her.
“What’s up?” he asked, donning the asshole again for reasons he tried not to think about.
She leaned forward, her forearms on her knees, and stared up at him. There was some unfathomable look in her eyes that pulled at him, causing his stomach to knot up.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Okay, well, I know that’s bullshit, but if that’s how you want to play this, that’s fine.” She took a deep breath, almost like she was still trying to catch it. “I’ve been really worried about you, and if I were a better person, I would have tried to find you as soon as I found out, but I’m not very forgiving, so I didn’t.”
The shared memory of Sunday night compelled them both to look away to preserve their own self-righteous role in the mini drama.
After a brief moment of silence, Amber continued, “I can only imagine what must be going through your head with all of this chaos. I just wanted you to know that I’m here…if you need me.”
“Why?”
She looked away and then back. “I guess because I have this innate attraction to the wrong kind of boys.”
He heard an emphasis on the word boys and tried hard not to smile. Then, it hit him that she’d somehow lumped him in with Rowdy, and that pissed him off.
“I’m not anything like that asshole,” he said, his anger at being generalized along with that other guy apparent in his tone.
“No”—she nodded, agreeing—“you’re not. But, let’s be honest, Tank. Your little stunt on Sunday was immature and definitely uncalled for. So, I think boy applies.” Her pissed got thrown at him.