by Abby Knox
“He can handle it.”
“Can he? He’s thirteen. Where is your brain?”
“Get out of my house!”
He had her by the shoulders. “When are you going to give this kid a break?”
“I took him to the doctor and there’s no damage!” She was telling the truth. “Just muscle fatigue. So, when are you going to let him pitch?”
“Maybe I should make you pitch.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“No, really, come on. Outside, right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
But his face said otherwise. And she did feel guilty. Rodney had threatened not to just cut back but to fire them as clients completely if she cut back to two lesson a week.
She was nearly in tears, having been caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Outside.” Troy was dead serious.
Remy didn’t know what he had planned. He looked scary and pissed.
He raised his eyebrows like he was talking to an insolent child. “You come to my job and harass me? I come to your house and harass you. Let’s make this even.”
She grudgingly followed him outside to the backyard, where Troy grabbed a ball and two mitts, one of them a catcher’s mitt, out of the bed of his truck.
He wordlessly led her to the backyard and planted himself in the middle of the yard. He pointed for her to stand there next to him. She did, and he handed her the ball and a fielding mitt. Then he took the catcher’s mitt and trotted about 50 feet away, turned around, and squatted, facing her.
“Let’s see that arm.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably. Let’s see that arm, I said.”
“I don’t know how to pitch.”
“I’ll teach you.”
He walked her through a set of instructions on form, and she sent the ball flying at him. “That was a mile out of the zone, but try again. Harder.”
“Why are we doing this? You do realize I do not play youth league ball.”
“Just do it. Again.”
So she threw the ball again. He threw it back, harder.
This went on for several minutes.
“You’re getting closer to my ZIP code, at least. Try again. Put all your weight into it.”
“What the hell are you trying to prove?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m trying to prove when we’re done here.”
And then, about five pitches later, she knew. Her shoulder was starting to hurt.
“Can we stop now? Let’s go inside and talk.”
“No. We’re still practicing. Come on, mama.”
After about five more pitches, her shoulder and forearm were very sore and she complained.
“Aw, come on. You’re young, Remy, you can take it.”
“I can’t. It hurts. I want to go inside and talk now. You made your point, asshole.”
“Nope. No time for talk, time to practice.”
“I said, you’ve made your point.”
“Have I?”
“Yes, you’re trying to make me see how hard it is to pitch again and again, and how I’m ruining Elliot’s shoulder and that I’m robbing him of developing his skills elsewhere on the field. Blah, blah blah. You’re trying to show me what a terrible mother I am. And I am! I’m a real Mommie Dearest and you are Coach of the Year! And every other man in his life is simply the best, and I’m the bad cop. I’m the one that has to say no to everything for the sake of helping him do better, and I’m the one everybody hates.”
Remy couldn’t stop the words flowing out of her, and then pretty soon, the tears came. The words kept pouring out of her mouth. Everything she’d ever felt about Ryan being the fun parent, everything related to her worries about Elliot hating her. About all the other moms hating her for whatever reason.
“I get it, OK? I’m a horrible mother and a horrible person…”
Remy could barely see a foot in front of her and she hurled the ball with all her might, rage expelling out of her with a wild grunt. The ball bounced off the ground and popped off Troy’s shoulder. “Hey!” he shouted.
She sat down on the ground and put her head in her hands. Her face was hot as the tears melted her mascara. Remy didn’t care that Troy was witnessing this intense moment of self-hate and shame. Isn’t that what he meant to do?
Besides, she had bigger things to deal with at the moment. Such as signing her kid up for a lifetime supply of counseling.
12
Troy
Whoa. He had not meant for this to happen.
By compelling her to throw her whole body to the ball every damn time for a hundred or a thousand pitches, Troy had only meant to show her the physical toll it could take.
“Hey. Are you OK?”
Troy knelt down on the ground next to Remy. “Shh…listen, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I was just trying to demonstrate something. I was just trying to get through to you that Elliot is overworked. I pushed too far. I’m sorry.”
He put a hand on her back and rubbed it sympathetically. Awkwardly, but genuinely sympathetically.
Damn, he enjoyed rubbing her back. All right, keep it under control, man. This woman is probably going to sue you for … something, any minute now.
All he wanted to do was show her how hard these lessons were on Elliot, and now he’d made her feel like a terrible mother. That was not his intention. Now he had to help build her back up. How was he going to do that?
“Mrs. Dawson. Remy. I’m sorry. I went too far.”
She sniffled and kept her face in her hands.
And then he felt like an idiot for not offering her something. “Ah, sorry I don’t have a tissue. Here.”
He sat down next to her and offered her the bottom of his tee-shirt.
“That’s gross, I can’t use your shirt…” Sniff. “But…well, OK.” Remy wiped her face on his shirt hem and dabbed her eyes.
She looked down and then started laughing. “You have my mascara all over you now.”
He looked down at the spot and chuckled. “That’s OK. Let’s go inside.”
He helped her up as she muttered about finally going inside after giving the neighbors a floor show from the backyard.
Inside the kitchen, she blew her nose and dabbed her eyes, pulled herself together with the help of a paper towel.
He kept close to her in case she felt unsteady.
“I’m sorry you had to see me ugly-cry.”
Troy didn’t like hearing her use the word “ugly” about herself, in any context. “If that was ugly cry, then I guess I’m done for if I ever see you ‘pretty cry,’ because you might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen sobbing her eyes out.” Yep. He went there. Called her beautiful. She was a hard woman to deal with, but she was in a tender spot right now and he thought she needed to know it. It was a calculated risk.
She sniffed and dabbed her nose again. “I would take that as a compliment except now I’m wondering exactly how many women you have made cry.”
“Only you, so far.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, on a normal day I would argue that that is an insult to my treatment of women, but in your current state, I’m not prepared to spar with you,” Troy said.
“Hello!? I’m not saying you’re a jerk, I’m saying…look at you! You’re some kind of a demigod in Middleburg. All the other baseball moms are probably throwing themselves at your feet. You probably make women cry because you’re prettier than they are and you don’t even notice them.”
Troy turned until he was facing her. “Why would I care or notice when I can’t keep my eyes off you?”
Remy took a deep breath. “You’re joking, right? You like my splotchy face and red eyes?”
“Yes. And even taking into account your huge-pain-in-the-ass emails and stalking me at school.”
“So, I guess this means we’re gonna talk about that kiss, huh?”
“No, ma’am. We’re definitely no
t gonna talk.”
Remy froze as Troy moved a lock of her hair out of her face, then took the next step and smoothed his hand over her head, combing his fingers through the soft brown waves. He stroked the back of her neck as she looked up at him and gave the slightest of sighs and closed her eyes. In the next moment he was massaging her shoulders. She was tense. A ball of nerves. He worked his fingers in circles on the back of her neck, over the tops of her shoulders, then back up and down her neck again.
He looked at her clear skin, watching the goosebumps form on her chest—framed by the V of her tee-shirt—and her cheeks flush. Her deep brown eyes opened and searched for his. Her lips parted and he could not believe she wasn’t trying to say anything yet. Troy leaned in, his hands getting lost in her hair and her scent. He rested his forehead against her forehead and listened to her breathing. It was growing ragged with need, and it was turning his cock as hard as stone to think he was the cause of her arousal. He wanted every inch of her on him. He wanted her wrapped around him like chocolate on a frozen banana.
Troy couldn’t help himself. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about bananas.”
She cocked an eyebrow up. “Oh. You mean like this one?”
Troy sucked in his breath at the sensation of Remy’s hand suddenly and firmly pressed against the front of his jeans, and then, without warning, her stroking until his cock was begging to be set free from his pants.
“Oh, I guess you do know how to have fun.” He smiled as his lips slowly inched toward hers.
“No, I’m just a pleaser,” she said, continuing to rub him, making him need to feel himself inside her mouth. She was slaying him, yet somehow they were both still fully dressed. Why had he not ripped her clothes off yet?
“I have to leave to pick up Elliot from Brandt Fuller’s house in 20 minutes.”
“I don’t know who that is, but I guess we’d better hurry.”
They locked their lips together as desperately and as hungrily as the day before, but this time Troy was feeling something else as they kissed. And not just a serious boner. Her body fit so perfectly, leaning into his, he couldn’t imagine anyone else fitting so well. He felt for the first time…welcome in Middleburg. Funny that the Welcome Wagon had finally arrived, brought to him by the most uptight, intense Tiger Mom in town.
Remy pulled at Troy’s tee-shirt. Troy let her grasp away as he slipped his hands under her top, feeling the soft curve of her delicious lower back against his palms. His lips worked over her mouth, and then he began to kiss his way up her jawline and down her neck, down into the V at the front of her shirt, where he could feel her breasts tease him to go lower. His hands slid up farther across her ribcage and hastily helped her pull her tee-shirt up over her head. Her hard nipples beckoned him through her bra to have a taste.
He had thought he was most interested in her ass—which in his daydreams reminded him of the famous ass of that one reality TV star, the one with that show with all the sisters, and the mom who was even weirder than Remy, the one that he never officially watched, ever, and that was his story, the end—but those breasts of Remy’s looked mighty incredible.
He feathered her breasts with kisses before taking small nips at her hard buds through her bra, feeling Remy relax into his arms. A little sexy sigh escaped from her as he gently teased her with his mouth. It occurred to him she had no tan lines, and it likely meant she somehow sunbathed naked, which, where do you even do that in Middleburg? He filed that away for the spank bank later—the image of this dark-haired beauty spread out naked on a blanket in her backyard while the neighbors were all at work. Fuck, that’s hot.
Remy’s hands explored Troy’s abdomen, and soon his shirt joined hers on the floor. They attacked each other with renewed enthusiasm. His lips teased, his able fingers squeezed. Her breath shortened, her whimpers of pleasure grew more intense. She caressed his bare abs and chest as if she couldn’t decide what to explore first. Damn.
Her fingers swept over his shoulders, feeling his back, finally settling on putting her hands in his hair, which gave him a better angle to kiss his way down to her sweet little tummy. Now he just needed to get her horizontal. Time was running out. Her son was with a friend, Remy could be late to pick up…what was his name again? Something familiar about it…
Troy moved things along by reaching between her legs and rubbing through the fabric of her yoga pants. He could feel her slit completely open up to him, and she wasn’t wearing any panties. Troy slid his hands back around to her lower back, down her waistband and finally had both hands full of her ass. She was somehow both soft and rock hard. Jacked but curvy. Damn. Damn damn damn, he wanted her right now. The feel of her in his hands made his mouth water and drove him to kiss her with an even wilder intensity.
He was ferociously hungry for her and he was tugging away at her yoga pants.
And then, someone’s phone rang.
Remy groaned and pulled away. “It’s Elliot,” she said.
Well, that was the end of that. Shit. Did it have to be? Yes, it did, you enormous cad. He cursed in his head again and again, but he could not begrudge her that phone call. No way he wanted to keep her from her son.
“Sure, I’ll come get you right now, sweetie.”
After hanging up, she looked apologetic and embarrassed.
Not wanting her to ever feel that way around him, Troy helped her put her shirt back on and he took care of getting fully dressed again himself.
13
Remy
This can’t work. Fuck he’s so fucking hot I could fuck his brains out right now, but then what? I can’t make this work.
I’m a single mom and he’s wild and free and hot and can get any one of the female teachers at that school.
Man, he looks fine, leaning up against his truck in my driveway. Arms crossed. Those dimples. Bad boy flash in his eyes.
“I’ll call you later.”
Remy sighed and said it was too complicated. “I’m not a teenager who can be at your beck and call. I am at Elliot’s beck and call, and even though I agree I shouldn’t push him so hard, it’s going to take a while for me to work on myself. OK? And also, he is my whole life. That part is not going to change.”
Troy towered over her when she opened her driver side door. “I’m not trying to change you, baby, I’m just trying to help you have a little fun.”
His words and the sound of his low drawl sent shivers past her spine all the way into her nethers.
She shot him a warning look. “Don’t even start with calling me ‘baby.’ I am not your baby.”
She knew exactly what he was doing. Her brain wanted to keep pushing back, but her libido, that was another story. She knew that Troy knew the longer she was around him and his dimples, the harder he was to resist. She needed him to go away so she could clear her head.
Remy got into her car and said through the open window, “You can go now, Coach Troy.”
He shook his head. “What kind of a man drives off before he knows his lady friend has driven away safely first?”
Outwardly, Remy rolled her eyes. Inwardly, his chivalrous attitude made her sex reawaken with pleasure. As if it had ever calmed down at all between the phone call in the kitchen and the driveway.
And then, her car would not start. Of course.
Troy sauntered over as she cranked and cranked to no avail.
“Babe, I hope you don’t think I caused that.”
“No.” She waved him off. “It’s my starter. And stop calling me that.”
“Could just be the battery?”
Remy grunted. “Do I look like I know jack shit about cars?”
Troy leaned in through the window and murmured so only she could hear. “No, but you look like a hot mama who’s gonna go inside and take a break while I go pick up her son. Now tell me where Brandt Fuller lives.”
“I can’t let him know we were together. What would he think?”
“He won’t think anything. He’s 13,” Troy replied.
Remy rambled, panicking at what her son, Brandt and Brandt’s parents would think. Not to mention Brandt’s older sister, Sophie, who had already caught them kissing in his office at school. “How about this, you go pick him up and I’ll stay here, and we’ll say that I called you to see if you could help me because my car wouldn’t start.”
Troy laughed. “How about I just tell him I came over here to teach you a lesson and then we felt each other up against the fridge?”
He was truly infuriating. “Just go! He’s waiting. But do not say anything about defiling my fridge!”
14
Troy
The hot and bothered coach sat in his truck and watched the Dawsons’ house from the street, about two doors down.
He was hot for Remy. But he was bothered by the conversation he had had with Elliot earlier on the way back over here.
“Rod’s kind of a dick, but he knows his stuff,” Elliot had said on the ride home.
“He is a dick, that’s for sure,” Troy agreed.
“How do you know that? Do you know him?”
Uh-oh. Troy had to cover for the fact that they’d met earlier in Hy-Vee, where he had laid Rodney out flat and gotten himself banned from the only grocery store in town.
“Kind of. You know…baseball people. We all know each other.”
Nice save, dum-dum.
Fortunately, Elliot had bought that lame story. Good. Troy didn’t want that poor kid getting dragged into any adult drama.
“So how is he a dick to you, exactly?” Troy had tried to sound innocent. Curious. Not looking for another reason to deliver another knuckle sandwich. Though he wouldn’t mind. Rod had a very punchable face.
“He’s just really critical. He tells me I throw like a pussy. And I know I don’t. I throw all right, and I know he’s just trying to motivate me. But man, he’s really harsh.”