Mr. September: A Single Parent Romance (Calendar Boys Book 9)

by Nicole S. Goodin

  Coach Owens is all I’ve heard about for the past three weeks.

  I find the desk set up with the administration and fill in all the necessary forms for Ethan to play the season.

  I glance into the gym; the large group of boys are all running drills, orange basketballs flying around in some type of organised chaos that extends beyond my hand-eye capabilities.

  I notice a group of women – the mums if I had to guess – standing off to the side, watching something that isn’t their children, with interest.

  I know I should leave and let Ethan do his thing, but they’re all here, so I figure staying for a few minutes can’t hurt.

  I approach the women nervously. I’ve never had much luck making friends with many of the mothers from Ethan’s schools over the years – most of them look at me with their noses turned up – because of my age, or something else, I’m still not sure, but I’ve only managed to have a conversation with a handful of them. It’s been better since we moved out here, but I still wouldn’t say I had many real friends.

  I had Ethan young – really, really young – and while I’m not ashamed of it anymore, it wasn’t the easiest time of my life, and I still get judged on it often.

  “Hey,” I say as I reach them, waving awkwardly, and surprisingly, I’m met with smiles and a chorus of hellos.

  We exchange pleasantries and inform one another of whose son is who. One or two of them only look a few years older than me.

  Hunter’s mum, Isabella, recognises Ethan’s name as I say it, and she smiles wider at me.

  “What are we all looking at here?” I ask her.

  “Oh, sweetie, have you not seen the new coach?” she fans her face dramatically.

  I laugh. “No, is he hot or something?”

  She grins knowingly and points in his direction. “He’s so handsome it’s making me blush from all the way over here.”

  I giggle as I follow her finger with my eyes.

  There’s a group of men, most of whom look middle-aged and slightly overweight, there’s one younger-looking guy but the back of his jacket says medic, so that’s not him… I’m about to ask who she’s talking about when I see him.

  Clipboard in hand, whistle around his neck, a head of thick, dark hair, the most handsome face I’ve ever seen.

  I swallow deeply.

  Brody.

  Coach Owens.

  Brody Owens.

  I knew I knew him from somewhere.

  I watch him blow the whistle and point to one of the boys, instructing him to try something differently.

  “Oh wow,” I breathe.

  “Oh wow is right,” Isabella agrees.

  I can’t believe this. The only man to ever treat me like I’m something valuable, the only man to ask me out on a real date in years, and he’s my son’s new coach.

  Brody blows his whistle and yells at the boys to do a lap of the building.

  They toss the balls and run for the door, racing one another.

  One of the balls rolls in our direction, and I break away from the group to retrieve it.

  I bend down to stop it rolling at the same moment that a large basketball shoe lands on the top.

  “Thanks, I got it,” the voice tells me as he snags it from the floor.

  I glance up at him, slowly straightening to look at the man who I know that foot belongs to.

  “Morgs?” he asks in confusion as he recognises me.

  I can’t help but love the way he says that. My dad called me Morgs when I was a little girl, but that doesn’t make this situation any less weird.

  He’s probably wondering if I’m some crazy stalker who has followed him here.

  “Hey,” I squeak. “So, I guess you’re Coach Owens?”

  He nods slowly, his expression still confused. “Sorry, are you here to see me or…?”

  “It looks like my son is on your team,” I squeak.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “You have a son?”

  I bite on my bottom lip and nod.

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were a basketball coach.”

  “Valid point.” He nods slowly, clearly still thinking this whole thing through.

  “I didn’t tell you a lot of things… we don’t exactly know one another, remember?” I remind him.

  His brow is furrowed as he tries to make sense of this new information.

  “Sorry, you’re going to have to talk me through this… your son is how old?”

  I bury a giggle. His confused face is cute.

  “Sixteen.”

  I know what he’s thinking… if my son is sixteen, then how old am I?

  “Are you sure he’s your son, because no way in hell do you look old enough to have a kid that age.”

  I shrug, a smile playing on my lips. “Pretty sure he’s mine. I gave birth to him if I remember rightly.”

  He chuckles, the frown fading and morphing into a smile. “How old are you, Morgs?”

  I could tell him that asking a lady’s age is rude, but he’ll find out eventually – if he still wants to date me after this revelation, that is.

  “Thirty-two…” I shrug a shoulder. “I had him young.”

  A devilish smirk graces his gorgeous face. “Damn, Morgs… you are one hot fucking m—”

  “Shhhh,” I hiss, a giggle bubbling from my lips. “You can’t say that here.”

  “It’s my team.” He grins wider. “I can say what I want, whenever I want to say it.”

  “The other mums are watching,” I say, my eyes darting out to check and, sure enough, all eyes are on us.

  “Let them watch.” He chuckles, his gaze never leaving mine.

  We stand there almost awkwardly, sexual tension radiating, not saying a word.

  I hear the sound of pounding feet – the boys are back in the gym.

  “Another lap,” Brody yells loudly without even looking up.

  I hear a chorus of groans, but they do as they’re told and leave the gym again.

  “So… I’m a single mum… is that a problem for you?”

  His lips turn up into a sexy smirk, his head slowly shaking. “No. It’s not a problem for me.”

  I like that. I like it a lot.

  “Okay… well… good,” I reply lamely.

  “I better get back to it,” he says as he bounces the ball in his hand, causing me to jump.

  He chuckles as he turns, going back to his practice.

  “Bro— Coach Owens,” I say before he gets too far away.

  He glances back at me over his shoulder, and god he’s so sexy I can’t deal with it.

  “How old are you?”

  “Same age as you,” he answers before dribbling the ball, his long legs carrying him back to the side of the court.

  I watch as he does some tricky-looking move with the ball before shooting at the hoop from well outside of the three-point line. The ball swishes through the basket.

  “Pretty smooth, slick,” I mutter under my breath.

  He turns back, and the look he gives me takes my breath away.

  “Wow,” I breathe, my pulse thrumming as I walk back on shaky legs towards the group of women who are all gawking at me like I’ve grown an extra head.

  I can’t believe he’s here.

  I suddenly wish I’d worn something nicer than ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. I haven’t done my makeup and my hair is piled on my head in a loose knot, tendrils floating messily around my face.

  He probably can’t believe I’m the same woman from the bar.

  “Well that looked awfully cosy,” Isabella teases as I re-join the group.

  “I ah… actually sorta know him a little bit,” I admit. “I didn’t know he was their coach though.”

  I figure there’s no point in bullshitting. A group of women like this could sniff out gossip a mile away.

  “Pllleeeease tell us you went out with him so we can all live vicariously through you,” one woman says at the same time another asks if
I’ve seen him naked.

  I giggle nervously. “No and no… not yet anyway.”

  That sets off a chorus of ooooohs and giggles so loud that Brody turns around from the group of boys who have finished their run and gathered around him.

  He pulls a baseball cap onto his head backwards and smirks at us, that sexy god damn twist of his lips that makes my belly flip.

  Christ.

  I need to get out of here before I do something that will give my son real reason to be embarrassed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Brody

  I shoot the ball at the hoop and it hits the back board before dropping through the net.

  I roll my shoulder out, trying to ease the discomfort. I’ve only been messing around with Adam for about twenty minutes and it’s already playing up.

  He retrieves the ball and lazily dribbles it to the free throw line.

  “How were the cubs today?”

  He’s dubbed my team the cubs. Technically they’re the Tiger youth team, but I guess cubs works just as well.

  “Strong. Solid.” I nod. “We made some good selections this season.”

  He nods and tosses the ball towards the hoop. It sails through effortlessly.

  He’s not the top point scorer in the country for no reason.

  “I saw a few leaving; I would have killed to be that height at sixteen.”

  I huff out a laugh. Adam towers over most normal people, and I doubt he was any different in his teenage years.

  I bounce the ball I collected from the court after his basket and toss it back to him for another shot.

  “It’s a good team, should be a successful season if they keep focused.”

  If I can keep focused I should be adding to that sentence, because, damn. I’ve never felt more distracted than I did this morning when I knew Morgan was watching me.

  “You’ll keep them in line.”

  “I’m taking one of the mums on a date,” I blurt out.

  The ball sails through the air as he makes another three-point shot.

  “Fuck, bro, you don’t muck around.”

  I chuckle. “I actually met her last night – before I knew she was one of the boy’s mums.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “That kid is going to get it big time from his teammates if you shack up with his mother.”

  He’s probably not wrong, but that won’t stop me.

  Her kid – Ethan, he’s a good player. Hopefully he’s got thick skin.

  Adam grabs another ball off the rack and bounces it in front of him. “Since when are you into cougars anyway?”

  “Dude. She’s not a cougar. She was a young mum.”

  “Step-daddy Brody. I could get used to calling you that.”

  “Blow me,” I retort.

  “Only if you ask nicely.” He chuckles, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  I shake my head in amusement and hold my hands up for him to pass me the ball.

  My phone sounds loudly from the benches as I make the shot – it hits the rim and misses.

  I jog over and grab my cell, grinning when I see the text is from Morgan.

  “I see you and that smile; you’ve caught the bug.” Adam howls with laughter as he jogs for the discarded ball.

  I flip him off before unlocking my screen.

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  You’re a liar, Brody from last night.

  I don’t know why, but her message makes me grin wider.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  I resent that, Morgs. What have I lied about?

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  I googled you, you’re only 29.

  I chuckle. So maybe I am a liar, just a little bit. I’m also ecstatic to hear that she cared enough to look me up online; it gives my ego a boost.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  So? What about it?

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  I’m 32, I’m way too old for you.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  Bullshit you are.

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  You’re only 13 years older than my son!

  I smirk as I type out my response.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  You’re only 16 years older than your son.

  I wait and wait, but unlike her previous messages, a reply doesn’t come instantly. I’m just about to toss the phone back into my bag when it alerts me she’s finally replied.

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  Touché.

  I chuckle loudly.

  “So, you’re pretty sweet on this chick?” Adam says from behind me, and I jump.

  “Fuck’s sake, quit lurking around.”

  He chuckles, his grin wide and easy. “No can do. So, who is she? Is she hot? Where’d you meet her?”

  He fires off the questions in rapid succession, leaving me no opportunity to actually give him an answer.

  I cross my arms across my chest, my shoulder protesting slightly.

  “That all you want to know?” I question.

  “For now.”

  “Her name is Morgan, she’s a solid ten out of ten, and I met her when I went for a drink with Liv last night, some douche was about to spike her drink.”

  “For real?” His brows shoot up, his grin fading.

  I nod tightly. “Prick would have taken advantage of her too. I don’t even want to think about it,” I mutter.

  “Was she okay?”

  I hide my smile. Adam is a big teddy bear – he’s all tough on the exterior, talks a lot of shit, but I’d trust him with my life – and more importantly, I’d trust him with people I care the most about.

  “She was fine. I got to her before she drank any of it.”

  “Did you kick his ass?” he growls.

  “No need actually… she made him drink it.” I smirk. I’m fucking proud of the way she handled the situation.

  “She what?” He howls with laughter.

  I nod. “I know, it was epic. He faded like the sack of shit he is and then we had him arrested.”

  That reminds me, I need to follow up with that, see if the police need anything more from me.

  “She sounds badass. You sure she wants to hang around with a washed-up schmuck like you?”

  I shake my head in amusement, pick up my gear bag and tug my cap onto my head. “You’re a shitty friend,” I call over my shoulder as I stroll out of the gym.

  “You know you love me!” he yells after me.

  ***

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  I just got off the phone with the cops, they said they’ve got everything they need to charge the guy. I wasn’t sure if you knew.

  As much as it made my stomach turn having to think about what his intentions might have been, I went over it all with the detective leading the investigation. They’re taking it seriously at least. Apparently, the bar had footage of him spiking her drink – so there’s no way he’ll be getting out of it without conviction. Morgan shouldn’t even have to testify or anything.

  My eyes are fluttering closed with sleep when I’m startled awake by the phone still clutched tightly in my hand.

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  Thank you for following up. I went in this afternoon and spoke to them about it. They really couldn’t believe how lucky I got… if you weren’t there, it would have been a different story.

  My throat feels thick reading her words.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  Well I was there. Let’s not talk about what could have happened, it makes me want to break into that scumbag’s house and beat the shit out of him.

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  Are you always this protective?

  I’m not. I know that. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she makes me want to beat m
y chest and throw her over my shoulder.

  To: Morgan

  From: Brody

  You bring it out in me, Morgs.

  So, about that date, can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?

  To: Brody

  From: Morgan

  I thought you’d never ask.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Morgan

  “I can’t believe this is happening, this is worse than the MILF comments.” He fake gags. “You know this is scarring me for life, right?”

  He’s such a drama queen sometimes.

  “Trust me, this is not worse than your underage mates perving on your mum.”

  He mutters something incomprehensible under his breath.

  “Look, just don’t make it awkward and I’m sure Brody won’t either – the guys on the team never even have to know.”

  “They all saw him talking to you yesterday. One of them said he was looking at you like he wanted to—”

  “I do not want you to finish that sentence,” I interrupt him. “Ever,” I clarify. “Do you understand? Jesus, why are kids so inappropriate these days?”

  The little shit has the nerve to laugh. “Whatever, but just remember, you’re the one dating my coach. You’re the picture of inappropriate right now.”