Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3)

by S. Jane Scheyder

  “Good. I’m really glad. Alex had some cool ideas for her.” Becky poured water into a glass and added ice. “I wasn’t sure Grace would buy the whole sports bar idea.”

  “It didn’t take much to transform the back of the shop. We’ll see if the people on their computers put up with the extra noise.”

  “It’ll be interesting,” Becky agreed. “Coffee shop by day, sports cafe by night. I think it might work here. I hope it does.”

  “Me too.”

  “So ... why didn’t you stay?”

  “Yeah, it was getting a little crazy. I decided to get out of the way. Okay if we sit?” He gestured toward the couches - and the game.

  “Sure,” she said. “Grab those cookies over there. Might as well eat them while they’re fresh.”

  Tank followed his nose to his favorite dessert. His last defenses against Becky fell away. “I thought it smelled good in here.”

  “Help yourself.”

  He glanced at his water. “Do you have milk?”

  “Sure. It’s skim. In the fridge.”

  “Water’s good,” he replied.

  Becky laughed and he followed her into the living room with his glass and the plate of cookies. He sat down on the couch opposite her. The game had given way to a commercial, so he launched into his news.

  “So a guy came into the bar - the coffee shop,” he corrected himself, “from ESPN.”

  Becky sipped her own water and nodded.

  “He offered me a commentator job.”

  Her eyes went wide. Tank wanted to read disappointment or fear or something that would tell him she didn’t want him to go, but mostly she just looked impressed.

  “Wow, that’s really cool. When do you start?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure.” He looked at the TV screen and then back at her. “I didn’t take it.”

  “Are you kidding?” she sat up straight. “Why not?”

  He thought for a moment. “Well, I didn’t say no, outright. My agent’s been talking to me about it, so it’s not like I didn’t know this might be coming. Just not ready to commit, yet.”

  “That’s so cool, though, Tank.” Becky sat back and regarded him. “Why would they ask you now, during the Super Bowl? Aren’t they supposed to be covering the game?”

  He smiled. “Plenty of people covering the game. I think they chose this time ’cuz my defenses would be down. Hard to say no.”

  “Ah ... I guess that makes sense.”

  Tank shrugged and picked up a still-warm cookie. He took a bite and the warm chocolate melted on his tongue. The rest of the cookie followed. If his mouth hadn’t been full he would have proposed.

  He looked up to see her watching him.

  “They’ll last longer if you take a bite at a time,” she offered.

  He grinned. “These aren’t bite-sized?”

  Becky leaned forward and picked one up for herself. “Observe.” She took a small bite of her cookie, then closed her eyes, savoring the taste. If her goal was to keep him from eating her cookies, she’d managed very well. Her baking was now the last thing on his mind.

  Tank took a big swallow of his water and focused on the TV.

  “You’re not paying attention.”

  He turned back, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Becky withdrew the tiniest bit, the look on her face slightly alarmed.

  Tank let out a long breath. “Becky, why are you afraid of me? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she huffed, “but look at you. You think that’s not intimidating?”

  “What?” he asked, looking down. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows braced on his knees.

  “Put one of your hands on the ground.”

  “Why?”

  “Seriously, do it.”

  Tank shook his head, leaned over and braced his left hand against the floor.

  “Okay, now lift your backside off the couch.”

  Maybe she’d had more wine than he thought. Tank looked up with concern.

  “Just do it.”

  “You sound like a Nike commercial.”

  “Like this,” Becky said, striking a three-point lineman pose.

  Tank grinned. “That is terrifying.” He sat back, delighted with the spectacle.

  She dropped back onto the couch. “Well, that’s what you looked like, practically in your football pose; 250 pounds of Tank, ready to spring.”

  “I’m only 240.”

  “Oh, sorry, Tiny Tank.”

  He laughed. “Well, that wasn’t my ‘pose’ as you call it, though it looked good. Except you need at least a hundred more pounds on you. And linemen don’t wiggle their hips.”

  “I can dream.”

  Tank smiled and shook his head. He moved the coffee table and then crouched down and modeled the position for her. “You gotta let your hips drop a little, and bend your legs - this isn’t yoga.”

  “Like you’d know,” Becky dropped back into position.

  “Okay, shift that leg back like mine,” he nodded at her left leg. “Now look at me and snarl.”

  “I can’t believe you’d have to ask.”

  She slowly looked up and grinned at him. They were almost nose to nose. Her grin faded and her lids lowered a fraction. She hopped back onto the couch.

  Tank slowly pulled himself to standing, reeling from how close he’d come to kissing her. He’d have proved all her concerns founded. He wasn’t sure he cared.

  “So, what was your pose?”

  “My what?” Tank rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Well, if you didn’t crouch like that, what did you do?”

  Tank shook himself. No one ever had to ask him twice about football. “Well, I was a middle linebacker.” He lowered himself into the two point crouch, arms slightly extended. “Defense. Blitzing the quarterback, lots of tackling ...” His eyes lit up.

  “I think that’s scarier,” Becky observed, holding her pillow.

  “You asked,” he grinned, sitting back down on his couch.

  “Oh, look!” Becky turned to the TV. “Someone’s about to score.”

  Tank followed her gaze, for the first time in his life not really caring about what was happening in a Super Bowl game.

  “Fourth and inches. What do you think they’ll do?” She crossed her legs into some impossible pretzel pose, acting like he hadn’t just been about to tackle her.

  Tank took another deep breath and fixed the table. Becky barely looked at him, pretending to be all intent on the game. He shook his head and looked up at the screen.

  Fourth and inches. He smiled and turned to her. “They should definitely go for it.”

  “I don’t know. Too chancy. Field goal’s safer.”

  “Safer, but not as much fun.”

  She threw the pillow at him and smiled.

  twenty-three

  Her French classes dragged on Monday, but Becky was grateful that she didn’t have to deal with either of her Health classes. She increasingly liked the block schedule which gave her a break from teaching with Tank. She needed that break today. She’d seen him Friday night, Saturday morning and Sunday night - each time together more loaded.

  The fact that he would come over to discuss his future was touching and disconcerting. Hanging out, laughing and watching football together was way out of her comfort zone. She couldn’t dislike or discount that Tank so easily. That whole lining up against each other in between the couches? Completely uncharted territory.

  All in all, there’d been entirely too much Tank over the weekend.

  Becky walked up and down the aisles while the students took a quiz. She couldn’t help but see Carrie with more sympathetic eyes. The girl hadn’t acknowledged her at all when she’d walked into the room, but she definitely looked sad, overwhelmed. Becky planned to check in with her after class and offer whatever help she could.

  A few minutes later, they corrected the quiz and Becky wrote their assignment
on the board. When the students got up to leave, Becky walked to the door.

  “Carrie?” she said gently as the girl was about to pass her.

  A guilty, sullen face silently answered her call.

  “Got a minute?” Becky pressed. At first she thought Carrie would push right past her into the hallway, but she hesitated, then shrugged and slung her book bag onto a desk near the door.

  When the room had cleared, Becky closed the door and turned to her. “So ... how are you?”

  “Fine.” Carrie regarded her suspiciously.

  “Mr. Kimball talked to me over the weekend.”

  Her remark was met with silence.

  “I’d like to help,” Becky continued. “He mentioned that you had hoped to go to the pregnancy center?”

  A shrug.

  “Okay, well, I could go with you.” Becky cleared her throat. “It’s a tough thing to do alone.”

  “Like you’d know.”

  The lashing out shouldn’t have surprised her, but it still hurt. Becky sat down on one of the desks and smoothed her skirt. “I’d know more than you think.”

  “What - you work there?” Carrie didn’t sound particularly interested, but at least they were having a conversation.

  “No,” Becky replied. “I was a client.”

  Carrie looked at her doubtfully. “When?”

  Becky stood. She didn’t have to tell the girl anything; wasn’t sure why she’d started to in the first place. “We’ll talk on our way to the clinic. Can you go after school today?”

  “I have an appointment this afternoon.”

  Becky raised a brow.

  “Dentist,” Carrie explained.

  “Okay, well, how about tomorrow?”

  “Track practice.”

  Biting back her frustration, Becky nodded. “When are you available?”

  “Wednesday, I guess.”

  Becky mentally checked her calendar. “Wednesday after school, then?”

  Carrie looked down, scuffed her boot on the floor. “I don’t have a car.”

  How hard was she going to have to work to help this girl?

  This isn’t even the hard part.

  “I’ll take you.”

  Their eyes met. Carrie narrowed hers. “Why would you help me?”

  Becky took the dive. “Because when I was sixteen, there was no one to help me.”

  ***

  She was tired of feeling nervous walking into her own classroom. Becky had dressed to devastate, the only way she could cope with every nerve in her body being on edge. Her dark blue pencil skirt and creme silk blouse was professional and empowering, while entirely feminine. She couldn’t help but imagine Tank in his sweats and T-shirt. The mental image should have given her a distinct advantage, but it didn’t help at all. Tank in a T-shirt was muscle explosion Tank. At least during the last couple of months he was generally well-covered. She even occasionally tried to imagine him being all roly-poly under his long-sleeved sweaters.

  Sweats and T-shirt Tank erased that image so thoroughly, that when she walked into the classroom on Tuesday morning and saw him at the desk, Becky immediately blushed. His light blue button down was open at the neck, revealing the T-shirt she was actually seeing when she looked at him. She advanced slowly to the desk, the heels she’d routinely worn suddenly feeling like the awkward stilts that they were.

  Tank smiled appreciatively, taking in her ensemble with a slightly raised brow. “Meeting today, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “No, Mr. Kimball,” she answered, sounding far calmer than she felt. Unfortunately, those were the only words she managed.

  “Just dressing up, then?”

  “I suppose.”

  “For me?” he asked, grinning.

  “In spite of you,” she replied, frowning.

  “Well, spite me anytime,” he said, standing and rounding the desk. “You’ll definitely have everyone’s attention today. Glad it’s not my lesson.” He stopped in front of her, amused appreciation clearly displayed in those amazing green eyes. Becky stood, immobilized, fighting to hold his gaze. If he’d picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and walked out of the room she probably wouldn’t have put up a fight. Something was terribly wrong with her.

  So much for dressing to devastate.

  She veered around him and set her bag down on the desk. “Thanks, I think,” she qualified. “We have a movie today, remember? No one’s going to be looking at my clothes.” She busied herself getting the movie ready to play.

  “Oh right, movie day. Where are you sitting?”

  She could hear the teasing invitation in his voice and fought the warm feeling flooding through her. She longed for the days when he did nothing but irritate her. Turning with her best, ‘I’m in control of this situation’ look, she replied, “Far away from you.”

  The students began filing in and Becky was more than happy to have anyone else to look at - talk to - think about. She took attendance, introduced the movie, and then sat at the front desk and watched it on her computer while the rest of the class watched the big screen. She no longer trusted Tank, or herself around him. Avoidance at all costs would be her new survival technique. It was going to be a long rest of the year.

  ***

  Maddy and Becky walked to the back of the coffee shop and sat down at one of the new tables. Becky looked around at the renovations. The big screen TV and the pool table changed the look but not the overall feel of the place. There were several tall tables with high stools that were more typical of a bar, but nothing seemed out of place. The coffee shop in front seemed to melt seamlessly into the sports cafe in back. It really was a cool idea.

  “So how was your Super Bowl party?” Maddy asked as Grace sat down to join them.

  “It went really well,” Grace replied. “We had a decent turnout, and there were a few people who mentioned that they liked the ‘feel of the place,’ which was good. I guess not everyone wants to go to a bar to watch sports, so this is a nice alternative.”

  “Your regulars okay with it?”

  “Well, I don’t have as many evening ‘regulars’ as morning or mid-day, so I don’t really think the sports focus is getting in anyone’s way.” She looked around. “We’ll have to see. I don’t have a frame of reference from last year, but I’m happy with business so far.”

  “I’m just mad that you took out my booth. These tables and chairs are cute, but ...” Becky sighed.

  “Yeah, those booths were about to cave in,” Grace said. “I liked them, too, but they were a hazard.”

  “Sorry, not buying it,” Becky sniffed. “Hey,” she changed gears. “Are you working this evening? The pool’s finally open at the high school, and we’re going to go get some exercise.”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” Grace replied. “I think I’m good. Let me check with Daphne.”

  She jumped up and walked to her office in the back of the store.

  “You sure you want to swim?” Maddy asked, clearly regretting having committed her evening to Becky’s direction.

  “Of course, I do. Can’t run in this cold.”

  Maddy tried for cheery. “Right. Okay. It’ll be great.”

  Becky smiled at her. “We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe we went out in the cold to go into the water to get cold.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Becky asked, leading Maddy and Grace through the lobby by the pool.

  “Back at home, in front of the fire,” Maddy sighed.

  “Oh, so that’s what you call him now.”

  Maddy and Grace laughed. “Are you sure we’ll be able to do laps?” Maddy asked. “It won’t be just a bunch of high school boys tormenting the middle-aged women?”

  “Bite your tongue!” Becky scolded, signing herself and the other women in. “I’m nowhere near as old as you are.”

  Grace looked back and forth between them. “You can’t be that far apart.”

  “Two years,” Becky replied.
“I will always be two years younger than Maddy,” she made a face at her sister, “no matter what.”

  “Very mature,” Maddy made a face back.

  They walked down the short hall to the women’s locker room, and Becky found several free lockers. She stripped down to her sleek back swimsuit. “I can’t wait to move again. It’s been driving me crazy not to be able to run. I feel like a slug.”

  “Welcome to the rest of humanity,” Maddy replied, revealing a crimson colored suit under her jeans and sweatshirt. “We exercise when the weather’s nice, and wear lots of layers for the rest of the year.”

  “Where’s that yellow and orange suit we bought last summer?” Becky asked.

  Maddy wrinkled her nose. “I need color for that one, and a few less pounds.”

  Becky considered the woman in front of her. No one ever looked great in a swimsuit in February, but Maddy pulled hers off just fine. She’d always been envious of Maddy’s fuller figure, but she’d rarely admitted it aloud.

  “You look great,” Becky observed. “I’d love to have your curves.”

  Maddy smiled. “Thanks. I’ve always envied your ...”

  “Planes?” Becky supplied with a wry smile.

  “Hardly,” Maddy laughed. “Sleek sophistication. And your muscular legs. But you’ve worked hard for those.”

  “Not recently,” Becky pined. “Now, Grace, here, she’ll run in the cold. That’s why she’s so fit.”

  “Thanks,” Grace replied. Her dark blue racing suit fit well for mid-winter. “This will be good, though. I’m ready to switch to swimming for a while. The roads up here are just too icy.”

  They walked through the showers and out into the pool area. As they’d hoped, very few people had braved the cold to swim. Two women swam laps on one side, a couple of divers practiced at the far end, and someone finishing a lap was climbing out of the pool on the side opposite them.

  Becky stopped in her tracks, and Maddy and Grace almost bumped into her.

  “What’s wrong? Ohhh ...” Maddy said.

  Grace peeked around both of them. “Oh. What’s he doing here?”

  Becky tried to breath. His back was toward them but there was no question who had just pulled himself out of the water. She’d been struggling to erase the image of T-shirt Tank, and the vision in front of her effectively did so. There were no words for the problem it left in it’s wake.