by Beth Andrews
She didn’t know much about the sport other than it was barbaric, violent and dangerous. Boys and men ramming into each other as hard as they could headfirst.
There had to be an easier way to get concussed and break your bones.
Kennedy stopped to talk to one of her friends. Penelope wasn’t sure which was worse, that the other girl had ruined her lovely blond hair by coloring the ends blue, or that she’d completely cut the sides out of a perfectly good shirt and now everyone could see her sports bra.
Not for the first time, she thanked God she didn’t have a daughter. Then again, her son was such an enigma to her, maybe a daughter would have been better.
A potbellied man with a shiny bald spot blew a whistle, the sound piercing the air and her eardrums. He must be the football coach. The boys stopped what they’d been doing and lined up in neat rows. Another whistle and they dropped flat to the ground in perfect synch, kicked out their legs, did a push-up, then jumped to their feet again and ran in place. Another whistle, another round of strange exercises. That whistle was like a magic wand.
She wondered if one would work on Andrew.
Another man approached the first, said something, then turned, facing her, though looking at the team.
Penelope’s breath caught. Leo.
Ever since he’d left her office almost a week ago, she’d imagined seeing him several times around town—the produce section of the grocery store, in line at the drive-through at the bank. Even the hair salon where she’d gone to get her singed ends trimmed.
The man had seriously messed up her equilibrium.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Yes, yes, that was definitely Leo Montesano, his jeans faded at the knees, a black T-shirt molded to his broad chest, a backward baseball cap covering his dark hair, sunglasses shielding his eyes. He looked...well...certainly more casual than when she’d last seen him. But also younger. And very appealing in a basic, sexual way with his rounded biceps and lean waist.
She remembered how it had felt to have his hands on her, that light touch on her arm when he’d invited her out. It was pathetic how often she’d relived that moment, how she’d imagined leaning into him instead of pulling away. She’d even dreamed of him, she remembered with a silent groan. A heated dream where she’d touched him, kissed him, with no inhibitions, no fear.
Only to wake up burning with embarrassment. And need.
She sighed. Hadn’t she already said he was fantasy material? He belonged in dreams.
He had no place in real life. Especially not hers.
She wasn’t the only one affected, she noticed with a small smile. He was inspiring plenty of crushes in the young girls, who stared at him or whispered to their friends while sending him longing glances. To his credit, he didn’t seem to notice any of the attention given to him, instead keeping his focus on the boys hopping up and down like puppets on strings.
“Oh, shoot,” Kennedy said, looking at her phone. “I have to get to practice, but you can go on over.”
The girl was gone before Penelope could ask where she was to go on over to. Turning toward the field, her gaze zeroed in again on Leo. Which was only reasonable. And to be expected. She was a heterosexual woman. A single woman. And he was a very attractive man.
No, she didn’t regret turning him down the other day—she still didn’t believe they would have enough in common to sustain even a coffee date. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the sight of him on the sidelines as he grinned at something one of the boys said.
But staring at him, wishing for things she could never have, things that weren’t good for her in the first place, wouldn’t find her son and get them to the doctor’s on time. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she scanned the area, left to right. Frowned. Nothing. Where on earth—
The coach blew his whistle again and the boys all started walking around, tugging off their helmets, their heads back, their hands on their hips as they caught their breath. Her eyes narrowed at a tall one in the back. There was something familiar about the way he moved, how he walked. She was shaking her head, denial flowing through her even as he took off his helmet and stabbed his fingers through his hair.
Andrew. Her blood chilled. Her mind blanked. But her feet were already marching her toward the field.
* * *
“THEY NEED TO RUN.”
Leo glanced at Pops. “They’ll run plenty during drills.”
Pops made a harrumph sound. “How do you expect them to be able to play sixty full minutes if they don’t build up their stamina?”
“I can’t expect them to play any minutes if they’re too exhausted from their warm-up.”
“In my day, we did things differently.”
Leo nodded. “Yeah, but this isn’t your day. We’ve learned a lot about proper training and physical fitness.” But he couldn’t get angry at Pops, not when he was so excited to be helping out the team. Pops had coached Shady Grove High’s football team for years before retiring after Leo graduated. No one was more excited than him when Leo accepted the head coaching job this past summer. “Could you take the defensive ends and work with them today?” Leo asked him. “We’ll split the positions into different groups, work with them individually and then run through some plays.”
Grumbling about the good old days, Pops went off to collect the kids.
“Don’t look now,” Bill Webster, his assistant coach, said quietly as he passed, his bald spot shining with sweat, “but you’ve got a mom bearing down on you. And she looks pissed.”
Shit. Leo considered walking away, maybe ducking into the boys’ locker room for the next...oh...three hours or so. He wasn’t a coward. Just tired of dealing with whining, overbearing parents who were never happy with how much playing time their kid got, constantly questioned why Leo played someone over him, or complained about how hard their poor, precious son worked out during practice.
He loved coaching and the kids were great.
The parents drove him nuts.
He would have instituted a ban on them, at least during practices, but the principal had told him that wasn’t allowed.
Too bad.
Knowing there was no escape, he turned. And watched through narrowed eyes as Penelope stormed toward him, arms swinging, face scrunched up in a dark scowl.
Not a parent but the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. Penelope was here. She’d come to him. Had sought him out. His lips curved in a triumphant grin.
She’d changed her mind.
And didn’t look too happy about it.
He shouldn’t still be attracted to her after she shot him down. Should never find a woman wearing a freaking pantsuit—a gray one, complete with a buttoned-up blazer—sexy. But he did. God help him, he did.
He wasn’t sure if that made him crazy or a masochist.
He could question it—and his sanity. But why? Some things just were. Hell, when he’d been hungry for a cheeseburger today for lunch he hadn’t analyzed it. He’d ordered one and eaten it. When he’d known at the age of seventeen that he wanted to be a firefighter, he didn’t sit down and consider his other options. He followed his gut. Went with his instincts.
No matter how much he would like to pretend otherwise, those instincts were screaming at him to try again with Penelope. That she was worth whatever effort he put in.
Something told him that when it came to her, his effort needed to be Herculean.
Setting his clipboard on the metal bench, he told Bill to take over for a few minutes, then climbed the short knoll to the track, meeting her at the end of the visitors’ bleachers.
“Hello, Penelope,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you here. Don’t tell me. You made a list of pros and cons about going out with me and realized there are no cons.”
He winked.
She practically growled.
Not the response he’d been expecting.
“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice low and angry, her hands curled int
o fists. “I’m not in the mood for your inept flirting or dubious charm.”
He took off his sunglasses, hooked them in the collar of his shirt. “No,” he murmured. “I can see you’re not here to take me up on my offer of a coffee date. You look like you’re here to rip my heart out with your bare hands. What I can’t figure out is, why?”
She jabbed a finger at the field, her body vibrating, but her eyes were cool. “What is my son doing out there?”
Leo followed that accusing finger. He saw only his football players, not a younger kid. “Your son?”
“My son. Andrew.”
Something niggled at the back of Leo’s brain and he turned again, this time zeroing in on Luke Sapko and Drew Freeman. Even from a distance, he noticed Drew’s wide eyes, the color draining from his face.
That was her son? The sixteen-year-old kid who could catch a bullet?
“Drew Freeman’s your son?” he asked, just to clarify. When she’d mentioned she had a son, he’d assumed the boy was younger. Maybe ten or twelve at the most.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“How would I know?” he asked, keeping his own voice low, hoping she’d follow suit as they were starting to garner the attention of the kids, coaches and a few parents nearby. “You said your name was Penelope Denning, and you never mentioned how old your son was or his last name.”
Color filled her cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she was obviously pissed off enough for her head to explode or because she realized he was right. He hoped it was the latter.
“The question is, what is my son doing out there with the football team?”
Leo scratched his head and readjusted his cap. “He’s out there because he filled out the proper paperwork and handed it in on time, passed the mandatory physical given by a local doctor, showed up to every summer workout and practice, attended the day camp we had for two weeks in July, and has put in the time and effort showing he deserves to be on the team.”
“I want him off that field.”
He waited for her to throw in a good foot stomp. It didn’t happen. “Listen, if there’s a problem—”
“Oh, you bet there’s a problem,” she said harshly. “The problem is he doesn’t have my permission to play football, so get him off that field. Now.”
Leo could only stare at her. What did she mean Drew didn’t have permission?
Before he could ask, she sidestepped him and stomped away.
He caught up with her before she reached the bottom of the hill, grabbed her arm. “Why don’t we—”
“I will not calm down,” she said, yanking away from him, her chin in the air. “This is none of your business.”
Irritation pricked. He fought it, didn’t want to get into a shouting match in front of the kids. “I was going to suggest we go somewhere quiet and private to discuss this,” he said, keeping his tone mild. “Somewhere without the chance of gaining a rapt audience.”
She followed his gaze to the field, but seeing Drew out there must have beaten out her common sense because she didn’t seem to care whether they had an audience or not. She took two more steps. “Andrew,” she called. Loudly. “Come here.”
All noise stopped, the boys and assistant coaches and managers all looking their way. Drew’s face flamed red and he hurried off the field.
“Mom,” he said, his voice low, “what are you doing here?”
Penelope’s eyes widened. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
“Shit,” Drew mumbled, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back. “I forgot about the doctor’s appointment.”
“That’s not the only thing you forgot,” Penelope said as the kids edged closer to be in better hearing range. “You seemed to have forgotten to mention to me that you signed up for football.”
Leo stepped between then. “Why don’t we take this conversation inside?”
She whirled on him, looking ready to slap the common sense right out of his head. “There’s no need as we have nothing to discuss. My son does not have permission to play football, he never had permission to play football, and I’m going to make sure the school board, the superintendent and the principal all know that you allowed a minor to be on your team without his parents’ consent.”
Leo was getting tired of her attitude, especially when she was making Drew so uncomfortable. “Don’t you think you’re going overboard?”
“Overboard?” she repeated, her voice shrill. “My son has a bruise on his back the size of a fist because of this stupid, barbaric sport. He could have been seriously injured, paralyzed or killed, and it would have been all your fault for letting him play.”
“I let him play,” Leo ground out the words, “because he had signed paperwork.”
“You need to check your facts because I would never let my son participate in such a dangerous sport. Especially not one that requires a helmet! You had no right to let him on the team without double-checking with me.” She turned to Drew. “And you. How could you do something so dangerous? So risky? And you lied—”
“I didn’t—”
“Omitting the truth is the same as lying.”
Drew’s head hung, his hair falling forward. Poor kid. Leo turned to the rest of the team. “Back to work. Now,” he added when they didn’t move quickly enough. A couple of stragglers, including Drew’s buddy Luke, hung back. “Sapko, you and Williams and Runyan seem to have so much free time, why don’t you give me five laps.”
“Aw, Coach, come on,” Luke whined. “We’re just sticking together. Isn’t that what you said a good team does?”
“You’re right. A team should stick together.” Leo raised his voice so the entire team could hear him. “Listen up. Thanks to Sapko reminding me the true meaning of teamwork, you all get to run. Give me seven laps—”
“Seven?” Williams, thirty pounds overweight, groaned. “I’m going to die.” He turned to Luke. “Then I’m going to kill you.”
Leo kept his eyes on the boys in front of him. “Make it ten. Unless anyone else wants to add a comment?” If there had been crickets out, they would have been chirping. “Good. Now get moving.”
Leo turned back to Penelope and Drew. “Let’s go inside and—”
“We’re going home,” Penelope said, reaching for Drew’s arm, but he shifted away and her expression darkened.
Before things got worse, Leo stepped in front of her. Lowered his voice. “You’ve humiliated your son in front of his classmates and several of his teachers. No matter what he’s done, there’s no reason to embarrass him this way, not when you could have handled it in a quiet, private manner. Now, before you spew any more threats my way or piss off your son further, let’s go inside and discuss this.”
* * *
TEARS PRICKED PENELOPE’S EYES. She was humiliated and shamed to realize Leo was right. She glanced around. He’d gotten the rest of the football team moving, but there were still plenty of other people watching them. All who had witnessed her outburst.
She glanced at Andrew’s sullen face. She swallowed. She wanted to reach for him. To apologize for yelling, for behaving in such an uncontrollable way, but didn’t want him to think that gave him the upper hand, was afraid it would when he was the one who should be sorry.
Head high, she nodded at Leo. “Fine.”
She followed him inside the school where he led her through the gym to a small office. He motioned for her to take a seat in one of the two vinyl chairs facing a small, cluttered desk. Shades of that day in her office, but reversed. They were now in his domain, a domain of man things with sports memorabilia on the walls, the scent of sweat and dirty sneakers in the air. He was the one in control here, as she’d proven by losing her temper outside.
She didn’t like it. Any of it.
“Take a seat next to your mom,” Leo told Andrew, who slouched against the wall by the door.
“I’m good,” Andrew said.
Leo, in the act of pulling open a drawer, glanced
at her son. “Sit down, Drew.”
He did so, shooting Penelope a dirty look as he yanked the chair as far away from her as possible.
Leo opened a file, searched through it, then took out a set of papers and slid them across the desk to Penelope. “Here are the forms I received from Drew.”
“His name is Andrew,” she said, hating feeling as if she was the one in the wrong.
“You want me to call you Andrew or Drew?” Leo asked Andrew as if her opinion on what her son was called didn’t even matter.
“Drew’s fine,” he murmured.
Since when? From the time he’d been a baby, he’d been Andrew. But she wouldn’t quibble about it, not when she had bigger issues to fight over. “This isn’t my signature,” she told Leo, pointing to the illegible name on the line where the guardian was to sign the form.
Leo nodded, though why he thought he needed proof when she’d already told him she hadn’t granted Andrew permission to play was beyond her. “Did you sign your mother’s name on that form?” Leo asked Andrew softly.
She didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shifted and met Leo’s eyes. “Yeah. But only because I knew she’d say no.”
“Of course I would have said no.” She couldn’t believe her son would even want to play such a dangerous sport. “As of this moment you are off the team.”
He rounded on her, his eyes wide. “That’s not fair.”
“It might not be fair,” Leo said, all calm and rational. “But it’s the truth. You lied about having permission, you lied to your mother and you lied to me. There’s no way I could keep you on the team even if I wanted to.”
Andrew blanched. “You don’t want me on the team?” he asked, sounding small and scared.
Leo rounded the desk, sat on the corner and crossed his arms. “You think I want someone on the team I can’t trust? What about the other players, your teammates and friends? This could come back to bite all of us on the ass. More than that, though, I need players who are honest. Players I can trust to make the right decisions, on and off the field.”
Andrew swallowed and crossed his arms. Blinking his eyes, he ducked his head.