The Back-Up Plan

by Debra Webb

  That muscle in his jaw jumped again. “And I’m not the marrying kind.”

  The resentment in his tone ached deep into her heart. “Are you?”

  He looked away for a long moment before meeting her questioning gaze. “I don’t know.”

  Something very elemental and very deep inside Donna moved at the uncertainty in his eyes. Could he be as unsure of this shaky ground as she? “I think maybe we should take things really slow.”

  “I can live with that.” A devastating smile kicked up the corners of his mouth. “Slow and easy, Doc. That’s the way it’ll be.”

  “Agreed.” Donna returned his smile. One by one, the man continued to disprove every single flaw she had associated with jocks. Maybe they weren’t all alike after all. Just maybe she could trust Hank Bradley.

  ~*~

  Hank paced the sidelines. The last quarter. Ten to seven, Franklin County. Third down on their own forty yard line. Five seconds on the clock. Hank shook his head as two players helped Graham off the field. That’s it. There was no one else to put in—Hank glanced at the bench—except Stevens. Hank took a long, deep breath and blew it out. He had to have eleven players on the field.

  “You need me, Coach,” Stevens pleaded.

  Hank looked at Stevens. The kid had been on his heels the entire fourth quarter. He wanted to play something fierce. Hank turned to his latest injury. “You okay, Graham?”

  “It’s my ankle, Coach,” Graham replied, dropping onto the bench.

  Hank crouched in front of him and removed his cleats.

  “Let me take a look.”

  Donna was at his side. She knelt next to Hank and examined Graham’s swelling ankle.

  “Just a bad sprain, I think. He needs to elevate his leg and put some ice on his ankle. We’ll need an x-ray just to be sure.”

  Hank groaned. As he suspected Graham was down for the count. The game was over. He reached for a cold pack and twisted it. “Swing your leg up on the bench.” Hank helped Graham rearrange himself. He handed him the cold pack. “Keep it on your ankle like the Doc said.”

  “What’s it gonna be, Coach?” The referee asked.

  “You gotta let me out there, Coach,” Stevens urged.

  Hank stood, his gut clenched. He looked from Stevens to the ref. A long moment of indecision gripped him. “We’re still in,” he told the ref with a hell of a lot more confidence than he felt.

  “I’ll just go back over and sit with Melissa.” Donna gave him a thin smile.

  He knew what she was thinking. Not allowing Stevens on the field except for kicking was his own rule. A rule he was about to break. He watched Donna slip back through the gate and reclaim her seat in the bleachers.

  “Stevens, front and center.”

  Stevens pulled on his helmet and stepped up to Hank.

  “We got one play left. We could go for a field goal—”

  “It’d be a stretch, Coach,” Stevens interrupted, visually gauging the distance.

  “Yeah,” Hank muttered. He knew damn well it’d be a stretch. And if the kick was good they’d get three lousy points. The only thing worse than losing would be a tie. He turned to Stevens. “Did you take your medicine today?”

  “Yes, sir, Coach.”

  “Okay.” Hank nodded. “We’re going for it, Stevens. You’re going to fill Graham’s position as split end.”

  Stevens whooped for joy.

  “If you’re still in, Coach, you’d better get that player on the field.” The ref shot Hank a warning glare.

  Ignoring the impatient ref, Hank went nose-to-nose with Stevens. “Listen to me, Stevens,” he ordered. “Stay way back from the heat. Don’t take any chances. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Coach.” Stevens face split into a grin.

  “All right. Get out there,” Hank ordered, wishing he could feel as good about this as Stevens did. He tightened his jaw and took an unsteady breath. He pushed his hand over his face and watched the kid run for the huddle. If something happened to him, it would be Hank’s fault for being too damn pigheaded to know when he was beaten.

  Silence overtook the restless crowd as the two teams set up their formations. Both the home and visitor stands were full. Hank could feel Donna’s presence in the stands just beyond the fence directly behind him, but he couldn’t chance a look in that direction right now. He had to watch every second of this play.

  The center snapped the ball. Hank kept his eye on the ball as it changed hands in the evolving I-formation. Three, two, one, the buzzer sounded as the clock went to zero.

  He held his breath. When this play ended the game was over.

  McKinney had the ball. He scanned the field.

  Hank shook his head slowly from side to side. McKinney would never get an open shot. Defense had the whole damned team covered.

  Except for...Stevens.

  Hank felt the word no go past his lips as he watched the pass fly through the air.

  Complete.

  Stevens had the ball.

  For the space of a heartbeat Stevens only stared at the ball in his hands.

  A cold, hard lump of terror rose in Hank’s throat. “Run, damn it, run.”

  As if in slow motion and suddenly realizing what he needed to do, Stevens turned and ran toward the end zone. Slow at first. Then faster and faster.

  Forty-five...forty yard line...thirty.

  Stevens ran like hell with the whole damned defensive line on his heels.

  Twenty...ten...

  “Touchdown, Huntley!” the announcer screamed.

  Hank released the breath he had been holding. His chest ached and his knees felt weak.

  Stevens had done it!

  By God, the kid had made the winning touchdown. The crowd went wild. The scoreboard read visitors ten, home thirteen. The other players hoisted Stevens onto their shoulders and headed toward Hank.

  Hank held both fists in the air and shook them in a triumphant gesture. He stole a quick glance at Donna through the mass of people moving about. She smiled at him and his heart ached again. If he could only get to her right now he’d kiss the hell out of her, but the crazed crowd was dispersing in every direction.

  He met Franklin County’s coach in the middle of the field and shook his hand.

  “Good game, Coach.”

  “Thanks.” Hank gave a nod of acknowledgement.

  The next thing he knew, the cheering, clamoring members of his team surrounded him. Hank almost embarrassed himself with tears of joy. Despite the odds against them they had won.

  An icy wave of cold struck him. He gasped. Gallons of ice cold Gatorade streamed over his head and shoulders. As soon as his system recovered from the shock, he shook himself, splashing Gatorade over those standing closest to him. The rowdy group roared with laughter, earning themselves a glower.

  “Five miles, every day after school next week,” he barked, pushing the wet hair from his face.

  Stevens led the resounding “Aw, Coach.”

  “Just kidding,” Hank shot back with a wide grin.

  He and his winning team jogged off the field and headed for the dressing room. As soon as he had the team squared away and had showered the real celebration would begin. Hank smiled. He had a date tonight.

  Tonight he and Donna would finally have some time together—alone.

  ~*~

  Drink cups and hot dog wrappers fluttered and scattered across the empty grounds. Someone would have a mess to clean up. Donna hurried across the near-dark field. The few lights that remained on did little more than cast eerie shadows. Amazed at how fast the place emptied when the game ended, she found herself all alone in the deserted stadium before she realized it had happened.

  The concession stand and press box were locked up tight. Even the parking lot looked bare compared to just minutes earlier. The few cars that remained probably belonged to Huntley’s players. Patty insisted on having Melissa spend the night with her girls. Donna smiled as she thought of her sister’s blatant attempts t
o facilitate this relationship.

  Donna had to admit that she was looking forward to some time alone with Hank. She smiled again. Anticipation sent her hurrying a little faster across the field.

  Meet me at the locker room after the game. Those were his instructions. Donna shivered from the sudden chill in the shifting breeze or maybe it was in anticipation of the magic tonight might hold.

  The wind swirled around her and this time the shiver was definitely related to the temperature. The slinky dress she’d decided on didn’t afford much protection against the unexpected dip in the temperature. The sweater was more for decoration than for protection from the cool night air.

  Cold or not, Donna loved her new dress anyway. It made her feel very feminine and Hank liked it. He had mentioned how good she looked in blue when he picked her up tonight. Judging by his classroom, he appeared to be a big fan of blue. Her heart swelled at the thought of him and his infinite sweetness.

  Donna frowned. She had to remember that they were supposed to be taking things slow. One day at a time.

  She waited outside the dressing room door for a full ten minutes, feeling a little foolish and totally juvenile. She couldn’t bring herself to knock on the door and let Hank know she was here. She felt like a cheerleader waiting for the captain of the football team to come out and whisk her away.

  She surveyed the parking lot and spotted Hank’s vintage 1969 Camaro. He was definitely still in there. Maybe she should wait in the car. She would be able to see him coming out of the dressing room from there. She crossed to the Camaro and climbed into the passenger seat. Hardly anyone around here locked their houses much less their cars.

  She relaxed into the leather and inhaled the scent that reminded her of the man. The memory of how he’d held her against him in her office today played over her senses. The tingle that started deep inside her had her heart rate climbing.

  A car door slammed and she jumped. A young man, maybe one of the players, climbed into a truck a couple of parking slots down. Maybe Hank and his team were coming out now. She should just go back to the dressing room and wait.

  She climbed out of the car and opted to leave her purse in the car. As an afterthought, she reached in and locked the doors to protect her purse. She slammed her door and started in the direction of the locker room only to be jerked back.

  “Dang it!” Donna tugged at the tail of her sweater which had gotten caught in the car door. She tried the handle just in case the lock hadn’t engaged, but it had. She pulled and pulled before she admitted defeat.

  “This could only happen to you, Jacobs,” she muttered as she twisted out of the sweater and left it hanging in the closed car door.

  Rubbing her arms to ward off the chill, she strode back toward the dressing room. Just as she reached the building the door burst open and more than a dozen showered and changed players poured out. A number of “hello doc’s” greeted her.

  “If you’re looking for the coach,” one player spoke up, “he’s still in there.” He motioned back toward the dressing room.

  “Thanks. I’ll just wait for him out here.”

  “In case you change your mind about waiting in the cold and dark” another young man offered “I’ll prop the door so you can get in.”

  Donna watched as he wedged a rock between the door and its casing. “Thank you.”

  The still-high-on-victory team members sauntered across the parking lot and piled into the remaining cars and trucks. On second look, Donna realized that girls were waiting in those vehicles. Hank wasn’t the only one who had a date after the game tonight. Whooping and hollering into the night, one driver after the other peeled out of the parking lot, girlfriends squealing with delight.

  To be that young again, Donna mused.

  The silence seemed deafening after the last squeal of tires faded in the distance. She rubbed her arms and gazed up at the starless night. The moon peered back at her like a half-closed eye. Goose bumps prickled across her bare skin and she shivered again.

  “Come on, Hank.”

  She edged closer to the locker room door. She listened for some sign of him. Music. She heard music, but nothing else. Light poured from the crack around the door, slicing the darkness.

  This was ridiculous. Standing in the dark, getting colder by the second while a warm room lay just on the other side of that door was just silly.

  She eased the door open and stuck her head inside. Steamy heat engulfed her. She took a deep breath and stepped into the locker room. A solid click sounded behind her. She whirled around to stare at the closed door. The rock must have rolled away when she opened it. She shrugged. Didn’t matter anyway. Everyone else had already left.

  Donna couldn’t recall ever having been in a boys’ locker room. Plain utilitarian tile covered the walls and floor. Years of use had dulled the white to a dingy gray. The area was relatively clean and smelled of soap and men’s cologne. Royal blue, Hornet blue as Hank called it, lockers filled the center of the room. Benches in the same bright color surrounded the lockers.

  “Hank?”

  No response. Not that anyone could hear her above the music. Loud, pulsating music. She peered around the long row of lockers. No Hank.

  Throwing caution to the wind, she continued through the dressing room.

  On the other side of the lockers Donna discovered a door that led to a weight room. Work-out benches and equipment filled the space. No Hank in there. The next door led to the showers and bathrooms, she supposed. She hesitated. Should probably go back and wait by the entrance. The team poured water or something all over Hank. Maybe he was changing clothes. She moistened her lips and tried to stifle the giddy sensation spiraling inside her at the thought of him naked.

  “Hank,” she called again, risking a peek inside the door. She had guessed right. Toilet stalls. Urinals. But no Hank.

  Muffled by walls, the music’s volume diminished behind her as she entered the bathroom area. She listened, straining with the effort. She could hear something besides the music, but what? Taking one hesitant step at a time, she moved further inside. She should at least let Hank know she was here. That seemed as good as an excuse as any for venturing further into this male territory. A row of white sinks hung on the wall opposite the toilet stalls and urinals, the mirrors above them foggy from the hot moisture in the air.

  She tilted her head and listened again. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she frowned. She tracked through shallow puddles with each step she took as she rounded a tiled partition.

  Water. Running water. Donna stopped dead in her tracks. She raised her head slowly, realization dawning. The shower room. A half dozen or so shower heads protruded from the tiled walls. She had walked directly into the shower room. Right before her eyes, not a dozen feet away, Hank Bradley stood completely and gloriously naked. Steam rose from the hot water spraying over his body.

  Propriety told her she should turn away, but she couldn’t. His arms were raised, his fingers working through his thick, dark hair, helping to rinse away the remaining lather. The suds slipped down over the wide expanse of his shoulders, down his back, and over his tight buttocks. Donna’s breath left her, but her eyes continued to follow the path of bubbles. Down long, muscular legs to dissolve in the water puddling around his feet.

  Unable to do anything but stare at the man she stood there, her mouth and throat as dry as the cotton balls in the glass containers in her exam rooms. Donna’s heart pumped faster and faster until she felt lightheaded. Desire burned hot inside her. Her breasts ached with that same burn.

  His heels became his toes and she stopped breathing at all.

  He had turned around.

  Her head spinning, she reached for the damp tile wall for support. Her gaze made the journey back up his strong legs. She hesitated briefly on his scarred right knee. The football injury. Her eyes traveled upward, over muscled thighs to…“Oh, Lord,” she murmured.

  She forced her gaze to continue beyond that mesmerizing spot. Muscle ri
ppled with his every movement as her gaze moved over his taut abdomen and chest. A sense of longing roared through her with such force that it overwhelmed all other senses. He swept the damp hair back from his face and opened his eyes.

  He blinked, then his gaze locked on hers. He swiped away the water running over his handsome face.

  She struggled, open-mouthed, to say something...anything, but the words simply would not come. Finally, she blurted, “Oh, my God!” She whirled around and hurried back toward the entrance. She reached for the door, fumbled with the knob.

  “Donna, wait!”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool steel door. She was an idiot. She never behaved this way...never got herself into these situations.

  His hand was on her arm now, pulling her around to face him. Donna forced her eyes open. Water beaded and dripped on his muscular body. He had carelessly wrapped a towel around his narrow hips.

  “Don’t run away,” he whispered, pulling her closer. His touch was gentle, inviting—not demanding. He gathered her in his arms.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she murmured, her cheek pressed against his damp chest.

  Hank lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. His lips moved slowly, gently against hers. After kissing her mouth, he kissed her cheek...her closed lids...her forehead...and then her nose. Need ached fiercely inside her. She wanted him so much.

  He lifted her against him and her arms went automatically around his neck as he carried her to the nearest bench. He straddled it and sat down, drawing Donna’s legs around him. His towel fell away. Her breath caught at the feel of him pressing against her panties. He groaned and his lips moved over her neck. He held her tightly with one arm as his free hand sought out her breast. She arched into his touch. He squeezed then bent to torture the nipple through the thin fabric of her dress and bra. Donna cried out, pressing down to meet that thick heat nudging between her thighs.