Pete Sebastian, Coach

by Jean C. Joachim

  “Well, there is this little trip Lexie and I want to take.”

  “What kind of trip? School trip?”

  “Sort of. But not exactly.”

  He straightened up. “What exactly?”

  “The school wants us to visit a couple of art museums. Bobby and Sam want to drive up to Sailorsville where there’s gonna be a cool art show. But we need money for a motel and food and stuff.”

  “And who are Bobby and Sam?”

  “Bobby is Lexie’s new boyfriend, and Sam is mine.”

  “And you’re going to stay in the motel with these boys?”

  “Well, Lexie and I could share a room.”

  “Why do I think that’s not happening?”

  “Dad. We’re not babies anymore.”

  “I’m not paying for some illicit weekend with some oversexed college assholes. Forget it.”

  “But Dad…”

  “Not happening, Lyssa. I’m surprised you even had the nerve to ask. And I don’t care if you’re angry. Spend your time in the library, not the bedroom.”

  His daughter hung up on him. He closed his phone, his good mood vanishing like mist in an August sun.

  Jo poked her head into his office, wearing a smile as wide as the Delaware River. “Good morning.”

  Pete turned to glare at her. Her cheerfulness annoyed him. How can she be cheerful at a time like this?

  “Yoo Hoo. Coach Bass. You there?” Jo walked in.

  “Sex, sex, sex. Why is that the only thing they think about in college these days? What happened to studying? Dances? Nah, just sweating between the sheets. Hooking up. Fucking horny college sons-of-bitches.” He got up and stormed out of the room, leaving a bewildered Jo behind.

  * * * *

  Coach Bass called a meeting. Most of the team was around. They’d take their off-season vacations at the end of June or in early July when school was out. Even the single players needed chill time before they took off. The pressroom was packed.

  “I’ll make this short. About the anger management program.”

  Someone in the back booed, and several other men chimed in.

  Coach Bass raised his hand. “Listen! Hear me out! We’ve changed the plan. I’ve been working with Ms. Parker very closely on this…”

  “How closely?” snickered Trunk Mahoney.

  Pete shot daggers at him, but couldn’t prevent color from flushing his face. “Shut up and listen. We’re canceling the penalty for not going.” A cheer went up. “Quiet! Instead, we’re going to offer a bonus. For those who complete all five sessions, the prize is five grand.”

  A murmur rolled through the crowd. “That’s right. That’s a thousand bucks per session, but you only get it if you attend all five. The first session’ll be two hours. It’s kind of an overview. Then, you’ll be broken up into groups of eight or ten for the other four sessions.”

  “Can we pick who’s in our session?” Bull asked. “’Cause I don’t wanna be in with Mahoney. He stinks.” The men laughed.

  The door opened and Jo, accompanied by another woman, joined the group. Pete looked at Jo, who answered Bull’s question. “Sorry, guys. No choice. We’ll be creating the groups. This is Dr. Wendy McMillan. She’ll be running the sessions.” Jo stepped back and an attractive woman in her late forties with long, honey colored hair and a slim figure took a step forward and raised her hand.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” one teammate called out from the back.

  Ignoring the heckler, Jo continued, “Coach Bass is going to pass around a sign-up sheet. I’ll post the schedule on the wall next to the workout room. Attendance will be taken at each session. Thank you.” Jo moved out of the limelight again.

  Dr. McMillan fielded questions, and in ten minutes, the meeting was over. The men lined up to sign the sheet. Pete headed toward his office, his brow furrowed. A list of a dozen tasks he needed to accomplish before leaving that evening occupied his mind. A soft voice startled him.

  “Nice to meet you, Coach Bass,” Wendy McMillan said, as she fell in step with him.

  He turned his head as her gaze connected with his. Instinctively, he lowered his eyes for a second to check for a wedding band. She wore none. Old habit. He chuckled to himself.

  “What’s funny?”

  He waved his hand at her. “Nothing. Nice to meet you too.”

  “I need to spend a little time with you before we begin these sessions with the team. Can you grab a burger with me tonight?”

  “Sure. Know a place called The Savage Beast?”

  “On Main?”

  “Yep. Can you meet me there at seven?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ve gotta finish up some stuff here.”

  “Great.”

  Coach left her and went into his office. He eased into his chair and sat back. What does Wendy McMillan want with me? He glanced at the door and saw Jo pass by. She shot a cool look at him, but didn’t stop. He pushed to his feet and followed her. She sat at her desk, facing away from him. Christ! What’s wrong? He stopped at her doorway. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” She ignored him and shuffled papers on her desk.

  Pete knit his brow and frowned. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  She swiveled around to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Hey, if it’s what I said this morning, I’m sorry. That wasn’t directed at you. Just the horny boys who are after my girls.”

  “Nope. I figured it was a family thing.” But her attitude didn’t change.

  “You’re pissed about something. Give.”

  “Not at all. You’re a free man. No problem.” Her tone was frosty enough to freeze meat.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a bad liar?”

  She glared at him. He stepped closer and grabbed her upper arm, raising her out of her seat, pulling her so close her chest grazed his.

  “What’s bothering you?” His voice was low and intense.

  “Nothing.” An icy glaze coated her eyes.

  “Don’t freeze me out, Jo.”

  “I’m not. Seems as if you’d rather spend time with Wendy McMillan,” she sniffed.

  He laughed and released her arm, slipping his over her shoulder and easing her into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. She’s got nothing on you.”

  A soft voice interrupted. “See you at seven,” Wendy said, popping her head in for a second.

  Shit. “Right.”

  Jo pushed away and cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Just a burger to discuss the program, the team, and stuff. Not a date.”

  “That’s your business, I’m sure.” She eased away from his grip. Her timbre hit thirty degrees below zero.

  She’s jealous. That can be good, right? “How about Saturday?” he asked, his pulse racing.

  She trained a cold stare at him. “What about Saturday?”

  “Let me take you to dinner.”

  “I have plans.” She turned away from him.

  “Plans? You’re going out with someone else?” His heart beat faster.

  “Plans doesn’t always mean another man.”

  “Oh? Then what does it mean?”

  “Means I’m doing something. At home.”

  “How about I come over and bring dinner?” He could see her waffling. Her pride is hurt. “The Saturday night date is the most important one,” he coaxed.

  A small smile played at her lips. “Well, maybe. Okay.”

  “Great! What time?”

  “I’m planning to make chili. Any time after one.”

  “I love chili. I’ll bring wine. It’s a date.” He returned to his office and let out a sigh. Close call. Is Wendy interested in me? I couldn’t juggle two women, could I?

  * * * *

  Jo snapped the leash on Daisy and took the pug for a before-dinner walk. It was Friday, and Jo was exhausted. She planned to microwave something for dinner then catch up with her friend Mitzi, who lived on the West Coast.

  Daisy
didn’t show any signs of being tired, so the two walked longer than usual. Jo had thinking to do, and she did it best when out with her dog. Coach Bass had gotten under her skin, despite her efforts to keep him away. Falling for the coach was a bad idea. They worked together. This was a plum job, and a failed relationship with Pete Sebastian could wreck it all. She had to be strong and resist the irresistible. Her dad had once called her “tough as nails,” but Jo knew that was all a façade.

  It appeared Wendy McMillan was interested in Coach Bass too. The last thing that appealed to Jo was fighting for a man. She’d never had to before, and she wasn’t about to start now. But giving Wendy a clear field by walking away was what quitters did. Jo had never been a quitter, and she wasn’t about to shrink from a challenge.

  Every friend she’d ever had would have told her that falling for Coach was trouble. He had three strikes against him from the get-go. His twin daughters probably wouldn’t approve of her, he could get her fired, and he could flake out when she needed him, like most of the men she had known before.

  But Pete Sebastian was so sexy, with his wide shoulders and eyes that stripped her bare. Then, he had supported her anger management program. His about-face had taken her by surprise and inched him under her skin.

  He’d chipped away at some of the ice surrounding her heart, and it scared her. Mitzi will help. Jo directed Daisy back to the house, gobbled up the paltry meal she’d set out for herself, poured a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and called her friend.

  “You’re not going to believe it, Jo.”

  “What? Good news?”

  “The best!” Her friend shrieked into the phone.

  “What? What? Tell me!” Jo’s worries took a backseat to Mitzi’s joy.

  “I’m engaged!”

  Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Engaged! To who?”

  “Remember that hot banker I told you about?”

  “Yeah?” Jo sipped her wine.

  “He swept me off my feet, and now we’re getting married!”

  “That’s wonderful! How long have you been dating?”

  “Six months. But that’s long enough. Don’t you think?”

  “I do. If you’re happy, I’m happy. When’s the wedding? What’s his name?” Jo propped her feet up on a chair.

  “We haven’t set a date yet. We’re in no rush. His name is Neil.”

  “Very wise.” Jo bit her lip. She didn’t want Mitzi to get hurt again.

  “I know what you’re thinking. He’s not like Skip. Nothing like him.”

  Jo pushed to her feet and walked to the living room. “Did I say anything?”

  “I could hear it in your voice. You think I might be making a mistake.”

  “I trust your judgment. I want you to be happy, Mitzi. And if Neil is the one, then that’s fantastic.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who has to be sure. Not me. I haven’t even met him yet.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I know. Plenty of time for that.”

  “I met someone too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I think he’s trouble.” Jo paced.

  “You think they’re all trouble,” Mitzi sniffed.

  Jo chuckled. “They usually are.”

  “Don’t you want to get married and have kids?”

  “Sure I do. But it’s damn hard to find the right guy.”

  “Especially the way you judge ’em. Geez, guys strike out with you before they even get to bat.”

  “Nice metaphor. Wrong sport. We’ll see.”

  “Is he sexy?”

  “Oh my God. He’s the coach.”

  “The coach of the Connecticut Kings?”

  “Yep. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t. You go right for the top, don’t you?”

  “Couldn’t help it. The minute he walked into my office. It was…he was…well, you know. Must be a little like you and Neil—instant attraction.”

  “Good luck. Don’t screw it up.”

  “Nice to know you have faith in me.” Jo laughed. “So, when am I gonna meet this guy?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “I can come out for a weekend anytime. Just say the word.”

  “We’re kinda busy. Wedding planning and all that.”

  The silence this time was on Jo’s end.

  “Okay then. Uh, Coach Bass is coming over so I gotta go.”

  The women said their farewells and hung up.

  How come she never told me about that guy? Her brow furrowed. What is Mitzi keeping from me? She put her worries for her friend aside and settled down in front of a movie. By eleven, Jo was fast asleep in bed with Daisy curled up by her side.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Jo bounded out of bed at seven. After tossing the ingredients for chili into her crockpot, she leashed Daisy, and they went for a run. When she got home, she showered and threw on a little, stretchy, jersey dress, commando. She pulled her hair up into a loose knot on the top of her head. She had work to do.

  After pulling a bag of fleece fabric from out of the closet, Jo laid out the first piece on the table and pinned a pattern to the material. She carefully cut out the garment and set up her sewing machine. She was making dog coats for pugs, designed to fit their unusual, deep-chested shape. She secured Velcro closures in the appropriate spots. The coats would be sold to raise money for Connecticut Valley Pug Rescue.

  At one o’clock, the doorbell rang. Jo’s blonde hair had started to come loose. Tendrils snaked down, tickling her neck. She wore no makeup and no shoes, showing off her dark pink lacquered toenails as she padded across the floor. Who the hell?

  When she peeked through the peephole, she saw Coach Bass on the other side, holding a bouquet of light pink roses and what appeared to be a bottle in a brown paper bag. Shit! I can’t let him see me like this! The doorbell rang again. Frowning, Jo threw the locks and cracked the door. “I didn’t expect you quite so—”

  Before she could finish, Pete Sebastian nudged it farther open and entered. His eyes widened when he saw her. “You look beautiful. Here, these are for you.” He shoved the flowers and wine into her hands.

  Jo stepped back, retreating to the kitchen. She heard his footfall get softer as he wandered into the living room. She arranged the roses in a vase, placed the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the counter, and joined him. She set the blooms on the coffee table.

  “This is great,” he said, turning in a circle, checking out the room.

  “What did you expect?” She shifted her weight.

  “Not this.”

  “Oh? Then, what?”

  “Something modern. Cold. Black and white, very chic, but nothing like this. This is warm. It’s beautiful.” He eased down onto the sofa.

  Stung by his words, Jo fell silent. Why do men always assume that, because I’m good at business, I’m cold?

  “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean to offend you. But you’re so…so…buttoned up at work. Every hair in place, dressed perfectly, never even a run in a stocking. This is…is…frilly. Feminine.”

  “I am a girl, you know.”

  “I know that very well,” he said, his gaze roaming over her body.

  She folded her arms across her chest to hide her response to his warm stare. “Then you should expect something warm and girlish.”

  “I love it.”

  “Thanks for the roses. That’s my favorite color for flowers. How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “You’re early.”

  “I had a change in plans.”

  Her heart sank. The flowers are to buy me off while he does something else. Is he seeing Wendy?

  “Do you like to dance?” He rose from his seat.

  “I do.”

  “Ballroom?”

  “I haven’t in a long time.”

  “Good. I mean, good that you do.”

  “Why?”

&nbs
p; “I just read in the paper that there’s going to be a ballroom dance contest tonight at The Stanford Hotel in Bridgeport.”

  “You do ballroom dancing?” Her eyes widened, a smile playing on her lips.

  “My girls forced me to take a couple of classes. They thought I’d meet women there. Found out I liked it and wasn’t too bad either.”

  “Did you meet any women?”

  “That’s another story. Let’s just say…no one like you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Maybe I should say no one who can compare to you,” he said, moving toward her, pulling her into his embrace. He slid his hands down her back to her rear end. “My God. You’re not wearing anything underneath this, are you?”

  She shook her head. Pete laughed and hugged her harder. He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her bottom.

  “I was working on a project.” She stepped away, straightening her dress, fussing with her hair until he grabbed her wrists, subduing her up against him.

  “Leave it. Leave it. Your hair looks so…sexy like that. And you, with no makeup, almost nude. Christ, lady.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “I’d like to rip that dress off and make love to you right here on the floor.”

  Goosebumps covered her arms as a chill shivered up her spine. She buried her face in his throat and inhaled his scent—the aroma of man, pine soap, and a freshly laundered shirt. It was heady. She melted into his arms. When Pete turned his head, his mouth met hers. They touched softly, gently, as if he was gauging her willingness.

  He ran the tip of his tongue along her lips, and she opened for him. Releasing her wrists, he latched on to her waist, drawing her closer until their chests pressed together. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Something about Pete Sebastian felt safe and yet scary.

  The hardness of his body against hers made her blood run hot. He switched positions with his large hand, his thumb now open straight, resting on her rib cage, brushing the crease under her breast. Her nipples hardened. She wanted him to touch her, to make love to her, to quench the burning ache growing inside.

  Jo thrust her hips flush with his and heard a groan from deep in his throat at the pressure. He reached down to cup her bottom with one hand, while the other slid up to cover her breast. Now it was her turn to moan, as his fingers closed around her flesh. She raised her leg, hooking her bare foot around his calf.