Pete Sebastian, Coach

by Jean C. Joachim

  She plopped down at the computer to write press releases about the anger management program. Totally focused on writing and editing, Jo didn’t notice the time. Edie stopped by to say “goodnight,” and Jo waved to her, without looking up. She wasn’t anxious to see the knowing look in the other woman’s eyes.

  Always the perfectionist, she read over the releases until they were error-free, without even a comma out of place. When she finally finished, she sat back, toed off her shoes, and rested her feet on the waste paper basket. This program is going to put the Kings on the map. Probably Wendy McMillan too. And it’s all because of me. Satisfaction flowed through her veins.

  Her cell phone rang. Mom.

  “Hello, dear.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still at the office. What time is it?” Jo checked her watch. Six thirty!

  “They’re working you hard.”

  “I just got into a new project. I’m launching something no other team has.”

  “Really?”

  “An anger management program.”

  “They could use one. I’ve seen a player or two yelling at a bad call. Very poor manners.”

  “It’s to help players handle their anger off the field.”

  “Lovely, dear.”

  Jo sighed. She’s not listening. “Why are you calling?”

  “You father thought you should know that we’re going to Italy, Turkey, and Greece for a while. Anything you need to tell us?”

  “No, Mother, I’m not engaged.”

  “Don’t wait too long, Josephine. You’re thirty-two already. Not getting any younger. And we want a grandson.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She chewed on a nail.

  “I’ll be just like Auntie Mame.”

  “I bet you would.” Jo straightened up, planting her feet on the floor.

  “Anyway, now you know. I’m sure you won’t miss us one bit. You work so hard. No time for your family.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You’re always working when I call.”

  “Yes, that’s what I do.”

  “We never interrupt you on a date.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Jo!”

  “I didn’t mean that. Really. Okay. Have a great time. Give my love to Dad. Call me when you get back.”

  “I will. Good luck with that new thing you’re planning. That play. Whatever. I hope it beats the other teams.”

  “Thanks for your support, Mom.” Jo rolled her eyes.

  “You’re welcome, dear. Hasta la vista.”

  “That’s Spanish.”

  “Ah, well. It’s what I know. Be good.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  Jo put the phone down. “Daisy is a better listener.” Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Anger welled up inside. Don’t cry! Haven’t you been through this enough? You know the drill. They don’t listen. They don’t care. You don’t need them.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath then pushed her thumbs into her eyes to stop the waterworks. The sound of someone clearing his throat startled her. She dropped her hands and turned to the door.

  There, lounging against the jamb, his lanky, six-foot-two-inch body super sexy with his shirt open at the neck and his tie hanging askew, stood Pete Sebastian. “You’re here late,” he said.

  “You, too.” She took another deep breath.

  “I had a meeting with Lyle and Carson Peters, our business manager.”

  “Oh?”

  “Going over the negotiations with our free agents, finalizing our draft picks. We’re also trading for some draft spots. It’s complicated. Glad Cap handles that shit. Luckily, most of our free agents are restricted, so they’ll sign with us without a huge increase.”

  “Do you have any unrestricted?”

  “Yeah. That’s the problem. Marquel Johnson is one. We need him. He got injured, so I can only hope no other team would be interested in him. Trunk Mahoney too. That’s going to be a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “He wasn’t such hot shit when we signed him. But he’s come a long way. I’d hate to lose him. He’d be hard to replace.”

  “Then, we have to woo him to keep him. Maybe money would do it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s all?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Nope. A couple other players too.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not really. Fortunately, our best players, outside of Johnson and Mahoney, are still on contract.”

  “Then, you should have a season as good this year as last, right?”

  He laughed. “You’re an optimist. Anything can go wrong. I’m hoping we can keep the momentum going. Keep everyone healthy. How about grabbing a burger at The Savage Beast?”

  “I’ve got to buy a dress for a wedding.”

  “Shops still open?”

  “Good question.” She glanced at her watch. Almost seven.

  “Do it tomorrow. Come have dinner with me.”

  She grinned. “Why not? Besides, I got Drake’s records from Sam today. Just let me print them out. We can look at them over dinner.”

  “Oh? I’d rather look at your baby blues…among other things, while I’m eating.” His gaze rested on her chest. She balled up a piece of paper and rifled it at him. He batted it away with a chuckle. “I’ll get the folder with Drake’s stuff. We can compare before I begin my seduction.”

  “So, I’m to be seduced, am I?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Only if you’re unwilling.”

  Her deep, rich laugh filled the room. “Meet me in the parking lot.” She pushed to her feet and made for the door.

  He blocked her way. “First, a sample of the goods.”

  Jo tilted her chin up. He closed his mouth on hers. For a few seconds, everything went out of her mind except the taste and scent of Coach Bass. She melted when he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss.

  “What about the janitor?” she asked, panting slightly, stepping away.

  “I don’t give a shit. Cat’s out of the bag anyway. Edie probably told him. Come here,” he whispered, drawing her close again.

  As Jo moved into his embrace, common sense flew out the window. She closed her fingers around his shoulder muscles and arched her back, pressing her breasts to his chest. Her nipples hardened when they came into contact with him. “Are you seducing me right here?” she asked, pulling her head back.

  “Could be,” he muttered, his mouth seeking hers again.

  She flattened her palm against his chest and pushed. “Not without dinner,” she said with a straight face.

  He chuckled. “A promise is a promise. Let’s go. I’m hungry.” He backed up.

  “I noticed.” She snickered, preceding him out the door.

  * * * *

  Pete held the door open for Jo.

  “Won’t we be seen here? Don’t the players come here?”

  “I don’t give a crap. I want a blue cheese burger, and I want to eat it with you. This pretending stuff is bullshit. Besides, our cover was blown today anyway.”

  Jo’s gaze traveled the room, and sure enough, Bullhorn Brodsky was at the bar. He raised his hand and nodded at her.

  The waitress wandered over to their table. “Hey, Coach. Nice to see you.” She turned her gaze to Jo. “A newbie?”

  “Carla, this is Jo Parker, our new vice president in charge of public relations.”

  “Nice to meet you. Don’t break his heart.” Carla grinned.

  “I won’t, as long as he doesn’t break mine.”

  Pete took Jo’s hand. “Never.”

  “Before the sugar rush here gets to me, whatcha having?”

  “The usual,” Pete said.

  “Blue cheese burger, medium. Beer?”

  “Just one. I’m driving.”

  Carla nodded then glanced at Jo.

  “I’ll have the same.”

  “Fries?”

  �
��Could I get a side salad instead?”

  “Sure.” Carla wrote down their order then returned to the bar.

  “Bullhorn’s seen us.”

  “Let’s give ’em something to talk about.” He leaned over and kissed her.

  Jo pulled away. “What are you doing?”

  “Fueling the rumor mill. If they’re gonna talk about us, let it be the truth.”

  She grinned. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, sending a shiver down her spine.

  Carla returned with their drinks. She glanced at their joined hands then at Pete. “Movin’ pretty fast there, aren’t ya?”

  He laughed. “You want me to slow down?”

  “You can’t slow down from a crawl, Coach.” Carla winked at Jo.

  “My girl’s not much for public displays,” Pete said.

  Jo could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

  “Why not? Everyone else here does it.” With a chuckle, Carla returned to the bar.

  Jo hid behind her foamy stein.

  “Spend the night with me,” he whispered.

  “All night?”

  He nodded. “We’ll pick up Daisy. She can even sleep on the bed with us.”

  Carla returned with their meal. “Enjoy.”

  “We’ll see.” Jo sampled her burger.

  “That’s what people say when they mean ‘no,’ but are afraid to say it. I used that on my girls all the time.” He plucked a French fry from his plate.

  “This is delicious.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I can’t get away with anything, can I?”

  “Nope. Between my kids and the guys, I’m wise to everything.”

  She chuckled. “Trapped. I guess the answer is ‘yes’.”

  “I don’t want to force you.” He took a bite of his burger.

  “Yes, you do.” She swiped a fry from his plate.

  “Well, maybe a little. But if you’re uncomfortable…”

  She slid her hand over his. “It’s okay.”

  “I want to lie in bed and watch the moon with you. Is that bad?”

  His soft tone and romantic words stopped a smart remark in her throat. “That’s lovely,” she commented quietly.

  He blushed. “Don’t let the guys hear you say that!”

  “No guy raising two girls by himself can be macho all the time,” she replied.

  “I know that. You know that. But the guys don’t. Let them live with their illusions a bit longer.”

  “I bet you can do a mean braid.”

  “Shh. Braids, pigtails, and even match shades of pink. But don’t tell.”

  She laughed. “You’re a metrosexual?”

  “Oh my God. If the men heard you say that. They’d flip out. They don’t know the meaning.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. I read.”

  “Ah, yes. The girls!”

  “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

  Jo dropped her fork. Meet his daughters? When did that enter the picture?

  Pete bent down to retrieve her utensil.

  “Why don’t we go over those stats?”

  “Devon Drake?”

  “I have them right here.” She slipped a purple folder out of her bag.

  He grabbed her wrists, stopping her cold. “Does meeting my daughters bother you?”

  She looked out the window. Don’t say anything.

  “Not answering?”

  She glanced at him then turned her gaze to the window again.

  “They won’t bite.”

  “Do you parade all the women you sleep with in front of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “How many have they met?”

  “Some they already knew, like the school principal.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You slept with the school principal?”

  “I dated her for a couple of weeks. Never slept with her. Thank goodness.”

  “That bad? Oh, wait. I don’t want to know. Please let go.”

  He released her wrists.

  “You still didn’t answer. How many new ones did they meet?”

  “Women I dated? None.”

  Her eyes widened. “None?”

  “I didn’t parade women in front of them. Didn’t want them to get attached until I knew how I felt.”

  “Proves my point.”

  “Until now.”

  Jo gazed into his eyes and swallowed. “Now?”

  “They’re older now. They have their own lives.”

  “Oh. Of course. Your girlfriend is unimportant.” She reached for the folder.

  Again, he grabbed her hands. “Exact opposite. There’s never been anyone close to as important as you.” He spoke quietly, but the force of his words hit her like a winterish wind.

  She shivered. “Me?” she asked, softly.

  “You.” He let go of her.

  She closed her hands into fists to hide their tremble. “Why?”

  Now, it was his turn to be evasive. His cheeks pinked a bit as he focused on his remaining fries. He directed his gaze to his plate and mumbled.

  “What?”

  “A whole lot of reasons,” he said.

  She finished her drink while he took the final bite of his burger. They avoided direct eye contact.

  When Pete finished chewing, he spoke up. “So, about Devon Drake? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Okay.” She turned her attention to the papers in front of her.

  Coach Bass moved his chair next to hers and spread the pages out on the small table. They looked over the figures and chatted about the numbers.

  “It’s his speed. It’s down. Way down from his last year in St. Louis,” Pete commented.

  “His forty-yard dash is way down this year over two years ago,” she replied.

  As she scanned the sheets, Jo’s mouth compressed into a thin line. They sat in silence, reading. “This might be why. Look at his weight.” She pointed to a number.

  “In St. Louis, he was twenty pounds lighter.” Pete pursed his lips.

  “That could slow him down.”

  Carla stopped by with the check. Coach Bass dropped some bills on the table then pushed to his feet. “Let’s go.” He opened the car door for Jo then slid behind the wheel. While he drove, they continued to talk about Devon Drake. “We’ve got to get that flab off him. Also gotta check on Bullhorn. With that elbow injury, we’ll have to change his training routine. I need him to be well and playing.”

  “You’ve got a lot to figure out before training camp starts, don’t you?”

  “Yep. Every year you think things are organized and will run smoother. Then, shit happens, and you’re behind, running to catch up…again.” Pete steered the vehicle down a deserted avenue.

  “Coaching is a big job.”

  “I love it. The guys are great. It’s the details that drive me fuckin’ nuts.”

  “Can’t you get some help from the assistant coaches?”

  “Sure. They do what they can. But if we lose, it’s the coach who gets fired.”

  She patted his thigh. “You’re a winner.”

  “This year.” He pulled out onto another quiet road. “Next stop, your house.”

  “My house?”

  “To pick up Daisy.”

  “You never forget a thing, do you?”

  “Can’t afford to,” he said, turning onto her street.

  Chapter Seven

  Jo busied herself setting up a bed and putting out water for her pug. She had to keep asking Pete where things were. Don’t get comfortable. This isn’t your house and never will be.

  Although it was modern in design, Jo loved this structure of weathered wood and glass looking out over the vast sea. The smell of salt in the air, and the cries of passing seagulls reminded her she was on the edge of a great ocean.

  At twilight, armed with a flashlight, she took Daisy for a walk on the beach. Filling her lungs with clean, salty air refreshed her body and spirit. Daisy played in the
shallowness, barking at the waves in the moonlight and prancing along the firm, wet sand.

  When she returned, Pete scooped out dishes of chocolate chip ice cream and poured steaming mugs of coffee. Ignoring her bed from home, Daisy found a comfy spot on the rug nearer to Jo and curled up to sleep. Before they could talk, Pete’s cell rang. Jo sat quietly in the living room, sucking down ice cream and the hot beverage, listening to one side of his conversation with his daughter.

  He sat back on the sofa, resting his feet on the sturdy, wooden coffee table. “Hey, Lexie. What’s up, honey? How are you?”

  Jo kept her sharp-eyed gaze glued to his face, reading his expressions. What would his girls think of me?

  “When are finals over?” He grimaced. “That seems late this year. Okay.” He shifted position. “What about the trip we planned? No, I haven’t bought the tickets yet.” He nodded and listened. “Sure. We can go during vacation or next summer, even, if this job is that important.”

  Again, he stopped speaking and listened. She watched the troubled expression melt off his face, replaced by an easing of wrinkles and a relaxation of muscles. “Sounds great. Yeah. I know. Sure, I’ll miss you. Uh huh. It’s your decision.”

  A smile broke out across his features. “That’s fine, sweetie. Yeah. I’m proud of you.” He laughed. “I’ll send your allowance. Double? Oh, right. Room and board? Just room? Okay. I can manage that. Good luck. Kiss your sister for me. Yes, I’m damned proud of you. Do a great job. Love you too, Lexie.”

  He put his phone down and sighed.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Not really. The girls were in competition with a dozen other students for an internship working for a local newspaper in Willow Falls. The editor decided to split the job between them.”

  “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.”

  “Yeah. It’s a great achievement. Of course, they don’t get paid, but that’s not the problem.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We always take a trip when school is out. Last year, we went to Greece. When they were in high school, we didn’t have much time, because school went so much longer. But college, hell, they get out at the end of May.”

  “So, they’re not coming home?”

  “Nope. Summer job starts June first. Finishes in August. By then, we’ll be playing pre-season games.”