“All right, Lola.” He batted his eyelashes at her, which was also pretty scary. “I’ll have it for you by the end of the day, I promise.”
“Thank you, George. You know where Frank is?”
“Manufacturing.”
“Thanks.” She turned.
“Lola?”
She turned back. “Yes, George?”
His cheeks were sporting red splotches as if he’d suddenly had a hot flash. “I was wondering if you were busy on Friday night.”
Oh no. Nonono. Don’t do it, George.
“Actually, I am.” First, you try an easy letdown.
“Oh.” His chin dropped. Then he glanced up eagerly. “How about Saturday?”
She’d never figured out if telling a man you were busy until he stopped asking was wimpy or kind and face-saving. “Busy on Saturday, too, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” He deflated. “I guess you’re busy next weekend as well. And the one after that.”
So George had already been through this, poor guy. “You’re a nice man, George, but—”
He held up a hand in front of his face. “Don’t say it. Because maybe you’ll change your mind. So I wouldn’t want you to say anything you’ll regret. Gotta go.” And he scuttled away.
The scene left her feeling crappy. He was a nice guy. Just not her type. In any way, shape, or form. She blamed it on Sunday when she’d shown up without her underwear. It sexualized her in George’s eyes. Dammit, she should have gone into the bathroom and put all her clothes on.
Yet how easily Coach Gray Barnett had gotten her to take them off.
* * *
TRUE TO HIS WORD, GEORGE HAD SENT HIS RED-LINES BY THE END of the workday yesterday. Frank had sent his this morning. After football camp, the boys had hung out at the condo pool, leaving her a chance to finish all the corrections and adjustments from both engineers. She was only slightly behind schedule, nothing she couldn’t make up.
For dinner she set out plates of spaghetti—with brown rice spaghetti instead of plain pasta. She was trying to prepare healthy dinners. The salad had everything from the usual avocado and tomatoes to carrots to tiny pieces of apple for a little sweetness.
“Are you sure you were really good for the coach the last couple of days?” she asked.
“Yes, Aunt Lola,” the twins answered in unison, a hint of mockery in their tones. She realized they’d been calling her Aunt Lola since the day Gray had admonished them. It was not a sign of respect.
She and the coach had that glorious session on his couch Tuesday evening, not to mention the delicious phone sex later that night. Then nothing for two days. Not a call, not a text. Zippo. Nor had he kept the boys behind at camp. They’d been waiting at the curb right on time.
Gray must have rethought the situation with his son and decided it wasn’t worth it.
The boys dug into the spaghetti and salad. At least she’d done something right this time.
“Can we go to the mall?” Harry asked.
“After dinner? Don’t you want to watch a movie or something?” Terrible aunt that she was, she didn’t feel like dragging herself over to the mall, once to take them, and again to pick them up.
“We’re so bored, Aunt Lola. Come on, it will give you time to work without having us in your hair.”
She eyed Harry. That kid really had her number. “Aren’t you bored with the arcade?”
“We can go to the theater at the mall,” William added. “See something new.”
Baby-sitting by mall. Was it really such a bad thing? Or was it akin to baby-sitting by TV?
“Arby said he might be there, too.”
Ah, so they wanted to hang out with their new BFF, Arby. Maybe she’d get a chance to meet the kid just like Andrea wanted. “All right. I’ll take you. But you’re not allowed to drive anywhere with Arby after dark. Stay at the mall arcade or the movie theater.”
“Sure, Aunt Lola.”
They agreed so readily, she almost believed they had some nefarious plan devised. She didn’t trust all this good behavior. But she dropped them off at the mall half an hour later.
“Look and see what time the movie ends,” she called as they scrambled out of the car, “so I know when to pick you up.”
“But we don’t know what we’re going to see yet,” William complained.
“Well, pick one and tell me the time,” she said reasonably—at least she thought she sounded reasonable.
They both ran to the ticket window, jabbered back and forth, pointed. Two teenage girls—with too much makeup and too much breast showing in Lola’s opinion—stood to the side, their avid gazes on fresh meat.
William jogged back and leaned down into the window. “Okay, it ends at ten.”
“I’ll be right here at ten then. Where’s your friend Arby?”
“Don’t know.”
All right, she’d meet him after the movie when she collected the twins. “Have fun.”
But William was already racing back to Harry. And the pretty teenage girls had edged a few steps closer. More power to ’em. She’d never been that courageous at their age.
Besides the lack of coach contact, it was a good day. And the evening was extremely productive without the boys around. She was back on track and almost ready to send Robinson the chapters he was so anxious for. Then she had to break to retrieve the boys from the movies.
Harry was on his phone when she pulled up three minutes late. She half-expected her cell to ring, but obviously he was talking to someone else.
“Have a good time?” she asked.
“Awesome. Cool.” They both answered at once.
“What’d you see?”
Harry rattled off some Ninja title. She’d never heard of it and promptly forgot it.
“Where’s your friend Arby?” She wanted to know before pulling away from the curb. She hadn’t seen them with another boy, nor had she seen the two pretty girls.
“He called and said he couldn’t make it,” Harry supplied.
“Too bad.” She was beginning to think the kid might be a mythical creation.
Back at the condo, the boys dashed to the front door. They were like toddlers, always running everywhere.
“Hey, Aunt Lola, you’ve got an admirer.”
She closed in on them to see a tissue-wrapped bunch of flowers on the doormat. Her heart rate picked up the pace. Maybe the coach was sending her flowers. Although she didn’t figure flowers were his style.
Harry held them up. “I guess your secret admirer doesn’t like you very much.”
Lola realized there was something wrong with the flowers. The petals were brown and the leaves on the stems withered. They were dead.
“Who sent it?”
“If there was a card, he wouldn’t be a secret admirer,” Harry quipped.
She shrugged. “It must be a mistake.”
“Could be the wrong house,” William offered.
A couple lived in the next unit. It could have been for them if the husband was pissed at the wife. Or vice versa.
Lola pushed past them and unlocked the front door. “It’s a mistake or a joke or something.” She flapped a hand. “Just throw them in the trash.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Harry asked. “It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”
She glanced over. What was up with him? “Maybe they’re from some girl you two met down at the pool.” She narrowed her eyes. “Were you behaving yourselves?”
Harry looked at her a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. Then he shrugged. “Of course, we were good. And I’ll do like you say, Aunt Lola, and throw out the flowers.” He marched them into the kitchen and shoved them down into the can, the leaves crackling.
Lola stood in the hall in sight of the kitchen. Dead flowers on her doorstep. Hmm.
Just yesterday, she’d rebuffed George. No, he wouldn’t drive all the way over here to leave her dead flowers. And he couldn’t do it. He didn’t know her address, for one thing. She used a PO bo
x on her invoices. Her home address was on the contract, but he’d never seen that. Had he? No, why would he have? And he was too . . . nerdy? Wimpy? Beta? The reality was George wouldn’t have enough gumption. Besides, he hadn’t seemed that angry or upset. George was actually a nice guy.
The flowers were a mistake. Or they were for the twins, some girl trying to get their attention after they’d ignored her down at pool.
She was more worried about why Coach Barnett hadn’t called.
12
IT WAS JUST AFTER TWELVE ON FRIDAY. GRAY’S TEAM, AS IT WERE, was engaged in an angle-tackling drill where one player assumed the role of defender and the other, ball carrier.
“Keep your head elevated, Peter,” he called.
The point of the drill was not only tackling technique but also how to do it safely. In turn, he stood behind each defender and signaled the ball carrier the direction to run.
“Good job.” At close to the end of the second week, each boy was showing marked improvement.
Each one, that was, except Rafe. He gave the bare minimum. He wasn’t a bad player, per se, he just didn’t try. Like now. When he was the ball carrier, he fumbled. When he was the defender, the other kid broke through. Any other child, he would have called the parent in and discussed whether the boy actually wanted to be involved. But he was the parent. He didn’t even know how to motivate his own son. Maybe he should send him home, but he simply couldn’t give up.
At twenty to one, he sent the boys in to the showers, turned on his Bluetooth, and hit a speed dial on his phone.
“You won’t escape punishment tonight,” he said softly when she answered.
“Who’s this?”
She knew exactly who it was. “Your coach.” He picked up cones and stacked them as he spoke. Cleanup wasn’t his job, but he liked to leave things relatively neat.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“My sweet, you are trying my patience.” But he knew his transgression. He hadn’t called. His reasoning had been specific. She was becoming too important. He was too needy. He’d had to show himself he could resist. And he had, for three days. But after football camp tomorrow, he had Rafe for the rest of the weekend. So he wanted her tonight. Rephrase. He needed her tonight.
Lola sighed for him, the sound reaching deep inside. “What did the boys do now?”
He was tempted to tell her Harry and William had done absolutely nothing. But they were his leverage, so he didn’t have to admit he would have her no matter what.
“It’s a technical football thing they refuse to do. You wouldn’t understand. Suffice it to say, it’s very distracting to the other boys.”
“I understand football,” she challenged.
“These are football drills,” he stressed, a smile on his lips. She saw right through him.
“All right. Whatever. What time do you want me at your house?”
“Not my house. I want you to meet me in the Highway 280 Park and Ride on Edgewood.” It wasn’t far from either of them. And there was no chance Rafe would accidentally drop in.
“What are you going to do to me in a Park and Ride?”
He could imagine dragging her into the backseat of his car and having her right there. But that was a little too risky even for him. “Meet me there, that’s all you need to know.”
“I need to know what time,” she said with a snarky little snap in her voice.
Her show of haughty bravado actually turned him on. “Eight.”
She shot out a breath. “What am I supposed to do with my little termagants?”
“I won’t keep you out past their bedtime.”
“Well,” she said, still snarky, “if I’d known, I would have had them go to the movies tonight instead of last night.”
“Send them out again. Isn’t Friday the new release day?”
She huffed.
“Don’t forget our bargain and how much you owe me, Miss Cook.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
The boys were beginning to emerge from the locker room. Peter, Roger, Tom. Then Harry and William. Rafe came out almost on their heels. He had his mom’s car today so Gray didn’t need to drive him home.
“Yes or no, Miss Cook?” he said softly before Rafe approached him. “Do you agree to my terms?”
“All right, fine, I’ll think of some way to get out of the house.” She hung up on him.
Gray smiled. She wanted it. She just didn’t want him to know how badly.
* * *
LOLA DIDN’T WORK HARD TO COME UP WITH AN EXCUSE. SHE looked up the new releases on the Internet, then simply told the twins that it was her treat. They lapped it up, especially when she gave them money for popcorn, candy, and drinks. Andrea would have a fit. Lola decided she would definitely be missing in action for the next Skype call.
The sun hadn’t quite dipped behind the mountains, but it cast long shadows across the road, and darkness would fall soon. Gray’s car was at the far end of the Park and Ride. Since it was so long after rush hour ended, the lot was close to empty. She pulled in next to him.
All he did was jerk his thumb at her, indicating she should get in beside him.
Her blood had been pumping hard since the moment she’d received his instructions. Of course, she’d sounded snooty, but she didn’t care that he hadn’t called for three days. He was back and he was hot for her. She knew it, felt it in her bones. And she was hot for him. How he made her feel was all that mattered. She wouldn’t think about the future or the end of football camp.
She slid into the seat beside him. His jaw was deliciously stubbled. Why that turned her on so much, she couldn’t say, but she’d loved the feel of it between her thighs. Her fingers itched to touch him.
“Where are we going?” She tried to use the same clipped tone she’d employed on the phone, but her voice came out slightly breathy.
He held up the long red scarf. “Cover your eyes with this.”
She liked the intrigue. She could feel herself already getting wet for him. “Whatever you say, Coach,” she answered, still with that clipped, haughty tone. She tied the scarf over her eyes. Made of some soft material that wasn’t as slippery as silk, it slid into place and stayed where she patted it down.
“Don’t peek,” he instructed as he started the engine and backed out. The car swayed into the turn out of the parking lot. He was heading back toward the hills, away from town.
“You still haven’t said where we’re going.”
“And I’m not going to.” His deep voice trailed like a lick down her spine. “It’s a special place where I will have my wicked way with you.”
She thought of his fantasy, having sex with her in front of a crowd, and shivered. It had a frighteningly sexy appeal. She imagined him filling her, then pulling off the scarf to reveal an ocean of avid faces watching their every move. Her skin tingled with anticipation.
“Tell me more. Tell me everything you’re going to do.” There was the edge of pleading in her voice.
“Whatever happened to the rule about not talking unless I give you permission?”
“Oh, did we have that rule?” she said quickly. “I must have forgotten.” She put her fingers to her lips. He certainly hadn’t been good at enforcing it the last couple of times either. He seemed to pick and choose when the mood struck. But he was obviously in the right mood now.
He tugged on the bottom of her denim skirt. “What are you wearing under there?”
Ah, the rule. She was allowed to answer if he asked a question. “Nothing, Coach.”
He stroked up under the material, his fingers hot on her skin. “Good girl.”
He’d made a few turns, then they seemed to have reached a winding, rutted road, the car bumping along. The sun was falling behind the mountains, everything getting darker behind the scarf.
Then he pinched her nipple, and Lola squeaked. Oh God. How was he able to make her enjoy that? It should have hurt. Instead, it was like a direct current
straight down between her legs.
“No bra,” he said, and she could swear his voice was a tad huskier. “Good girl.”
She wanted to say Yes, I’m a very good girl. But he hadn’t asked a question, so she wasn’t allowed to answer.
She squirmed in the seat, squeezing her legs together, intensifying the pleasure he’d begun.
“What are you doing, Lola?”
“Making sure I keep my libido up while we make this long drive.” She wanted him to touch her. Was she allowed to ask?
Before she could say a word, he said, “Pull your skirt up.”
Oh yes, yes. Just what she wanted. She wriggled until the skirt rode just above her hips.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered, and there was a new harshness to his tone.
Lola pulled one foot up onto the seat, her knee falling to the side. And she was exposed.
“Now touch yourself for me.”
She groaned. She wanted him to do the touching, dammit. But she was such an obedient girl, she tipped her head back against the seat and put her hand between her legs.
“Let me taste how wet you are.”
She adored his carnal nature and held out her hand for him. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her arm until she leaned forward, then he licked the tips of her fingers.
“How can you drive and suck at the same time?” she murmured.
He didn’t admonish her for talking. “I can drive and do a lot of things. I can also drive while you suck.” The car headed into a bend, came out, turned into another, bouncing into a rut. Where on earth were they going?
“Is that an invitation for me to . . . ?” She left the question hanging.
“No. Touch yourself. That’s what I want.” He let go of her wrist.
She was ripe for him, ready. He’d had her on edge since this afternoon when he’d called as she was on her way to pick up the boys. And she did exactly as he demanded.
“Do I have your permission to come, Coach?” she ventured, cocking her head in his direction as if she could see him from behind the scarf.
“If you can come in five minutes, because that’s how long it will take to get where we’re going.”
The Naughty Corner Page 11