Bobby scoffs. “You’re not kidding anyone, Brutal. You’re all ‘Mike . . . blah, blah, blah . . . the boys . . . blah, blah, blah . . . Allyson . . . blah, blah, blah . . .’ Oops!” He slaps his hand over his mouth dramatically like he misspoke, but I know damn well he said exactly what he meant to say.
Fuck ninja. I’m going in like a Spartan, straight kick to the chest.
“Who’s Allyson?” Luke asks, and I see Shay’s hand leave the table to rest on his thigh. I strongly suspect she’s silently telling him to shut up and that she’ll explain later. I don’t even know if she knows anything. She was so young when Al was around. But the question is out there and eyes are on me.
“One of the boys’ moms. We went to school together.”
I intend for it to sound casual, but my reluctance is more of an answer than my words. It’s probably moot anyway, because Luke and I are close enough in age that he and I were at Great Falls High together, though we ran in different circles. He would have known about Al. But I just can’t imagine talking about her like this.
Mama Louise is a wise woman indeed because she changes the subject with a knowing look. “How many loaves of zucchini bread do you want? I’m happy to make however much you think they’ll eat.”
I do quick math in my head of how hungry each kid is after practice. “Four or five would be great. Thank you.”
I give her a smile of appreciation and then deadface glare at Bobby, promising death and dismemberment.
Chapter 12
Allyson
Practice ended ten minutes ago, and I should be halfway home by now, mentally preparing for an evening of spaghetti and frozen meatballs. I know it’s not the best option, but Cooper said the carb loading of just spaghetti was an overindulgence and we needed protein to balance it out. I’d blinked in surprise but finally agreed that adding some meat would be fine.
But that’s not where I am and not what I’m doing at all.
Nope, I’m standing off to the side, trying really hard to not look like a stalker. But I guess that exactly what I am, considering I’m waiting for Bruce to finish talking to Mike.
My eyes roam over the park, finding Cooper, Liam, and Evan happily sharing their homemade zucchini bread with the ducks. Though sharing might be an exaggeration because they’re taking huge mouthfuls for themselves with each bite and tossing tiny pinches of the bread for the birds.
I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I can’t help but tune in when I see Bruce put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and rumble, “I’m so sorry, man. That shit sucks.”
My ears perk up. I’m not usually gossipy, but I’ve got enough small-town experience to recognize when there’s something to know.
He shakes Bruce’s hand off. “It could be worse. I could be one of the guys they laid off. A shift change isn’t so bad when you look at it like that,” Mike says glumly, like he doesn’t believe his own words.
Mike told us at the first meeting that he’s a machinist in a factory two towns over. I’m not sure what exactly he builds or even what he does, but he seemed to like his work.
“What’s that mean for you and Jamie? And Evan?”
Mike scrubs a hand across his head, the shaved-short hairs making a scratching sound I can hear even from a few feet away. The park’s gone quiet, kids all headed home for dinner, and now only the occasional scream of a cicada sounds out.
I try to step away to give them a bit of privacy, but I feel Bruce’s eyes telling me to stay, to wait for him. I want to talk to him, though I have no idea what I want to say. It just seemed like the prudent and polite thing to do after the weekend of weird ups and downs.
I’m going for Adulting 201 now, I guess.
“It’ll be fine. Jamie understands, and we’ll make whatever adjustments we need to at home. I’ll be there in the mornings more, so I can do breakfast with Evan and take him to school. And sleep in the afternoon until I have to go in.” He nods, trying to convince himself as he repeats, “It’ll be fine.”
Bruce nods. “What’s that mean for the team? You won’t be able to come to practices at all if you’re working third shift, and you’ll be sleeping when we have games.”
And suddenly, I’m selfishly upset. I feel for Mike and Jamie and the changes their family is apparently going through, but if Mike can’t coach, does that mean the team is no more? Cooper is going to be devastated. I’m going to fail at giving him this thing he wanted so badly.
Mike’s grin is feral. “You remember telling me that your word is good and you were the Wildcats coach until the end of the season, no matter what?” His eyes look over to me, letting me know he’s aware of my presence in the darkening evening.
“Yeah . . .” Bruce says slowly.
Mike points a finger at Bruce. “Good, ’cause I’m holding you to your word. I want you to coach the boys, run the practices, and lead the games. You up for that?”
Bruce’s chuckle is huffed from deep in his gut. “Fuck no. I ain’t ready for that shit and you damn well know it.”
“Too bad, Coach. You’re the new leader of the Wildcats. Don’t let me down.” Mike acts like Bruce didn’t even speak, certainly not like he said no to the proposal that he be the only coach. He even holds his hand out for a shake on it like they agreed to the sales price on a used car.
“Need to clean your ears out, man. I said no.”
Mike lets his hand fall and steels his eyes. “Didn’t take you for a quitter, Brutal. You told me your word was good, so are you saying that was a lie?”
Bruce sniffs, not swayed. “Don’t try to play a player, asshole. This ain’t what we talked about and you know it.”
Mike sags under the pushback. “Fine, here’s the whole deal,” he starts but then pauses and looks at me. It’s so sudden and unexpected that I don’t have a chance to pretend I wasn’t listening to every word. “Allyson? You wanna come on over and be a part of this conversation instead of eavesdropping? It involves you too, so you might as well.”
I step over slowly, glad the heat of the night gives me an excuse for the flush on my cheeks at being caught so blatantly. “Sure, Mike. Uh, sorry for what you and Jamie are going through. It sounds like a pretty major adjustment.” Acknowledging that I was eavesdropping seems like the least dishonest way to join in.
“Thanks,” he says reflexively, but I can tell his mind is already focusing on how to say what he wants to.
“Here’s the deal . . . the Wildcats need a parent on roster as the head coach. Now, what that coach does or doesn’t do can vary. Most teams just have the one, so he—or she—does it all. Coaching, scheduling, emails, snacks, uniforms, practices and games, handling parents, and whatever other shit comes up. I don’t know for sure since I’ve never done this either.”
He shrugs as he lists out all the things on his plate before settling heavily on Bruce. “But we have Brutal, and let’s be honest, there’s not a single parent in the city who can coach these boys like you can. Unfortunately, you can’t be the ‘Head Coach’.” He pauses to do air quotes with his fingers. “Or at least, not on paper. So here’s what I propose . . .”
He lets a dramatic silence stretch out, and Bruce and I chance a glance each other’s way. Why do I feel like we already know what Mike is going to say?
“Brutal, you’ll be the coach in action. You’ll run practices and handle the sidelines at the game. And Allyson, you’ll be the coach on paper. You handle emails, snacks, and parents. It’s the best of both worlds.”
Yep, that’s where I thought Mike was going and I’m already shaking my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bruce doing the same thing.
“I can’t, Mike. I’m sorry. I’ll be there for the games, but I’ve got work during the week. That’s why Michelle and I rotate. Surely, there’s someone else you can put down as head coach if it’s only on paper,” I argue.
Mike’s eyes narrow, not checking me out but sizing me up as an adversary. I square my shoulders and stand straighter.
His voice is
hard as he tells me the truth. “There are no dads who come to practices. You know that. Maybe Killian’s grandparents, but they can’t even walk to the sidelines every practice. You know they’re not the youngest or the healthiest. As for the moms, yeah . . . there are at least three who come to every practice and will be at every game. And you know as well as I do, they’re only half here for their kid, so if you think for one second that their husbands are going to be onboard with their working elbow to elbow with Brutal, you’re delusional.”
He looks to Bruce. “No offense, man. We talked about this.”
Bruce spreads his hands like ‘whatcha gonna do?’ I can’t help but roll my eyes. I mean, he’s not wrong, but does he have to be so damn arrogant about it?
Mike zeroes back in on me. “You don’t want those women working with him, either.”
He says it so quietly I tell myself that it was my own consciousness speaking and not him saying that out loud in front of Bruce, but the lift of Mike’s eyebrow daring me to disagree says it was him.
He’s right. I don’t want that, but I don’t want to admit it. So I bite my tongue, refusing to give in either way.
“You want football for your boy? You want this team for him?” Mike asks, driving his point home. “This is how that happens. Brutal handles X’s and O’s, and you do the organizing and be the face of the team.”
“Damn, that’s some serious guilt-tripping. What else you wanna throw at her? Got some shit about football being a metaphor for life too?” Bruce comes to my defense, but the damage is done. I know Mike’s right.
This is going to suck. And be so ridiculously awkward. And lead to so many sleepless nights and ruined panties.
But I told Cooper he would get to play. And I told Bruce we could be adults about this. One kiss and a trip down sunny memory lane doesn’t change that.
I take a deep breath, willing my words to be a prophecy. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay as head coach. On paper.” I look to Bruce, fearful that he’s going to desert me right as the shit is hitting the fan.
I might be willing to fight for this, but he doesn’t have any skin in this game. Not really. These aren’t his kids. He’s only here for the love of the game and because he said he would. But the situation has changed drastically and I wouldn’t blame him for walking away.
Well, I would. I’d blame him a lot and be pissed, but deep down, I’d understand.
Bruce’s eyes search mine, his hands clenched like he’s holding them back. “Are you sure?” he asks gently. So kindly and sweet that it almost brings a hot burn to my eyes, but I nod. “Okay, if Al’s in, I’m in. What do we need to do?”
Mike’s mouth hangs open in surprise. He didn’t expect that to work. Guess he doesn’t know the strength of his own arguments.
Or maybe he underestimated me and Bruce?
“I’ll take care of it as my last official head coach duty. But starting Thursday, it’s you two. Good luck,” Mike says, almost like he’s ready to see some fireworks start any second. “I’m going to get on home. But holler if you need anything. I’ll get back with you during the day when I’m not at work.”
He whistles loudly, and Evan perks up, used to the sound. He runs toward us, throwing back a goodbye over this shoulder to his teammates, and then he shakes Bruce’s hand. “Bye, Coach B! See you Thursday!”
And we’re alone. Mike and Evan are gone, and Cooper and Liam are down at the pond. They’re not far, but they can’t hear us.
“Are you sure about this?” I hedge.
“Are you?” he counters.
Our eyes lock, so much unsaid between us. But I can feel the commitment we both have to see this through.
“Give me your number so we can talk about practices and stuff,” I say, using my business mode as a shield.
Bruce pulls his phone out of the bag at his feet and rattles off his number. I text it, and the ding sounds like possibility, like opportunity, like a really bad idea when I’m hot and bothered at three in the morning from dreaming of him.
“You gonna be available for practices? I know how busy you are,” Bruce says quietly. I feel like he’s asking so much more.
I nod, not a single thought on my schedule at the office. “I’ll make it work. I want—”
He cuts me off, stepping closer and moving into my space. Every cell in my body is aware of how little air separates us as each inch of my skin yearns for his touch. He folds his shoulders in, cocooning me against the August night, and his lips softly brush over the shell of my ear.
“Tell me, Al. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen. I’ll do it.” His breath shudders, and though he dwarfs me, I feel powerful and in charge with him. My eyes slip shut and my palms find his chest, feeling the hushed rise and fall that belie his outward calm.
He’s waiting for a signal from me. One I contemplate giving.
It would be okay. Nobody would blame me. There’s so much fire between us, and I know firsthand how amazing he is. I bet he’s only gotten better with time.
But even as I know that in the moment, it would be so good, devastatingly good, later, I’d feel conflicted about it.
The pause drags out long enough that Bruce reads my messed-up, confused mind. His fingers weave into my hair, holding me still as he lays a butterfly soft kiss to my cheek. “Goodnight, Al.”
He steps away, leaving me cold even though it’s still humid and hot tonight. I don’t find my tongue to say anything before he disappears into the parking lot. His truck is loud, breaking my trance as he pulls out.
What have I done?
Chapter 13
Bruce
I don’t have time for this, but I don’t have time to not do it, either. I need to leave for practice in exactly thirteen minutes, but if I go without relieving some of this pressure, my cock is going to explode as soon as Allyson walks up.
Once again, I’m stuck in that strange combination of pissed off and turned on that seems to be my new normal where she’s concerned.
I shuck my jeans, dirty from the day’s work in the field, and swipe a fresh towel out of the linen closet before hitting the shower. The hot water runs over my body, but instead of the quick efficiency of my usual five-minute wash and rinse, I grab the soap to get to work.
I try to fight the images of her, bringing up material from my own personal mental spank bank. But her face keeps super-imposing with a little sassy smirk that says she knows what I really want.
“Fuck it,” I say to the tile wall, knowing I need to just get this shit over with.
My hand morphs into hers as I imagine her kneeling in front of me.
“Fuck my mouth, Bruce,” Allyson says.
With a groan, I close my eyes and tighten my fist, imagining slipping into her wet mouth.
I hold her head, fingers woven into her blonde hair, and thrust deep. She chokes for a split second, but then her throat opens, letting me in. Her blue eyes look up at me, glossy as she eye-fucks me, begging for more.
She slurps messily, cheeks hollowed as she moans against my cock. I fuck her mouth just like she demanded, hard and fast. Her fingers slide down my thighs, nails raking the muscled skin, making my cock even harder.
Her knees spread, and she slips her palm over her clit, down to her pussy. She gathers her own juices, holding her hand up to show me how wet she is from sucking me down. “Play with that pussy, baby. Touch yourself and come for me.”
She nods, the pressure causing me to pull her hair, but she doesn’t seem to mind in the least. In fact, it seems to rile her up even more. She swallows my cock, her fingers a blur against her clit where I’m watching. If I lean just right, I can see both at the same time, and that’s sexy as hell.
“Take me, take all of me, Al. I’m gonna come down your pretty little throat. You want that?” I growl.
She whimpers hungrily.
And that does it. She comes, bucking against her fingers, and my balls pull up tight as I blow, jets of cum filling her mouth. I hold her against me, n
ose buried to my skin as I make little thrusts into her throat that drive us both mad. I stream cum down her throat as she gulps me down, but it’s too much and some runs down her chin, where she scoops it up with one of her honey-coated fingers, sucking it clean of both of our juices.
“Fuck,” I sigh, returning to the shower from my fantasy. A shudder works its way through my body, muscles tensing and relaxing in order from my shoulders to my calves. “What the fuck was that?”
I haven’t come that hard in forever. I know that it’s because I was fantasizing about Allyson, something I haven’t let myself do in years. It feels important that I wasn’t picturing my high-school-era girlfriend, a blast from the past, so to speak, but rather, the Allyson I see now. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, which knots my stomach up.
Quick as I can, I soap up the rest of me and then rinse my body and the shower wall, where my cum runs down the tile like an accusation.
Yeah, I’m an asshole, a filthy, crude motherfucker who probably never deserved a nice girl like her, but at least now, I’ll be able to handle being around Allyson at practice without needing to fuck her right there on the grass.
* * *
Kids are so fucking resilient. They take the news about Mike’s schedule change in stride, mostly just giving Allyson curious looks when I explain that she’s the new Head Coach.
Johnathan raises his hand. “But you’re still our real coach, right?” He blushes a bit as he says it, eyes darting to Al like he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he’s asking what all the other boys want to know too.
“Yep, you’re stuck with me. You just get her too.” I point at Allyson with a thumb. “So, let’s get to work.”
After my little session in the shower, I dressed in workout gear on purpose. I have no intention of standing around for ten minutes with Al while the boys run their warm-up laps. Nope. Today, I planned to run with them.
Rough Love Page 12