Rough Love

by Landish, Lauren

  When Allyson arrived in athletic gear too, tiny little shorts that show off the creamy skin of her thighs and round ass plus a tank top that hugs her full tits before brushing down her belly, a new idea planted itself into my mind.

  “All right, line up for warm-up.” The boys hustle to the imaginary line in the grass. “You too, Coach.”

  Al’s eyes jump to me in surprise. “Me? I wasn’t planning on running. Mike never did.”

  I whisper but keep my voice loud enough that the boys can hear me. I want the façade of being nice even as I throw her to the wolves of pre-pubescent kids, letting peer pressure work for me. “Gotta prove yourself, Coach. Mike and I ran with the boys the first few practices. It’s good for teamwork.”

  She must see the glint of a dare in my eyes because I can see her baby blues go steely. She straightens her back and lines up. “Okay, so what’s the deal? Fastest wins?”

  She smirks, and I know she’s well aware that’s not how this goes. She’s giving the boys a chance to ‘teach’ her too. Good methodology, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s got Cooper, after all, and is probably a pro at working the system in her favor because a parent’s gotta have a lot of tools in their bag of tricks.

  “No!” the boys cry out in unison. “No man left behind!”

  But Cooper interrupts their chanting. “Uh, guys? My mom’s not a man. So maybe we should go with ‘No Wildcat left behind’ instead?”

  Pairs of eyes jerk to me for approval. “Sounds good to me. Good for you, Coach?”

  Allyson nods with a smile. “No Wildcat left behind, it is. On three . . .” She counts us down and we’re off.

  The boys are so much better at this now. They instinctively stay together, but they’re watching Allyson and me, adjusting as they need to so we all stay together. I push the pace a bit, wanting them to progress, and then pull back as Allyson starts panting.

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” I tell everyone, though I’m really just talking to Al. She darts a dirty look my way, but her breathing stabilizes.

  A few minutes later, we cross the finish line and she high-fives every boy. “Great job,” she tells them, and they tell her the same thing, a degree of respect earned in their eyes.

  I clap my hands, getting everyone’s attention. “We’re going to start with tackling again today. On the dummies!”

  The boys’ excitement is palpable. Every kid loves tackle day. It feels so raw and balls to the wall to run at something with the express intent of destroying it.

  But first, we review the angles of a hit, where their knees and shoulders should be, how to hold their head, and driving through with form. It almost sounds more like a geometry lesson, but it’s important so the boys are safe with each and every tackle. Even one bad hit can be catastrophic, so it’s all about muscle memory.

  Allyson and I work with the boys, sometimes giving correction and sometimes doing the drill right along with them.

  After a few minutes, I grab a big foam pad. “Okay, now let’s take it up a notch. Same drill, same form, but you’re going faster . . . and you gotta hit me.”

  A chorus of oohs goes through the boys and I chuckle.

  “Don’t get too excited. Ain’t none of you pipsqueaks gonna take me down. But that’s the point. You hit with all you’ve got, even when the target’s bigger and badder than you and you have no shot. You still give it your all.”

  Allyson’s been standing off to the side while I gave my rah-rah speech, but I have what’s probably the worst-slash-best idea ever. “Al, tackle me,” I order.

  She startles. “What?”

  “Tackle me. Show them how it’s done,” I repeat.

  She laughs nervously. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She’s looking at the boys like they’re going to agree with her, but they’re on my side. “Get him, Coach. Take him down!”

  The power of positive peer pressure is on my side once again as she nods slowly, agreeing. She lines up and I coach her through it.

  “Step one, most important . . . wait until I say go. You don’t want to hurt me or hurt yourself because you’re rushing.” I drop into position myself, holding the thick pad up and setting my feet apart for stability. I don’t think Al’s really going to come at me with all she has, but the boys will so this is a good practice round for me too.

  “Head up, shoulders down,” I say, and Allyson obliges. “Feet buzzing.” She shuffles her feet, dancing on her toes. “Shoot ’n rip,” I say and clench my teeth, preparing for the hit.

  Allyson runs dead at me, fiery challenge in her eyes. She thinks she’s taking me down, I think in the half-second before she gets to me.

  The slam is nothing to me, a mosquito on a horse’s flank, more annoyance than anything else. But I push back, holding my position as she drives into the padded dummy between us.

  Suddenly, my foot slips on the grass beneath me and she has me teetering. Her momentum and my loss of balance send us careening backward and she tackles me to the grass. My breath whooshes out and Allyson yells in surprise, “Whoo!”

  Time utterly freezes. With her on top of me, our bare legs tangled, and our faces so close together, I can see the freckles I used to count with kisses over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. There used to be twenty-two, but this close, I can see there are definitely more from the years of sun upon her face. Our eyes lock in shock, her mouth opening like she’s trying to say something. An apology, maybe? An insult, more likely.

  “You okay?” I ask even though I’m the one sprawled out on the grass. I can smell her, a sweet blend of perfume and sweat, and then she wiggles, trying to get up.

  “Oh, my God! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened,” she rambles. It’s cute how freaked out she is, but the squirming is not doing me any favors when she’s this close and smells like sweat and flowers, which reminds me of sex with her.

  “It’s fine. Let me help you up,” I grumble.

  “Oh, I’ve got it,” she argues.

  “Al, quit wiggling or this is gonna be a different kinda show,” I say under my breath.

  She gasps and finds the adrenaline to pop to her feet, leaving me on the ground with just the big pad to cover my hard on.

  “Shit.” I keep my voice down because of the boys, but the curse comes out unbidden at her reaction. It’s only natural, not like it’s my fault my cock stood right up at attention when she was writhing around all over me with her sexy body.

  I roll to my side, coming up into a squat to give my cock some breathing room as I hide behind the dummy. “You good, Coach?”

  Allyson’s nod is a bit too fast, but I return my attention to the boys, who are watching slack jawed.

  “And this is why you give it your all every single time. Would you have thought Coach had a chance in hell at taking me down?” They all shake their heads, and I agree with them. “Me neither. But she came in full-throttle, and I wasn’t as ready as I thought.”

  Why does this sound like a bigger metaphor than the tackle she just got on me?

  “My foot slipped, but that’s an excuse. Truth is, she took me down, fair and square. And if we’d been playing a game, it’d be a fair tackle. So even when you think you’ve got zero chance, you’ve still got a shot. Remember that next time you have to line up against someone bigger than you. Remember tiny Coach” —I hold my finger and thumb up, an inch apart— “taking out ‘Brutal’ Tannen.” I hold my arms out wide, making myself as big as possible in comparison.

  Little do they know, their coach did more than take me out. Once upon a time, she utterly destroyed me. But that wasn’t on the football field, so I try to keep my mind where it belongs.

  “All right, who’s up first?”

  With Allyson’s unexpected success, all the boys are chomping at the bit to get a shot at me. None of them are successful, but they have a damn good time trying. They find success in counting the number of steps back they can push me, and I fight harder to hold my line, maki
ng them work for each and every inch.

  They’re gonna be a great team come game time.

  Too quickly, our first practice with the new coaching lineup is over. It went better than I expected, honestly. I was afraid we’d resort to snarky biting remarks or thinly-veiled insults. The not-quite grind was definitely preferable, though embarrassing.

  We gather up, rallying around for our cheer. Allyson’s hand lays on mine and all I can think of is taking her soft palm in my rough, callused one. But then the rest of the team’s sweaty hands pile in and we count down. “Three, two, one . . . GO WILDCATS!” The dogpile of hands dissipates instantly, but I feel Allyson’s hand leave mine in slow motion.

  The kids all make a run for the parking lot, parents trailing behind.

  “You got the boys tonight or is Michelle coming?” I ask without playing the words in my head. I realize a heartbeat too late that they sound rather damning. “I mean, I figured we should talk through some of the team stuff.”

  Her face relaxes slightly, though she still looks wary of me. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m taking the boys home, but they can hang for a few.” She looks over to Cooper and Liam, giving them permission to play. “Just stay close so you can hear me when it’s time to go.”

  They run off toward the duck pond, their laughter echoing back to us in the wind.

  Chapter 14

  Allyson

  “That went pretty well,” I say with certainty, but then I hedge. “I think.”

  Bruce grunts but is making progress with actual words. “Mostly. Except for the part where you tackled me.”

  He’s teasing me and has an actual smile breaking across his face when it’s just the two of us. It’s breathtaking, especially when it reaches his eyes. They sparkle like I haven’t seen in way too long, though the once-familiar light is surrounded by new crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  I push at his shoulder playfully, wanting the easiness to continue. “You told me to.”

  Oh, shit. I’m flirting.

  Am I flirting? I didn’t mean to, but it just happened. When was the last time I actually did this?

  A quick flashback of the handful of dates I went on after my divorce plays across my mind like a flickering movie. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, a ‘hop back up on that horse’ mentality, and I’d wanted to show Jeremy, and myself, that I was fine. I think the ink was still wet on my divorce papers when I’d downloaded a popular dating app.

  I quickly realized after a few dates that I wasn’t fine or ready and just as quickly deleted the app, choosing instead to take the time to work on me, in particular undoing all the mental shit Jeremy did to me.

  I’ve been happy for a while now, but somehow, it never seemed like riding that horse again was in my cards. Too busy, too focused on Cooper, too proud of being on my own.

  But here in this moment, flirting with Bruce feels easy and natural.

  “That’s true, but I wasn’t expecting to slip and end up in the grass. You got me good.” The smallest chuckle makes his chest shake, making me feel victorious that I’ve made this beast Bruce has become smile and laugh.

  Maybe this is going to be okay? This has got to be a good sign that we can work together for the kids and no one will go ballistic or get their feelings hurt. Realistically, I know Bruce would be the explosive one, and I’m the one with the most potential of having my heart stomped on. I don’t want to want Bruce, but the magnetic pull he has on me is strong, which means I have to be even stronger to fight it.

  “That’s what you’re going with?” I banter back. “The old ‘I slipped’ excuse? You said it yourself. I took the infamous Brutal Tannen down fair and square.”

  “You’re something else, Allyson Meyers.” It sounds like high praise, maybe even an admission he didn’t intend to make, as he shakes his head and eyes me thoughtfully. I can feel his eyes sweeping along my skin like a palpable touch. “You okay from the tackle? Sorry I didn’t even ask. I was a little caught up.”

  I nod slowly, my lip disappearing behind my teeth in an attempt to keep words back. I’m not even sure what I want to say, what I want to ask, but I know it’s not about the tackle. No, it’s all there, fighting to get free from the deep, dark hole I’ve shoved those thoughts into. And letting those birds fly sounds like a dangerous idea.

  Bruce’s thumb reaches up to brush the edge of my mouth, and I don’t stop the poutiness of my lower lip as it pops from my teeth to chase his touch.

  The light moment’s gone in a poof, replaced by the heated thought of our bodies pressed against each other, even though the pad had been between us. I don’t mean to, but my attention drops to his crotch, remembering his earlier warning about his erection.

  “I’m okay. Are you? That was a pretty hard hit.”

  Fire. Dynamite. Nuclear fuckin’ bombs. I’m playing with them all at once, daring them to consume me, but I can’t stop, even as my mind screams at me to back away slowly and run the other way. As loud as my brain is, my body is louder, hungrier, needier, and its growls of desire are deep and hot. And undeniable.

  He steps closer, and I can feel myself leaning in as he pulls me into his orbit. Sexy, big, growly man with eyes I want to fall into, swimming in their dark depths until I gasp for air. Suddenly, riding that horse sounds like something I could do. I’ve never been a real cowgirl, but I’m sure as hell that I could ride the fuck out of Bruce Tannen right now.

  “You’re always a hard hit. To my body . . .”

  Yessss. His words are vibrations against my skin, though his lips don’t touch me. I tilt my head, giving him better access to my neck, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, I can just feel the heat of his breath.

  “To my mind . . .”

  Mmmm.

  “To my heart . . .”

  Errrk. Record scratch on that one.

  “What?” I ask in confusion. “I didn’t break your heart. You broke mine.” It’s a bitter accusation that reminds me why this is such a bad idea.

  Bruce’s brows jump together and his face goes stony cold. “You said yourself that we have history. Don’t try to rewrite it now because you need dicking.”

  Crass, crude motherfucker.

  Wait, no . . . not that last one because I’m not playing into his game. He’s trying to distract me, throwing up walls and flashbangs to spin me around. I don’t play games . . . not anymore. So I call his bullshit right out, no holds barred as I step back to get some space between us.

  “I don’t need dicking. If I wanted to get fucked, I could get fucked ten ways to Sunday by any number of guys on several different websites.” His jaw clenches, and I take that as acknowledgement that I’m right and keep diving deeper. “And I’m not rewriting shit. What happened, happened. It was a long time ago, and neither of us can change it now. Nor am I willing to hop on your guilt-trip train. It’s over. Done.”

  With that, I turn to walk away, not giving a shit that my damp ponytail probably flicks him in the face. He deserves it after his little digs.

  His rough hand wraps around my forearm, stopping me, and I instinctively jerk it out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

  Bruce holds his hands up, fingers spread wide and showing me his palms. He’s acting like I’m a skittish animal that might go into a biting-foamy-mouth-rabid-attack mode any second. “What did you mean?”

  “About what?” I bite. But not with my mouth, just my tone. Besides, I don’t have rabies or any other diseases. I know because I got tested after Jeremy.

  Bruce speaks quietly. “You said I broke your heart, not the other way around. I remember that conversation, Allyson. You broke up with me.”

  Sometimes, emotions and the way we express them get a little haywire in our brains. That’s why people laugh at funerals or cry happy tears. Like it’s all just so much to process that the little emotional characters at the helm just start pulling levers and flipping switches, and paradoxical emotions pour forth without sense.

  That’s the only reason I can
imagine for what happens next.

  I laugh. And not some dainty, sweet bell-tinkling laughter. Oh, no, big belly laughs erupt from me like I just heard the best joke ever told. But the truth is, what Bruce just said isn’t a joke.

  He’s looking at me like I’ve lost every marble I ever had, and maybe I have because I take the time to actually explain myself. My therapist would be proud. I am.

  “I might’ve been the one to say the words ‘it’s over’, but we both know it was over long before that.” I emphasize the words, wanting him to hear them specifically. Because surely, he knows that I was well aware of what was happening here at home while I was away at school. We never discussed it then, but I knew.

  I knew so much it cut me to the bone and destroyed me. I knew that things would never be the same between Bruce and me and that I’d never love like that again, innocent and naïve, giving my whole heart without reservation.

  Bruce leans down, putting his face in mine. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?”

  If he did that to anyone else, they’d melt under the sheer weight of his demand to speak. That I can withstand it gives me a twisted delight at how far I’ve come.

  Or maybe it’s a sign of how much you trust him.

  Well, shit. That’s true too, and probably the larger contributing factor that lets me hold my position without giving Bruce an inch.

  “I knew you were always in a hurry to get off the phone with me, didn’t want to hear about my classes or what was going on with me. I knew . . .” I pause, taking a fortifying breath as I delve into the most painful betrayal of my young life. “About the parties after the football games, about walking Naomi Wilcox to classes and carrying her books, about giving her rides home. I knew you were cheating on me.”

  His eyes are wide as saucers and dark as ink, but pure fury radiates off him. “Are you fuckin’ serious right now, Allyson? Is that what you think? Who filled your head with all that shit?”