Win Me Over Page 2

  “She’ll be amazing. Anne doesn’t do anything without doing it well. I kind of hate her for it.”

  “Nuh-uh. You love Mommy,” Claire said matter-of-factly as she continued to load treat after treat into the pink box.

  Mike finished off his second cookie. “Don’t tell anyone, but your cookies could make a grown man cry.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, but the rule is no one cries in this kitchen but me.” Her expression must have been a little too telling, because Mike gave her a raised eyebrow.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. It was in that guy tone, the one that said he was worried but really hoped she didn’t elaborate because he would have no idea how to handle it.

  Callie let out a dramatic sigh as she lowered the lid on the box before Claire could clean her out. The tiny shyster had already moved on to the tray of scones and was closing in on blue and white Panther cupcakes. “Oh yeah, I don’t really need to cry. Not today. But my mother did just leave, so there’s that.”

  “Big yellow hair, Mustang convertible with ‘HR HINES’ written on the plate?”

  “God, yes, she wanted it to say ‘her highness,’ but that obviously was too long to fit.” Callie groaned. Barbara had sported the HRHINES license plate since Callie was six, based on the name of her father’s plumbing business, Royal Flush. His advertisements featured her handsome yet rotund father in a crown and cape, holding a plunger instead of a scepter. It was quite a treat to go to high school and be known for being the princess of plungers.

  Mike chuckled. “She looked … interesting.”

  “You’re being sweet. Hipsters and feminists are interesting. My mother is—”

  “She’s an abomination. But we love her.” Eric cut Callie off as he breezed through the kitchen to grab a package of napkins and head back out front.

  “We do love her. But visits from her exhaust me emotionally.”

  “Sorry, Cal.” Mike picked up the box and began to herd Claire toward the door. “Why don’t you go over to Anne’s tonight? She’s a mess trying to prepare for the conference, and I know how hanging out together always makes you feel better. Drink wine, eat cupcakes, or do whatever female bonding shit you do.”

  “Uncle Mike, the s word is a no-thank-you word, ’member?”

  Callie laughed at Claire’s scolding of Mike. Their sweet little Claire was an original. In Callie’s professional opinion Mike and Anne needed to get the child a sibling and quick. In a crowd she was sweet and shy, but around those she was close to she was a little princess herself.

  “I seem to use a lot of no-thank-you words,” Mike said quietly before he followed Claire back to the front of the store. He turned to Callie once more at the front door, giving her a serious look. “But seriously, Anne would never say so, but I think she could use a visit. She’s stressed, and I’m not good with things I can’t fix for her. I’d appreciate you going over and cheering her up.”

  Callie groaned. “Why do you have to keep being so perfect? It’s really annoying.”

  Mike grinned. “I adore you, too, Callie.”

  Eric tossed Mike a bottle of chocolate milk for Claire and then before he and Claire left he called over his shoulder, “Thanks, guys. See ya later.”

  The door shut behind them and Callie glanced at the clock. “Oh crap!” She ran to the back, untying her flour-dusted apron. “Eric, I’m gonna be late to practice if I don’t get out of here.”

  The dance team met immediately after school except for Fridays, which were often game days. If it was a home game the team would perform at halftime. Admittedly, this second job had turned out to be a little bit more of a time commitment than Callie had first anticipated, but she was surprised at how much she’d instantly fallen in love with it. So far it was worth the craziness in her life. She figured this was the time. She was young and healthy. Single and definitely not looking. If she was going to live, she intended to live big and stay busy.

  Plus it was dance, which had always been her escape. Her life had always been hectic; when she was younger it was schoolwork, pageants, and all the drama that came along with being the daughter of Her Hines and the King of Plungers. No matter how crazy life had been, Callie had always made room for dance, ever since her mother had enrolled her in tap and ballet at the age of three. That had started a lifelong love affair. She loved it all, jazz, modern, even ballroom, which she’d taken in college, where she’d earned a scholarship to be on the university’s dance team. Now she’d come full circle, she was teaching, and it was amazing.

  Twenty minutes later Callie was in the high school gym breathing in the stench of teenage sweat, hairspray, and Victoria’s Secret lotion. But she was happy. The music was pounding, and she was joining her girls in a hard stretch before they practiced their latest routine, the one they’d be performing tomorrow night. She let out a breath and felt all of her stress fade away.

  * * *

  Bennett Clark was late for practice, which really pissed him off, but a student needing some extra help on a homework assignment took precedence over football. For at least a few minutes.

  Bennett had texted his assistants to let them know, but he hated to be late. Especially when it was only the third full week of school. These first few weeks of practice were critical, particularly for the new players. It was when the team started to really come together and find their footing as a unit, but more than that, for Bennett it was also vital that he make sure his players understood his expectations for them as athletes and students.

  He picked up his pace as he hit the hallway that ran alongside the gym, heading toward the back door leading out to the field. A loud female voice coming from inside the gym caught his attention.

  “Ladies, if your rear isn’t in the air, this stretch isn’t doing anything for your hamstrings. I want your boobs between your thighs.”

  Huh? Bennett came to a complete stop and then slowly peeked into the double doors that led into the massive gymnasium. Thankfully, the girls were all facing the opposite wall, so they couldn’t see him. Once again the bossy feminine voice vibrated off every shiny surface.

  “Good. Hold it. These muscles need to be nice and warm.”

  He could only blink. This wasn’t Jane, the dance team coach’s voice. Had she quit? Been fired? He’d heard the rumors last spring about her sexting with an administrator but tried to ignore gossip. Maybe this was a sub.

  “Okay, good. Now everyone in line so we can do the assembly kick routine full-out. Let’s start on eight with chins up. Smiles wide.” She punctuated the command with several rapid fire claps as the girls shuffled into place. And then … he saw her.

  Damn.

  She was on the small side, but her healthy curves were accentuated by her tight black pants. Good God, her ass was perfect, round and full but also firm. Tight. Shit.

  This was so not Jane.

  Bennett swallowed hard, his throat going dry. Her muscular legs were spread in a wide stance as she stood with her little hot-pink tennis shoes gripping the polished wooden floor, her hands grasping her hips, and her wildly curly hair pulled into a high ponytail. He wanted desperately to see her whole face, but she was also turned away from him. She began counting off, and on eight the line of dancers looked to the side and began kicking in unison.

  When he realized the girls were starting to turn in his direction he took off. A male teacher appearing to gawk at the dance team wouldn’t look good, so he sped up—cursing the pain that shot down his thigh—and burst through the metal doors and into the sunlight. Squinting, he took the shallow stairs with a rail down the incline, because the grassy hill was a killer on his bad leg, even though it was faster.

  It had been years since his accident, but the injury never failed to get a little tender during football season, when he was frequently on his feet for long periods of time. He drew the line at taking the longest yet least painful route—down the wheelchair ramp. A man still had his dignity to protect.

  The familiar and welco
ming sound of grunts, and skin on vinyl, met his ears and his body released tension like a balloon deflating. The vibrant green and white of the gridiron, the stench of sweat, the growl of a pissed-off defense coach. This was his world. Coaching high school football would never have been his first choice, but of the many regrets Bennett had in his thirty years, deciding to take this job would never be one of them. Never mind that coaching was the only way he could keep football as a permanent fixture in his life after his accident.

  Coaching had turned out to be a perfect fit and he couldn’t have asked for a better school. Football in Preston was a way of life. Most residents would no more miss a Friday night game than they would miss church on Sunday. He was from Texas, where high school football was part of their religion, so he was familiar with the mentality. Welcomed it even.

  Bennett made his way to the sidelines of the practice field and sought out his good friend and assistant coach Reggie. “Thanks for getting them started, man; sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem. We just finished warming up. Guys are amped up today. I can feel it. I let John take the defense to start drills, offense is stretching and reviewing the playbook with Ted, and now that you’re here I’m taking my guys. I’m sure they’re done running in this heat. I figured you want to work with Tate and Lane.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They stood and watched the boys for a minute until Bennett couldn’t help himself anymore. Her cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “Hey, uh, what happened to Jane? She get sacked over the shit from last year?”

  Reggie was no dummy. His deep chuckle told Bennett the man knew exactly why he’d asked, yet he never took his eyes off the boys on the field. “I wondered when you were gonna see her. She’s a treat, isn’t she?”

  Bennett didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. He and Reggie had been coaching together for six years. They had a bond that didn’t require eye contact or even speaking, most of the time. It reminded Bennett of the relationships he’d developed with teammates over the years. Football did that, created a brotherhood. Reggie had played college ball and then gotten married and become a family man. Not every player with heart and grit was destined for the pros, just as not every player who made it to the NFL ended up a celebrity or even a success story.

  “At least now I know why you were late. You got a look at the new dance coach,” Reg said with a smirk and a little hip shuffle that he was known for.

  “Please, you know me better than that. I was with a student,” Bennett said, and Reg finally turned his way and raised an eyebrow. Bennett shrugged. “Okay, obviously I did see her. Might have held me up for a minute. Just a minute.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Reggie chuckled. “Why don’t you talk to her? I’m sure she’s dying to meet the beloved Coach Bennett. Do you some good to spend some time with a woman, you know? Just something to think about.”

  Bennett shook his head in response before blowing on his whistle. He headed out into the field toward his quarterbacks, trying not to dwell on Reggie’s comment. Yeah, it had been a while since Bennett had been with a woman. Eight months, and then a year before that. And then probably a year before that.

  He tried not to think about it, because it was downright depressing. But in his defense, he had a lot on his plate with teaching and coaching and there wasn’t room in his life for a relationship. Casual or otherwise … because despite the implied intent in the word casual, those often ended up just as messy as the real deal. There’d been a time when he’d thought he’d found his one and only woman. How wrong he’d been.

  Like so many things in his life, he’d lost his fiancée, Ashley, due to his accident. Apparently once a professional football contract was no longer part of his future, neither was she. In retrospect it probably shouldn’t have come as a shock, but at the time it had thrown him. Hard. Yeah he’d been in a dark spot at the time, but wasn’t that when the people you loved were supposed to prove it? She’d up and left him when he needed her the most.

  Luckily, teaching and football helped to remind him that all was not lost. His life in no way resembled the one he grew up imagining he’d have, but it was good. Respectable, if not a bit lonely.

  Okay, a whole lot lonely.

  However, this season there was no reason to have a damn pity party. This team was going to be amazing. He could feel it, and he’d learned to trust his instincts.

  Bennett stood under the goalpost for a while, shifting his weight off his bad leg while he watched his offense run a few drills. As a coach he knew every position was important; each played its role in a win and was necessary. But as a former quarterback himself, he couldn’t help but be a little partial. His starting senior quarterback, Tate, was outrageously talented.

  Bennett watched the kid throw a perfect spiral down the field straight into the wide receiver’s hands. All the work Bennett had put into molding Tate Grayson for the past three years had paid off and the coach was incredibly proud. They were all great kids, but there were always a couple who shined. The ones you knew were going to be something.

  Tate wasn’t without his faults. He had a problem carrying his emotions onto the field, but his arm was amazingly consistent and strong. He could run fast and size up the opposing defense in a matter of seconds, and he had reflexes capable of keeping up. Bennett had a feeling it had been drilled into Tate from a young age, because the kid’s dad was an overbearing ass. Tate Grayson Sr. never failed to remind Bennett how to do his job and that Grayson’s son deserved to start every game now that he was a senior.

  Tate wouldn’t start every game, however, because not only was that unfair—there were, in fact, other quarterbacks—but also it wasn’t healthy. A player needed to rest during a game. But Bennett couldn’t deny that he had a winning combination between Tate and his best friend, Jason Starkey, the best left tackle Bennett had ever had.

  The two boys had grown up together, played Pee Wee, rec, and club league as teammates. They executed plays like they shared a brain; Jason always seemed to know where Tate was going to end up even before he did. He made Tate nearly untouchable, and whatever magic it was, it was a beautiful sight. It was what state championships were made of.

  Bennett tossed out a few pointers to Tate from the side, nodding his head when he nailed it and encouraging him when he didn’t. Reggie and the special teams guys had grouped in the side field and stopped to watch the last pass, cheering when the receiver caught it and immediately rolled into a somersault.

  Bennett grinned. He enjoyed hearing the players interact with one another, not only cheering but also even yelling insults and innocent threats. He knew well that this kind of fraternizing was critical for the guys to trust one another and be successful. Add hard work, skill, and determination, and you had a winning team.

  Luckily for his players, Bennett’s time in the pros had earned them some extra attention from university scouts who had already started contacting him for visits. There were quite a few players—not just Tate and Jason—who could very well catch someone’s eye this season. Time to get to work so that could happen.

  A quick blow on the whistle and then Bennett bracketed his hands around his mouth and called Tate over to his side. Sweat dripped down Tate’s overly long hair as he pulled off his dirty white helmet and let it dangle from his fingers.

  “You see that pass a minute ago, Coach?”

  “You bet I did. Nearly eighty yards, wasn’t it?” He grinned.

  “Baker’s on fire, too; he’s been catching everything I throw,” Tate said, his breath ragged.

  “I saw his gymnastics moves. Nice.” Bennett cleared his throat, not liking what he was going to have to bring up next. “Listen, as much as I don’t want to get into your personal business, I’m going to have to ask you a question. I heard you may have a problem with one of the guys on the South team.” Tate looked away instantly, and Bennett knew he’d hit a nerve.

  Teenage drama was inevitable; it penetrated all facets of their young lives a
nd teaching and coaching meant Bennett wasn’t immune to it. Usually drama with his players was centered on one of two things: family and girls.

  Despite Tate’s dickhead of a father, his problem usually seemed to be girls. He was a good-looking kid, weight trained constantly, was way too cocky for his own good. Reminded Bennett of himself as a teen. But this time it wasn’t about a female—well, not that kind anyway. Bennett had overheard some girls in his second hour gossiping and caught enough to know that Tate’s little sister—a sophomore—had suffered an ugly breakup last weekend. It just so happened to be with one of the linebackers from tomorrow’s opposing team. From what Bennett could gather from the conversation, Tate hadn’t taken it well, which hadn’t surprised Bennett one bit. The guy was seriously protective of his little sister.

  Bennett figured the best plan was to get Tate’s best throws in early, before the shit talking had time to turn ugly and get the team all riled up. There was no doubt Bennett would be pulling Tate off the field at some point, hopefully before a fight broke out and the kid did something he couldn’t take back. It didn’t happen often, but these young guys were all muscles, aggression, and raging hormones.

  “I won’t give you any trouble, Coach.” Tate finally met Bennett’s eyes.

  They were both silent for a moment. Bennett finally cleared his throat and spoke. “You need to talk about it?” he asked gruffly. “You know I’m here for you.”

  “Yeah.” The young man nervously dug his cleats into the ground. “I know you are, but no. I can handle it. I swear I’ll leave it off the field.”