Page 9 of Game On

The windshield wipers squeaked to a halt as Shane turned off the ignition. Getting out of the car, he noticed a large, dark-haired woman, dressed in jeans and a chamois button-down shirt, standing at the trash cans just inside the garage. Her hands went to her hips as she greeted Shane with a smile that seemed to encompass her entire face.

“You must be the new guy,” she called out. “Come on in out of the rain. Your California blood can’t be used to this cold.” She waved him through to a door in the back of the garage. Shane followed her into the garage, not bothering to dispute her assumption he was Californian by birth. What did he care what these people thought of him. He just wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

“I’m Penny, the housekeeper,” she prattled on, her back to him as she led the way. “Coach said to expect you. He and his family always like to welcome the new players their first night in town. The Richardsons are good people.”

He thought Penny might be singing a different tune were she aware of the coach’s fling with the GM’s assistant. But, Shane figured it wasn’t his place to burst that bubble. They entered the house through the mud room. A row of floor-to-ceiling cubbies similar to those in the training facility were lined up along one wall. Each contained assorted jackets, more sporting equipment, backpacks, and shoes. Stepping over a pile of shoes scattered about the doorway, he carefully dodged two umbrellas drip-drying on the floor.

The conflicting aromas of garlic and freshly baked brownies greeted Shane when they stepped into the kitchen. The room was massive but homey, richly adorned with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and warm walnut cabinets. CNN droned on a flat-screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace, lit to ward off the chill brought on by the spring rain. A bulky sofa and two chairs took up the area in front of the fireplace, while a large farmhouse table occupied the spot in front of a huge picture window. Three teenage girls were spread out at the table, a laptop and notebooks covering its surface. They giggled as Shane walked in.

“Ignore the coven over there,” Penny said, her tone admonishing the girls. “They’re supposed to be working on a presentation for school.”

Penny motioned for him to have a seat in one of the stools parked along the island at the kitchen’s center.

“Coach will be here any minute. He just ran out to pick up some softball cleats for his youngest,” Penny said.

Shane suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the coach’s house, surrounded by his family. He knew what the coach was doing and he didn’t think it had anything to do with cleats for his kid. He remained standing in hopes of making a quick exit as Penny set a plate of brownies on the counter, still smiling at him. She took another plate over to the table where the girls were seated.

“Where’d Emma run off to?” Penny asked.

“She’s in the other room printing,” one girl managed to get out before shoving an entire brownie in her mouth.

The garage door opened as Penny headed for the back stairs. “Shane, I’ll be right down. I’m going to check to see if Lisa is awake. I know she wants to meet you.”

Shane could feel his palms begin to sweat. He had to get out of there. He had no intention of meeting the coach’s wife. The warm domesticity of this house was suffocating him. With the exception of his buddy Roscoe’s house, Shane didn’t do the family thing. It was all too unnatural for him.

He turned toward what he thought was the back door, only to collide with a teenage girl—Emma, he assumed. Papers she’d been holding went flying across the floor and she quickly bent down to retrieve them. Wavy strawberry blond hair hid her face as long, slender fingers efficiently snapped the papers off the floor. He was reminded of Carly and her long fingers passing over her reams of paperwork earlier that morning. God, he had to get out of there! He felt as if the pocket was closing in around him.

“We’re hooooome!” a young girl’s voice sang out.

Emma looked up at the same time. Shane felt as if he’d been blindsided and thrown to the turf for a loss. Blue eyes eerily similar to the ones that captivated him in Cabo San Lucas stared at him. A soft, shy smile adorned a face with a familiar smattering of freckles across her nose.

“Sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Shane felt the air leave his lungs as they both found their feet.

“Look, Em,” the younger girl cried. “Daddy got my ruby red cleats! Aren’t they the bomb?” A pixie version of the coach danced around the kitchen, bright green eyes shining as her ponytail flounced behind her.

“Molly, your uniform is bright orange. Have you no fashion sense at all?” Emma practically wailed at her sister.

“Who cares! I like ’em. I’m going to go show Mom. I know she’ll love ’em.” Molly bolted for the stairs, grabbing a brownie as she went.

“Dad, how could you? She’ll be a fashion don’t!” Exasperation adorning her face, Emma stood facing her father.

Matt Richardson smiled, leaning down to kiss his middle child on the forehead—much as he’d done with Carly earlier in the day. Shane’s gut clenched even tighter.

“I pick my battles where I can, sweetie pie. Red cleats are a fight I don’t care about winning.”

Clearly Emma didn’t agree with her father, letting out a huff as she walked back over to her friends.

“Welcome to Camp Chaos,” Coach grinned, extending his hand to Shane.

As the two men shook hands, the back door crashed open and loud footsteps thundered into the mudroom.

“Get off my case, Aunt Carly!” a male voice yelled. “You’re not my mother!”

And there it was. Confirmation that Shane was an ass. Carly March wasn’t fooling around with the coach. They were related somehow. He’d fumbled the play. Badly. Hell, he never should have pushed her buttons earlier in the day. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved she wasn’t having an affair with the coach or scared shitless about how and when she’d reveal the accusations he’d hurled at her. Right now, he was having trouble just getting a breath into his lungs.

A blur resembling a large teenage boy raced by.

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