Page 61 of Kiss Me Tonight

His advice feels like the worst kind of insult.

Thing is? I deserve it, one-hundred percent.

Giving me the cold shoulder—literally—Levi’s cheeks burn red as she addresses Brien. “Get him out of here, Adam. I’m not dealing with the bullshit. Not today.”

“No can do,” my old friend sing-songs, palms raised to the sky in anaw, shuckspose if I’ve ever seen one. “I’ve got a journalist sitting in my office who drove up here from Portland. Three-hour trip, guys. He’s determined.”

“From where?” Levi asks with her profile to me.

“TheNew England Sports Advocate.”

Not. A. Chance. In. Hell.

“No press,” I growl.NESAmight as well be theCelebrity Tea Presentsof the sports-journalism world. It’s a cesspool of social climbers all looking for their big break, each so-called “journalist” willing to write just about anything to catch the eye of a more established publication. That my old buddy is even considering it is . . . concerning, to say the least. “And especially not them.”

Brien stares at me like I’ve snipped the wires to his favorite gaming set. “You don’t have a choice, DaSilva. He’s here and we could use the publicity.”

Only, it’s not publicity for the team that journalist is looking to expose—it’s me. “Bri, are you seriously gonna sit there and tell me thatNESAwould be looking at London Highif I weren’t here?”

“Okay, I’m seriously over the ego trip.” Levi fingers the hem of her shirt, not even sparing me a single glance. “Dominic can cover practice while I take care of the interview. Let theassistantdo his job—how about that?”

It’s a low blow and she knows it.

In the almost two weeks that we’ve been coaching together, we’ve taken on a partnership role with the team. Sure, she has the final say. But that hasn’t stopped her from seeking me out and asking my opinion about a play or allowing me to run drills and scrimmages and everything else as I see fit.

The only place I’ve worked the assistant angle is when we met with the parents at the Golden Fleece, and even then I pulled my weight.

Feeling the sharp blade of annoyance pierce me, I mutter, “Don’t even go there, Coach.”

“What?” she baits, her finger digging into my chest like she’s turned my own blade back on me. “You worried I’ll mess up your mojo by making you look like a decent human being for the article and not like the jerk you actually are? You seriously are the only person I’ve ever met who takes pride in being a complete tool.”

“Ooookaynow.” Brien’s hand collides with my shoulder, pushing me back. “While I’d like to play babysitter and sit you both down for a time-out, unfortunately you’re going to have to pull on your adult panties and get your shit together.” Another thrust of his hand against my shoulder. “I’ve got a big-time journalist wanting to talk with you both about how your careers have landed you in small-town Maine. You will not screw this up for the team. Some of those seniors need a slice of hope, and a drop of their name in a paper with their circulation numbers could be a game changer.”

I let the silence linger only momentarily. Then, “I haven’t missed your pep talks. I thought maybe I would but . . . no. Definitely don’t.”

Brien sticks out an arm, head turned toward the field. “Go.”

“The kids—”

“I played quarterback for LSU, Levi. I think I know what I’m doing.Go.”

Like scolded children, Levi and I lurch into step and head for the school.

The silence is damning.

In the past, it’s never mattered to me who I piss off. A coach? They’ll get over it when they see the stats I bring in for the team. A teammate? Nothing a six-pack of beer can’t solve. A friend? Well, haven’t had many of those.

But with Levi . . . I’m a tangled web of fucking emotions. I want to push her down, like a preteen boy with a crush he doesn’t know how to handle—other than to make her life miserable in hope of scoring some points. I want to apologize for being a sorry sack of shit who lashes out when he feels off kilter. I want to pull her to a stop and drag her into my arms and tell her that yesterday’s conversation was the most genuine one I’ve had in years.

If ever.

And that scares the shit out of me.

“I’ll take care of the interview,” she says, her tone all kinds of huffy. “God knows you can’t be trusted with words right now.”

I yank open the double-wide doors and angle my body so she can skate past me. The scent of strawberries catches in my nose, and fuck me, but she smells delicious. Fresh and fruity. Like woman and sunshine and hopes and dreams all wrapped up with a perfectly tied bow.

“Levi, I—”

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