Page 109 of The Problem with Players

30

AVERY

Nathan Pierce drove me wild. In good, bad, and ugly ways. The good: kissing him. Oh, that was so, so good. The bad: my mind wanted to do a lot more than kiss that man. The ugly: my heart wanted to let him in more than I already had.

As we moved closer to our final series, the series that would make us head to the playoffs, I was a ball of nerves. Yet the team was at their best, and Nathan was a soldier at keeping my panics at ease. I felt as if I had a lot to prove, not only for my team but also for myself. There had been more and more whispering around about how I should’ve allowed Nathan to step up as head coach. That his experience would’ve been a better fit for the guys.

A few coaches even went as far as to call me a stuck-up woman with a resting bitch face. The low blows at times were enough to make me want to rage, but whenever the word “butterflies” left Nathan’s mouth, I’d take a few deep breaths and remove myself from any situation that raised my blood pressure.

Plus, getting covered in his kisses when we got home eachnight didn’t hurt too much. Waking up to his good morning kisses wasn’t a bad touch, either.

My mind tried to keep me steady with my interactions with Nathan, but I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t seem to be leading the plays more and more each day.

When we got to our final game in our last series before the playoffs and won, I knew my heart would fully take over for the remainder of the season. Nathan Pierce helped get us to the playoffs. He’d helped scouts see more and more of our players. He made a difference to Honey Creek Hornets, and he’d made a difference to me.

My hardened heart somewhat began to soften around him.

That both thrilled me and terrified me all at once.

Yet there was still a sliver of doubt within my system as I thought about what others were saying. Maybe our winning season had nothing to do with me at all. Maybe it was Nathan who improved the game, not me. That did a number on my ego, but my heart?

My heart just wanted to keep beating for him and his kisses.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I can’t believe we made the playoffs!” I shouted, my heart pounding as Nathan headed to his kitchen to grab a bottle of champagne. My body still buzzed with excitement as I paced his living room, clapping my hands together. I’d never felt prouder than I did that evening, seeing my boys celebrate the victory.

“It was the most intense game I’ve ever been a part of,” Nathan said as he walked into the living room with two glasses of champagne.

He held one out toward me. I downed it instantly. He laughed and handed me another glass. I downed that, too.

“I should’ve just opened two bottles, and we should’ve drunk straight from those,” he jested.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well…”

Within minutes, we sat on his living room floor, each of uschugging champagne straight from the bottles, laughing about how wild it was that the game went in our favor.

“I’ve never seen those boys put their all into something the way they did that. I almost threw up watching it happen. And for Cam to get the winning hit! A grand freaking slam at that! Gosh! That kid deserved it. He’s one of the best players out there,” I expressed. “I know you helped get him to that spot, too. I can’t thank you enough for building his confidence, Nathan.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to them,” I said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “I still hate you.”

He shoved me back. “With hate like this, who needs love?”

I shoved him back. “Hate is better than love anyway. But still, maybe Ray was right. Maybe you should’ve been head coach.”

He shoved me back. “Bullshit. That team listens to you. Your tough love drives them. You were made for that position. I’m just happy to help.”

I shoved him again. “Yeah, I appreciate the assistance even though I hate you.”

As I began to pull my arm back, he gently wrapped his arm around my wrist. His eyes were gentle and packed with care as he looked at me. His stare fell to my lips before he rose back to my eyes. “How much do you hate me, Coach?”

My heart began beating faster as I placed the champagne bottle in my other hand down on the floor. Every butterfly that fluttered within my stomach from his touch began to intensify as he held his intense stare with mine.

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies…

“A lot,” I lied.

He pulled me closer to him. “A lot, a lot or a little, a lot?”

---