Page 19 of Love Game

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Kate’s first indication that there’d been a shift in the force was the sudden influx of football players wandering the halls of the athletic center. Usually, the big guys went to ground the minute spring scrimmages ended, but not this year. Rumor had it that Coach McMillan not only extended his program’s spring practice schedule into May, but also made it mandatory for returning seniors to participate in at least part of the summer football camps, unless they presented a written request for recusal. Her spies told her that only one player had asked to be excused and then only because his family would be traveling abroad during those weeks.

The other big change was that the training center was now crammed full of meatheads clanging plates and talking trash about the amount of weight they could lift in a clean and jerk. She’d always had the facilities to herself early in the morning, but now the place crawled with enormous linebackers, tight ends who lived up to their titles, and wideouts whose purpose was God only knows, what with shoulders as broad as a compact car. And for better or worse, they seemed to love having her there. They all wanted to talk training with her, even though their conditioning coach, Scott Jenkins, was standing right there, his ever-present clipboard in hand.

Kate found herself equally annoyed and amused by their antics. One morning, one of the overfed jockstraps—most likely hopped up on an extra bowl of Wheaties—asked if he could bench-press her. Kate graciously declined his offer, then countered with one of her own—a phone call to his mother. She explained that she wanted to ask how his mom might feel about her son speaking so disrespectfully to a woman. The boy immediately apologized, then made his way to the circuit equipment, where he now retreated each time she came in.

Still, she liked talking to them. A new hopefulness fueled their determination. Though none of them dared to mention Danny McMillan to her by name, she was pleased to see them coming around. It was heartening to hear big talk coming from players who’d looked like puppies who’d been whipped with the newspaper mere weeks before.

“Hey, Scott,” she said, drawing up beside the assistant coach as he made an indecipherable mark on the paper trapped in the clipboard. “How are they looking?”

“Awesome,” he answered without looking up from his notations. A line bisected his sandy brows as he scribbled. “I’ve got the special teams, receivers, and quarterbacks regimens sorted out. Just need to get the O-line, D-line, and backs mapped out, and I’m running away to Tahiti.”

She started, taken aback by the uncharacteristic hyperbole. Scott was usually as unflappable as they came. It took a lot of intestinal fortitude for a guy who weighed little more than a buck and a half to stand over a three-hundred-pound tackle and demand two more sets of reps. “Wow, he’s really working you all that hard?”

“How many more, Coach?” the big guy asked, grunting and straining as he pushed the bar off his chest.

“Seven,” Scott replied without missing a beat. He looked at her at last, blinking as if he were the one with a steady stream of sweat pouring into his eyes. “Who’s working what?”

“McMillan. Is he really that much of a hard-ass that you’re willing to run all the way to the South Pacific to get away from him?”

Scott tilted his head, his confusion etched into every crease in his face. “Huh?”

“You said you were running away to Tahiti,” she reminded him.

“Oh! Yeah. For three weeks.” He smiled and tapped his eraser against the clipboard. “Twentieth anniversary. I went big.”

Just like that, the tips of her ears burst into flames. Thanking God for Scott’s oblivion, she waved a hand in front of her face to ward off a full-on blush and returned his smile. “Wow. You sure did.”

His gaze shifted to the mountain of muscle stretched out on the weight bench, and he gave an encouraging nod. “Three more, Pinky.” Before Kate had a chance to reconcile the massive young man in front of her with his nickname, Scott turned back to her. “Coach McMillan was cool with it. I’ll be back long before two-a-days start, even with the revised schedule.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder, curiosity gnawing at her insides as she surveyed those closest to them for potential gossips. Each of the young men seemed intent on his task, so she gave her natural inquisitiveness free rein. “Revised schedule?”

“Yeah, we’re staggering the practice units for fall workout. Bringing some of the squads in earlier, then bringing the team together as a whole later.” He smiled and patted Pinky on his quivering bicep. “Way to go, man.”

“What’s the point of that?” she asked, following Scott as he moved to another player. “Isn’t he afraid that will erode team cohesiveness?”

“Not at all.”

Kate jumped and whirled, meeting Danny McMillan’s eyes but pressing her hand to her throat to keep her heart from popping right out of her big, fat mouth. “No?” she managed to croak.

“I think it will allow us to focus some time and attention to areas we know need help.” A smirk twisted his handsome features as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. “I appreciate your concern though. It’s nice to know someone’s worrying over us, isn’t it, guys?”

He boomed the last, the deep baritone of his voice cutting through the clangor and clamor of the crowded weight room. A few born ass-kissers answered with a jaunty, “Yes, Coach.”

“Thank you, Coach Snyder,” Danny said with an overly solicitous grin. “It means everything to the team to have your support. Doesn’t it, fellas?”

This time, a few more voices bounced off the walls, but all Kate could hear was the roar of blood in her ears. The son of a bitch was patronizing her. He dared to stand there, in the athletic center built on the success of her program, and smirk at her. Like he’d accomplished something more than requiring a bunch of beefy boys to spend more time in the gym when the only thing he ever did successfully was blow his entire career sky-high.

It was too galling.

She wouldn’t let him get to her. She couldn’t say anything. Not here, in front of his players and coaches. Not in her house.

Squaring her shoulders as if preparing to shoot a free throw, she raised her chin a notch. “Well, I hope it works out for you,” she said coolly. Turning to one of the players, she let her smile warm a few degrees. “I’m counting on you guys to make us Warriors proud.” Focusing her attention back on Danny, she let the smile drop. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m here for a quick workout.”

Brushing past him, she set her sights on the cardio units lined up at the far end of the training center. She nodded greetings to a couple of players huffing and puffing as they punished the elliptical machines, waved to one of the staffers seated on a recumbent bike, then tossed her towel over the rail of the last empty treadmill.

Jabbing at buttons until the belt whirred to a walking pace, Kate forced herself to draw deep, even breaths as she unraveled her earbuds and crammed them into her ears. Her player clipped to the hem of her tank, she tossed the wires down her back and upped the pace. By the time she hit a comfortable stride, the young man next to her slowed to a walk. Her machine rocked when he jumped off the belt and landed heavily on the side rails. She caught the apology he mouthed, then returned her gaze to the television mounted on the wall.

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