Page 47 of Love Game

“What other people think is their problem, not ours.” He rolled onto his side and threw a leg over her, just in case she decided to make a break for it without taking the time to hash things out. “I think this is a good thing. Damn good. And you think so too.”

“I do?”

He nodded once, decisively. He’d never been more convinced of anything in his life. “Yes, you do.”

“Which is why it’s so bad.”

She reached that convoluted conclusion with such conviction, he couldn’t help but smile. “Well, if that’s the way you see it…I can be badder.”

Despite her reticence, he saw the spark of interest in her eyes. “Can you?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” With a laugh, he rolled forward, using his momentum to pin her to the bed. “I mean, I admit I was a little intimidated when I saw your friend there in the nightstand drawer, but I’m over it now. I never thought I’d say this, because I’ve never been good at sharing, but if you wanted to get old Michael involved for a little two-on-one, I’d be game.”

Chapter 12

Kate’s stomach growled as she clicked through her email folder. Without looking, she reached into the mini fridge beneath her desk and snagged a container of yogurt. Her chair squeaked as she leaned back to check the expiration date. “Crap.”

She pitched it into the garbage can, then ducked under her desk to hunt for another. The fridge was empty. It was the first week of June, the time when campus life hung suspended between spring and summer terms. The cafeterias were closed. There were no interns to make yogurt runs or ass-kissers bringing around bags of fast-food breakfast sandwiches. Another loud growl confirmed that her stomach was displeased. Making a mental note to bring more yogurt, she popped up in her chair.

“Way to put him in his place last night, Coach.”

Kate jumped and winced when her knee connected with her desk. Her hand lashed out, sending her half-empty travel mug flying. Proving he still had the reaction time of an athlete, Mike Samlin stepped out of spatter range as the droplets of mocha arced through the air. His sandy brows shot up when she fumbled to catch the stack of camp brochures Millie had deposited on the edge of her desk.

“I, uh…” She gathered the glossy trifolds to her bosom and clung for dear life, wondering how the hell the AD could know exactly how many places she’d put his good friend Danny in the past couple of weeks.

“Millie tells me the ratings went through the roof.”

The show. He meant The Warrior Way. They’d engaged in the Title IX debate Millie had campaigned for. Doing his best to play the misogynist, Danny’d made a crack about her using university money to order pink basketballs. It set her up beautifully for a line about her players knowing how to use their equipment.

She telegraphed a silent thank-you to Millie and gave her boss a tremulous smile. “Thanks.”

Mike’s focus sharpened, and his friendly brown eyes narrowed a fraction. This was the moment she’d been dreading. She was a horrible liar. Never had the talent for it. The little pantomime he’d just witnessed proved that she didn’t have the reflexes either.

She’d been avoiding the boss man, of course. Millie too. Jim Davenport had proved to be a little more assertive than expected, but she’d managed to slip past him the minute they stopped taping. And thirty minutes later, Danny had slipped inside her with that strangled little “Mmm” she’d come to know as his special hello.

But Mike was a diplomat as well as an administrator. He didn’t go straight for the jugular. “Looks like your camps are sold out.”

Relief mingled with pride as she grabbed the change of subject and made a break with it. “Middle grades start this week. We’ll have varsity in July. Don’t worry. We’ll be out of the way when it’s time for the boys to play.”

The look of wounded surprise in his eyes said he didn’t think he deserved her sharp tone. Poor Mike had apparently been out of the game long enough to forget about offense being the best defense.

“I’m sure Coach Ransom will appreciate that,” he said mildly. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat in the guest chair opposite her. “I got an interesting phone call from Jonas Matthews.”

Kate braced herself for battle. This was it. She’d let her agent off the leash. Told him to go after everything he could get. And now, the battle would begin in earnest. “Did you? That’s nice.”

Mike smirked. “He was tossing around some crazy numbers.”

The dire warnings she’d heard from Jonas rang in her ears. Don’t agree or disagree on anything. Don’t let them play on your loyalties. Do not negotiate. That was Jonas’s job, and it was time for him to earn his cut. Still, the implication that she didn’t deserve every digit rankled.

“I’ve put up some crazy numbers over the years. I’m sure someone will find a way to make them match.”

The threat was barely veiled. Why bother? They both knew it was time for Wolcott to put up or shut up. Regardless of gender, hers or her team’s, she was a proven winner, and many schools would be happy to have her. A few might even deign to let her coach their precious men’s team.

“Kate, we’ve—”

“Blown the budget on football?” she asked, cutting him off. “Not my problem.”

“It’s not that—”

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