Page 27 of Love Game

DINNER? D

She stared at the message, the pricey shoe dangling from her fingertips and her heart lodged in her throat.

Danny.

She shook her head hard. No. It couldn’t be.

Or could it?

She’d caught him sneaking peeks at her all through the awards banquet. A couple of times, she thought he might have even been trying to look down her dress, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Why would he want a gander at her barely theres? Still, she’d had fun sparring with him that night. More fun than she’d had with a man in a long time.

She dropped the shoe to the floor, and her fluttering pulse slowed as the realization sank in. Of course the shoes weren’t from Danny. And double-goddamn Millie for planting the seed. She and Coach McMillan weren’t even on a first name basis, for cripes’ sake. He didn’t know where she lived, what she liked, or her shoe size. They couldn’t be from him.

The D was for Davenport.

She hated Jim’s habit of referring to himself by his last name. Hated that she’d picked up on it too. It made her feel like she was back in sixth grade, awkward and too tall, trying to be buddies with the boys for fear they’d reject her if she drew attention to the fact that she was a girl.

She gazed at the rainbow-colored trainers and shook her head, trying not to wish they’d come from another source. It wasn’t fair. The terse message was Jim to a T, but the gesture was unprecedented. Romantic gifts left on her doorstep? Not a part of their game plan. At least not so far. Then again, they’d never been as close to sealing the deal as they were now.

Turning the shoe, she inspected the intricate pattern of tread and tried to ignore the pang of disappointment reverberating in her gut. She should have been happy. This was easily one of the most thoughtful gifts any man had ever given her. These shoes said he knew her and liked her just as she was. A chick-flick sentiment, but one that worked like a damn charm.

But charm, sentiment, and surprises weren’t Jim’s forte.

He liked khaki pants, polo shirts, and brown loafers. His athletic shoes were never even stark white or inky black but a neutral silver-gray. Kate found his monochromatic bent ironic for a guy who’d told her he once dreamed of becoming a color commentator.

She frowned as she wove the laces through the eyelets. They already had a date for dinner scheduled. Why would he buy her the world’s brightest shoes when she was already locked in for a night of pasta and stats?

Then again, it was gratifying to see him finally step up to the line. Of course, she wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d inspired it all on her own. The video of her encounters with Coach McMillan always received a little play on both local and national sports news. Then there were the candid shots students kept snapping and Millie kept leaking. The crazy woman had started adding cryptic comments and pseudo-challenges to the department’s social media posts. And it was all working like a dream. The world was clamoring for another Kate and Danny sparring match.

The only trouble was, the last thing she wanted to do was fight with Danny McMillan.

Maybe these shoes signaled a turning point in her relationship with Jim. There might not be any scary sparks or sharp-edged baiting, but she didn’t have to worry about a clash of the egos each time they went out. They’d settle into their semiregular banquette at his favorite Italian place. It had to be Italian this week, because last week they’d gone to the steak house. But it would be good. Satisfying.

Wasn’t it better to be with a man who made her feel cool and comfortable than one who made her bristle like a porcupine each time he came near?

She gazed at the new loves of her life and hugged herself tight. If they did indeed come from Jim, she’d have to give him credit for bringing his A game. These shoes were awesome enough to bump him solidly into double-bonus territory.

* * *

The building was empty but for two members of the maintenance staff Danny spotted emptying trash cans, their headphones clamped to their ears. The quiet closed in around him.

The day had been fairly easy, and he’d planned to unpack the boxes crowded into his office. Inspired by Kate Snyder’s shoe collection, he’d ordered some racks for his hats. They’d been delivered and were ready to be filled, but a call from the athletic director informing him that good old Dick Donner was on campus put an end to that plan. Housekeeping and the best intentions were no match for a guy with deep pockets.

That was how Danny spent most of the day mapping routes with a computer nerd who considered himself a gridiron tactician. Richard never failed to let a conversation pass without reminding Danny that he’d been instrumental in giving a certain disgraced former football player a second chance at coaching Division I. Danny had known from the moment he accepted the plane ride up here that he’d be at the guy’s beck and call, but he’d hoped for an off-season grace period with no armchair quarterbacking.

Donner was so smug, it was hard for Danny to keep a lid on his inner smart ass, but he had. For Mike’s sake as much as his own, he made it through the entire meeting without acknowledging the fact that the Wolcott Warriors hadn’t had a winning record since the Reagan administration—a stat that sports analysts and a few of his fellow coaches had mentioned a time or twenty since the day he was hired. That bottom line wasn’t going to magically change overnight. Progress would be slow, but it would happen. There was no telling Dickie that though. He wanted results, and fast.

Heaving a tired sigh, Danny shoved his binders and tablet into his battered briefcase. As he gathered his things, he thought about Kate and the look of total understanding they’d shared at the banquet. He’d liked the intimacy of that look almost as much as he enjoyed the barbs they traded. The peachy-pink that colored her cheeks when their knees touched under the table. The sly curl of her lips when she had a zinger locked and loaded, just waiting for the opportunity to sling it at him.

Earlier that day, he’d caught himself searching the severed nets and framed jerseys lining the hallways for hints of what she might be like when she wasn’t wearing her game face. The pantheon of gleaming wood, brass, and crystal proved she had every right to be cocky. But he liked the pictures best. The determination. The drive. Most of all, the joy lighting her smile in those moments of triumph.

And though every meeting with her felt like they were squaring off at center court, he liked seeing her smile. Live and in person.

Danny pulled the office door closed behind him without bothering to lock it. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely certain there was a lock. He had a sneaking suspicion that his office might have been an equipment closet. When he’d mentioned something about his predecessor’s decorating skills, Mike had grudgingly admitted that the former football coach had a bigger office that now belonged to Ty Ransom. But Danny didn’t push it. Basketball ruled here. It would take at least three acts of God to change that.

His thoughts drifted back to his conversations with Donner and Mike. Historically challenged or not, the Wolcott football program did have potential. They had a handful of players with some talent. And the coaches were good enough for now. Mike was right about Mack. The old guy’s insights were invaluable. And Mack was right about him too. He was a punk-ass screwup who needed to get his head in the game.

He had to stop comparing his team to others and quit worrying about what the press thought of them. They needed to make the most of the team’s strengths and minimize the weaknesses. Priority one would be to strip the program down to basics and focus on the fundamentals. Everything else would fall into line.

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