Page 3 of Love Game

She glanced at Mike and found the athletic director sitting rigid in his seat, his eyes fixed on someone at the very back of the room. She squinted, but like ninety percent of the guys in the room, the object of Mike’s attention was dressed in the off-duty jock uniform of khakis and a knit polo shirt. He wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, but it didn’t bear the Wolcott Warrior logo or the logo of any media outlet. No, his hat had what looked like a coiled snake appliquéd just above the bill.

A jolt of unease fired through her belly as every reporter’s hand shot up, but she kept her smile firmly in place. Director Samlin gave his head the tiniest shake, but she wasn’t about to be waved off. They’d won. This was her night, and damn it, she could alley-oop any question the jackals threw at her. Her team had played strong and clean. She had nothing to hide.

So she went straight to the biggest jackal of them all. “Yes, Greg?” she said, giving NSN their due by nodding to Chambers first.

To her surprise, he didn’t direct his question to her but spoke to the man sitting next to her.

“Director Samlin, at five forty-three this evening, a private plane owned by Richard Donner, one of Wolcott University’s biggest boosters, touched down at Nashville International. Witnesses at the airport confirmed that the plane was carrying former Northern University football coach Danny McMillan.”

Kate’s gaze immediately flew to the mystery man at the back of the crowd, but the snake charmer was gone. Everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for Mike’s reply. Turning to look at the AD, she found Mike wearing a mildly curious expression. But the man’s eyes were sharp.

He offered an apologetic but confused smile. “I’m sorry, was there a question I missed?”

“What is he doing here?” Chambers asked. “Are you thinking of hiring him to replace Coach Morton when he retires?”

“Coach Morton has not informed me of any retirement plans, so I think it would be a bit presumptuous to start looking for candidates to fill his job,” Mike answered smoothly.

“Then what is Coach McMillan doing here?”

The smile Mike turned on the reporter probably got him laid back in his playing days based on wattage alone. “Perhaps he wanted to come watch the game.”

“But you and Coach McMillan played together—”

Mike held up a hand to stop the reporter. “People, I can honestly tell you that no one employed by the Wolcott athletic department is thinking about anything but basketball tonight. This is Coach Snyder’s and her team’s night, and if you don’t have any further questions pertaining to tonight’s stellar championship victory, I’m going to thank Coach for doing us all proud once again and let her get back to the celebration she so richly deserves.”

The room exploded with shouts and calls, but Mike ignored them all as he pushed his chair back and rose. She stood too, and the moment their eyes met, she knew every word he’d just said was complete bullshit.

* * *

A week later, Kate stood inside the Warrior Center, her back to a spanking-new trophy positioned under a glowing spotlight. The damn thing had just been placed on its pedestal two days ago. There hadn’t even been time for a layer of dust to settle on it. She should have been on top of the world. Yet here she was, watching a train wreck unfold right in front of her.

She assumed her sideline stance—arms crossed over her chest, chin up, eyes wary and watchful. Her shoulders ached from the exertion of keeping her spine straight, and her fingernails bit into the thin knit of her sweater. But all the while, she was plotting. Planning. Sketching out plays in her head and wiping them away in the blink of an eye.

She was a fast-break girl. A woman unafraid to attack the goal. And somehow, this game was moving slowly and disconcertingly fast at the same time.

“A rolling stone and all that crap.”

Kate jumped and turned, grimacing as she rubbed at the knot of tension below her ear. The Wolcott men’s basketball coach, Tyrell Ransom, lounged against the corner of the massive display case. His posture was as casual as Kate’s was taut, but his dark eyes were focused on the small cluster of people gathering on the steps just beyond the athletic center’s glass doors, like hers had been moments ago.

“Rolling stone?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Gathers no moss, right?” Ty kept his eyes locked on the commotion on the front steps as he straightened. The man was long and lithe, nearly six foot eight and as graceful as a panther. Sleekly handsome to boot.

Aside from his looks and grace, Ty was talented. Not just on the court, but on the sideline as well. It might take some time, but he’d get the men’s program up to snuff. There were few men who’d made the transition from the NBA to coaching look as seamless as Ty did. Just as there were few people in the world who might recognize the restless gleam in the man’s eyes. But Kate did. The man practically shimmered with the impatience of a person who was used to winning and hadn’t been lately.

“Mike already had an ace in the hole when he took the job as AD.” He smiled as he turned to look at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Shifting his attention back to the scene beyond the doors, the smile faded. “Within just a few years, he’s managed to bring me in, and now this guy.”

His brow puckered. “You’re a no-brainer, of course. Alumna, all-star, winner of all things great and good. But me and this guy?” He wagged his head in bewilderment. “I’m thinking Mike must have had a thing for nursing broken birds when he was a kid.”

“You’re hardly a broken bird,” she retorted.

“I could have scored major endorsement deals for splints, and we all know it,” he shot back. “Funny how after that meeting with Donner, all Stan could talk about was retiring.” His eyes narrowed as if searching his memory for any clues the old football coach might have dropped. “I don’t remember him mentioning any desire to buy an RV and explore the campgrounds of the world.”

Kate’s snort faded into a chuckle as she pictured Stan Morton, Wolcott’s pudgy, pugnacious football coach, wedged behind the wheel of a luxury motor home. “No. Last I heard, he was having a hissy fit over the fact that his daughter was trying to set a wedding date for a Saturday in late September.”

Ty laughed. “That had to be intentional.”

“Of course it was.” For the first time since she’d walked out of that jam-packed conference room, Kate smiled and actually meant it. “The man named his only daughter Lombardi, for cripes’ sake. He had to know retaliation would come at some point.”

---