Page 5 of Love Game

No lie. The last four years were a testament to his mental strength and endurance. It was a good thing he had age on his side. He’d once been one of the youngest coaches to ever lead a major program. Maybe they’d forgive him for being nearly junior-high-girl giddy at the prospect of being restored to Division I collegiate athletics—even if it meant coaching a team that hadn’t won a single game in four seasons. Not even against the Division II teams the school paid to play in their preconference games.

Though they were a member of the revered and feared Mid-Continental Conference, the Wolcott Warriors were perennial cellar dwellers. But it didn’t matter. Division I was Division I. He was back, damn it.

Pale spring sunlight glinted off the camera lens. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Once again, his future was bright.

“Athletic Director Samlin and I met with the team this morning, and I can say these young men have made quite an impression on me.”

Again, the truth. The world at large didn’t need to know that the program would have more success if they channeled their playoff ambitions into the action offered by a couple of well-oiled foosball tables.

“Smart players playing smart, fundamentally strong football. It’s hard to beat a team that plays with their heads and their hearts.”

More home truths. The team had an admirably high grade point average as a whole. Surely a group of young men who excelled in Wolcott’s high-flying academic environment could be taught how to convert four downs into six points. As for the kicking game, one of these boy geniuses must have played a little soccer at some point.

“Trust me, I have every confidence the Wolcott Warriors will make their mark on collegiate athletics.”

The tiny cluster of reporters snapped to attention, and he clamped his mouth shut, wishing the words back. He hated himself for asking for their trust. Only used car salesmen asked people to trust them. Well, car salesmen and men who’d publicly fallen from grace. And only a fool thought that football meant squat around these parts. He was still scrambling for a way to rephrase when the question zinged him right between the eyes.

“Make their mark? Coach Snyder has won four national championships in the past decade. Wouldn’t you say that made a mark?”

Danny hid his cringe as he scanned the sad group of reporters. The question came from a tall, nerdy-looking guy standing at the back of the pack. At first glance, Danny had pegged him as an easy target. He looked like a former athlete. The type who didn’t quite have the talent to play beyond college. The glory-days guys used to be his specialty, but it didn’t look like this one could be wooed with a sideline pass and a date to speak to the Rotary Club.

Shit. How could he have slipped up like that? This was a basketball school. Women’s basketball, of all things. Wolcott University was home to Kate Snyder—basketball star, coaching legend, and media darling. “No. Right. Of course.” He stumbled over the acknowledgment. “I meant in football.”

Thankfully, Mike decided to put him out of his misery. His old friend, former teammate, and new boss stepped forward and held up a hand. “Coach McMillan will take just a few more questions. He’s got a hot date with some game film lined up for this afternoon.”

If he didn’t have to be the guy to answer the damn things, Danny would have found the predictability of the questions laughable. But he did have to answer them. Every single time he took a new coaching job. Danny clenched his abs and stood straighter in a Pavlovian response. And here it came…

“Coach, do you truly think you can build a winning program at a school like Wolcott without resorting to the kinds of…questionable tactics you used at Northern?”

He didn’t blink. No point in denying the recruiting violations he’d already owned. Even though his staff had only done what everyone else was doing. Because he was their leader and ultimately responsible for the entire program, he’d fallen on his sword when they got caught. At any other time, in any other place, he would have gotten a few wins vacated from his record and a slap on the wrist. His people just happened to step in it at the wrong time.

He didn’t dare give anything but the faintly puzzled smile he’d perfected in front of the mirror. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Damn straight he could and would. He’d been the NCAA’s whipping boy for too long. He had something to prove, and what better way to stick it to them all than to turn one of the worst programs in the division into one of the best?

Danny waited, but the follow-up question never materialized. For one blissful moment, he thought maybe they’d forgotten about the girl. But reporters were like elephants. They never forgot. They’d remember the rest of the scandal that had gotten him fired and essentially blackballed. It was just a matter of time. Instead, this hard-hitting journalist decided to make a name for himself by being completely ineffectual and innocuous. God bless him.

The beanpole reporter waved away the ethics questions in his rush to state the obvious. “Unlike the other Division I schools you’ve coached for, Wolcott athletics have historically focused on the basketball programs.”

Once again, no actual question followed. Rather than wait for the attack, Danny decided to grab the bull by the horns and wrestle his way out of this meet and greet as best he could.

“That’s true. This is one of the reasons I’m so excited to be here. History is the past. I think what Director Samlin is trying to do is look to the future. My goal is to generate the same kind of support for the football program that Coach Snyder and Coach Ransom have for basketball. We’re playing in the big-boy conference. I want to see Wolcott claim its rightful spot.”

The metallic clunk of a crash bar filled the silence as the reporters dutifully noted his ass-kissing. He heard one of the heavy glass doors behind him hiss a hydraulic sigh, but he paid the commotion no mind. He had only a few land mines to navigate between him and the safety of seventy hours of film analysis.

A few reporters straightened when they spotted whoever came through the door, but he didn’t dare turn his back on the wolves gathered on the steps. Good thing he didn’t, because the NSN reporter chose that moment to spring into action. She waved her arm to get his attention. “Coach! Coach!”

“Yes”—he scanned the name on the badge dangling just above her navel—“Brittany?”

The woman shot him a dismissive glare and gestured to the steps behind him. “No, I have a question for Coach Snyder.”

Danny turned to find Kate Snyder standing at the top of the steps. He’d seen enough of the basketball legend on television to know she was attractive. He’d prepared for that. But he hadn’t expected beautiful.

She wore snug pants that clung to her mile-long legs and a sweater so loose and delicate it looked like it would unravel with one tug. The spring breeze caught strands of her dark hair and tossed them like streamers. Her wide mouth stretched into a saccharine-laced smile. The sharp glint in her eyes should have put him off, but it didn’t. If anything, it made his pulse jump like a twitchy offensive lineman.

She was feminine but formidable. Bathed in sunlight and framed by the silvered glass doors, she packed the wallop of a knee to the nuts. Tall and slender, she had the kind of regal bearing and willowy grace that made a man think she might have been a fashion model rather than an athletic prodigy. But the set of her jaw and the steely determination in her eyes warned him not to buy into the lithesome ease. He recognized the trap.

Kate Snyder was a damn warrior.

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