Page 48 of Courtside

Her posture shifted as she tried to draw herself up to her full height, undoubtedly about to make someveryconvincing argument as to why she was perfectly capable of doing her job. It reminded him of the way she’d responded to his offer of help the night when he’d found her car broken down on the side of the road.

Obviously, convincing her to look out for herself wasn’t the way to get through to her.

“If you get the team sick, the season is done, Sage.”

She glared at him, but he could see that that line of reasoning was actually getting him somewhere.

“I’ll have one of the freshmen take stats,” he added. “We’ll take care of it. You need to go home and get better.”

Sighing, she nodded. “Kaley got the jerseys and warmups in there for the guys,” she said, her voice an absolute wreck. “The iPad is already on the bench. Make sure to tell the guys doing stats that sometimes the program glitches if you try to assign a rebound and turnover to the same player in the same possession. You just have to input them twice and it should work.”

David noticed that even though she was obviously suffering, she’d still made the effort to dress nicely for the game. Tight trousers exposed her ankles and a flowing blouse was the color of the pink flowers she’d had on her table. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail.

Why did she have to be so damn pretty?

“Text me when you get home,” he said before he was aware that the words were leaving his mouth.

Sage opened and closed her mouth, confusion on her face. “Do I have your number?”

Shit. “Ah, I guess not. I’ve got yours from your staff paperwork.” He scratched at the hair on his jaw, which he’d managed to trim into something that resembled a well-groomed beard. “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

What he didn’t tell her was that he’d saved her number in his phone weeks ago, under the guise that maybe, someday, he might get the chance to use it.

Sage nodded. “That’s fine.” She started to leave, but turned back, looking at him with that earnest sincerity that was soSage. “Good luck tonight.”

He offered her a smile. “Thanks, Lefty.” He let himself watch her walk away for a few seconds, trying to channel some of the confidence that seemed to be so natural for her.

But then someone called his name from across the gym, breaking him out of any temporary escape from the pressure of that night’s game. As he crossed the bright, polished floor, his shining Oxfords clicking sharply on the hardwood, he pulled out his phone.

He found her contact quickly, and after a few fumbling taps of his thumbs, he pressed send.

Take care, Lefty. It’s David.

* * *

The locker room door shut behind him.

David took a few steps before slumping back against the stone, rolling his neck in an effort to release some of the tension that felt like a goddamned pinched nerve.

“Some things were better tonight.”

David looked over at Tim, who stood leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway outside the locker room. He looked more thoughtful than pissed off, and for a moment David considered what the stoic man would do if he threw his play board at him.

Probably just frown.

“It sure as hell didn’t feel better,” David muttered, clearing his throat to try to get rid of the rasp of his voice. He always sounded like a wreck after a game.

Another twenty point loss. It wasn’t how David had envisioned his first conference game as a head coach, back in the summer when he was packing up his Bronco to move back south. He’d been so optimistic then, hopeful, imagining things like championship banners and rings.

“The defense was better,” Tim argued, looking intently at him. “The guys were covering the middle well, and they were able to adjust to the added screen in the second half.”

He wasn’t wrong. The defense had done some good work out there.

“And,” Tim continued. “Monty was more vocal out there. Having younger guys step up and act like leaders is going to make a difference for the whole team.”

David shook his head. Tim was right. There were things that were starting to turn around, and he knew it would take time to bounce back. But to lose their first conference game in their home gym stung. It hadn’t helped that Harding’s assistant coach had shot David a cocky smirk every time they’d scored.Asshole.

“What are we going to do about Jordan?”

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