Page 145 of Coach
“Here, let me,” Shane said, shoving my tittering digits out of the way and shoving the plastic throughthe tiny slit. He then smoothed my shirt with both hands, like my mother used to do before sending me off to school. His right hand lingered over the embroidered golden mustang, his fingers tracing its outline as he stared. “You’ve got this, you know?”
Shane rarely talked about the team or our thirteen-game winning streak that finished our regular contests with all the momentum of a runaway train. He hadn’t addressed the importance of each game as we moved into tournament play. We either won or we went home. It was simple as that, and my unflappable constitution was struggling with the concept.
“Thanks,” I said, craning up to kiss his cheek before pulling away and grabbing my notebook and white-surfaced clipboard I used as a mini dry-erase board to draw up plays in real time.
Shane stared a moment, as though thoughts were about to spark to life as actual words, but he nodded, turned, and strode into his den, leaving me standing in his bedroom and staring at the space he’d just occupied.
Shane was no longer a question in my life—he was a constant, as sturdy and dependable as the solid wood he used to craft my sideboard. In the months since we’d started dating, our path had been smooth and even. There hadn’t been any life-altering decisions to be made, no tragedies of family proportionsor agonizing injuries to suffer through. And while those days might come in the future, I knew we’d face them together with the strength of powerful hearts and iron wills.
He wasn’t my rock. He wasn’t my strength. I had my own inner power and would never need anyone to complete me, as romance novels love to claim. He did, however, brace me. His own unyielding resolve served as a crossbeam, supporting me, helping when my confidence faltered or feet strayed from the path. He lifted me up, helped me rise higher, and reveled in each step or win or simple moment of joy.
Shane Douglas was stoic, grumpy, and grounded in monosyllabic utterances that rarely expressed his true thoughts or feelings, but he was everything I could hope a partner might be, far more than I ever dreamed I might enjoy.
And his body . . .
Sweet Baby Jesus.
It was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and I could eat it all!
Or I wanted to eat it all. Actually, eating it all might be more than any one man could accomplish. Though I would happily die trying.
Those first days when Shane showed up to practice or games, I wondered how the kids would take to him, whether they would see this burly Jack Reacherof a man and assume he was an ass, or if they might find him just intriguing enough to give a chance. If I’d learned anything through nearly a decade of teaching, it was that kids were a wholly unpredictable lot. Thankfully, the team had accepted him to the point of razzing me to give him a jersey to wear in the stands.
I did not yield on that point.
The parents, however, were not the quick win we experienced with my boys. Dads acted like they couldn’t decide whether to challenge him, avoid his gaze, or run away. Moms were either insatiable flirts or icy cold . . . but even the cold ones let their gazes roam all six-four of him each time he walked by.
That made me proud.
That wasmyman they were ogling.
You strut, babe, I thought more than once.Strut like you own it.
“You’re gonna be late.” His voice booming from the front of the house shook me out of my daydream. I grabbed my stuff and shot down the hallway.
“Keys.” Shane held out a hand, my car keys waiting in his palm. His other hand shot out, a Yeti with steam curling out the sippy hole. “And coffee, extra strong, enough cream to make it basically milk, and two Splendas because you turn into a beast at gamesand might need a little extra sweetness just to balance your inner demon.”
I took the keys and metal mug, blinking up at him. “You’re wordy tonight.”
He grinned and shrugged. “It’s not every day my guy coaches in the District Tournament. He deserves a little verbal support.”
He leaned down and kissed my lips.
I growled. “I’d prefer physical support, but that’ll have to wait until after the game.”
His grin turned sinister. “Win for me and you can have anything you want later.”
My eyes widened. “You mean I don’t already get whatever I want?”
“Fuck you.” He chuckled, shoving me toward the door. “Go bring me a trophy.”
“You’re—”
“Yes, I’m coming. I just need to change. Now go before they start without you!”
Chapter 47
Shane
