Page 21 of Well Played

And damn it, I wanted to do it again.

Sitting across from him at breakfast tomorrow would be interesting.

CHAPTER 6

Presley

“The coaches certainly didn’t look like that when we were in high school.”

I looked up to find my old friend Katrina walking up the bleachers toward me. We’d reconnected a few days ago when football camp started, and we realized our boys were the same age. It was nice to have someone to sit with.

“Hey, Kat.”

She sat down next to me, and we shielded our eyes with our hands as we looked down at the sideline of the field. Jeremy Brickson was using the hem of his T-shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing a glistening, tanned six-pack.

Kat sighed. “Last week I saw him at the gym. I couldn’t walk for two days after. You know the machine where you put the cushioned things on your shoulders and lift up and down while standing on the edge of the grate?”

“The calf machine?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I was using it. I normally do two reps of six, but Jeremy was using the arm machine right across from me. Every time he lifted, he made this grunting sound. Between the bulge of his biceps and that grunt, it was better than porn. So I lost track of how many lifts I did and stayed on the machine forwaytoo long. My calf muscles were in knots for days. I legit couldn’t walk.”

I laughed. “Oh no.”

“Totally worth it, though.”

“He seems like a really nice guy. Alex can’t stop talking about him when we get home. He calls him Brick. It’s really cute.”

“Yeah, I heard the other coach call him that, too. Of course, it totally escaped me that his last name was Brickson, and my mind automatically went to wondering if he had a brick in his pants.” She leaned forward and squinted. “I wish he’d wear tighter shorts so I could get a look at the outline.”

I shook my head and laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit since high school.”

“What? Like you weren’t wondering the same thing. A man that nice, who donates his time to coach football, and has a body like that… There’s got to be a catch. No one is the full package.”

My mind instantly flashed to Levi in his boxers last week, the night he fell out of the bed. Now that man had avery full package—one I’d thought about too often lately.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” I asked. “He mentioned the other day that he’s lived in Beaufort for five years. It’s not a place people usually move to without a reason.”

Kat nodded. “He owns a construction company. Came to town to build the new high school and never left. I think he lived up in Charleston before. He’s divorced. He and his wife lost a child—born with some sort of heart defect and only lived to age four. He played college football at Clemson, and his son was a huge football fan. So now he donates his free time to teaching kids football. Honestly, I’m not sure I could do that—be around a bunch of kids who are probably about the same age his son would be now, playing his son’s favorite sport.”

“Wow. I had no idea. That’s really sad that he lost a child.”

“He’s pretty private. Keeps to himself mostly. But my friend Annemarie was his receptionist for a while, so she gave me the skinny.” Kat opened her purse and dug out a ChapStick. She rubbed it on her lips as she spoke. “So what’s going on with you? Are you seeing anyone?”

I shook my head. “I’m still getting settled in.”

“Well, if you want to go out sometime, I’m game. There’s a new bar a few miles out of town that has a good crowd. Travis stays at his dad’s Thursday through Saturday morning since we share custody, so I’m always up for a Friday night out.”

“That sounds good. I’m sure I’ll be more settled in a few weeks.”

After practice, Kat and I walked down to the field together to help our boys carry their equipment. They might be playing football, but God forbid they carry a duffle, helmet, and pads. Jeremy walked over while Alex was shoving his jersey into his bag.

“Alex is doing great. The rumors about him having a killer arm were all true.”

I smiled. “Thanks. He’s been practicing a lot with his uncle lately.”

Alex finished packing his bag and zipped it shut. When he stood, Jeremy rested his hands on my son’s shoulders. “He told me. How am I supposed to take credit for all of his accomplishments someday when he’s drafted into the NFL if Levi Miller is also helping him train?”

I chuckled. “Ummm, if he stands on the podium and thanks anyone other than his mother, both you and his uncle will be hearing from me.”

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