Page 78 of Third and Ten

I blow out a breath, realizing I’m dangerously close to blurting out some creepy declaration like “I love you” or “I want you to be the mother of my children.”

It takes me a second to get myself in check, but I finally pick up on her hints. “Tenley, I know we might be slightly overdressed, but I’d really like to take you to Walk-On’s.”

She grins. “I’d love that, JD.”

CHAPTER 24

JD

Tenley and I fall into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally between us for the rest of the drive.

“Can I ask what happened? With your football career, I mean,” she ventures after a while, surprising me.

I purse my lips. “Well…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she adds when she senses my hesitation.

I smile and rub the back of her hand with my thumb, amused that she still can’t tell I’m incapable of refusing her. “I don’t mind. I’m just not sure where to pick up the story.”

“You got hurt at LSU, right?”

“Yeah. I blew out my knee a couple of games before the end of my senior season, passed on physical therapy school when I got drafted late, and came back the next year on the practice squad after rehabbing the knee. Then I tore up my shoulder before the season even started, got cut, and decided against free agency. It was around the same time we lost my mom to early-onset Alzheimer’s and my dad not long after to a heart attack, and I figured it wasn’t wise to rack up any more concussions or overwork my body with those genetic predispositions. So, I came back to Camellia when I heard Coach Reed was retiring, and here we are.”

“Wow,” she says. “How did you stay so positive through all of that?”

I shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I have my bad days. But I’m not owed anything, and I try to see every opportunity as a gift. I can’t be angry or disappointed about losing something that was never mine to begin with.”

“Do you ever think about playing again?”

“Not really. I loved playing ball, but didn’t care for the lifestyle. I like living in Camellia. And luckily, I’ve found a career that I enjoy and that keeps me involved with football in my hometown.”

“I know everyone is really grateful for your work with the kids and the community,” she tells me.

“Eh, it’s the least I can do for the people who supported me growing up, don’t you think? Plus, it’s not like I don’t get paid,” I whisper the last part conspiratorially, making her laugh.

“So, you plan to spend your whole coaching career at Camellia?” she ventures. “I can’t imagine that some fancy private school or college won’t try to scoop you up after a few seasons like this.”

It feels like a test, but she deserves my honesty. “I don’t know what the future holds,” I begin as I pull into the parking lot. “But I’m not interested in coaching anywhere else right now. I’m very, very happy here.” I meet her gaze as I say the last part, and she looks pleased.

I’m excited when she lets me get all the doors for her as we make our way into the restaurant, and we’re fortunate enough to be seated in a cozy booth relatively quickly.

“Hi, I’m Cara, and I’ll be your server for tonight,” our waitress greets us. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

Tenley glances up at me before she requests a draught beer. “I’ll have the same, please,” I add, scolding myself for assuming she’d prefer something fussier.

Our waitress’s eyes dart around nervously as she scribbles on a notepad. “Great, I’ll be back as soon as I get your order in at the bar.”

I track her for a second, trying to figure out why she seems so antsy. Then I curse under my breath when I recognize the photo and the jersey hanging on the wall over our booth.

“What’s wrong?” Tenley asks.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t want to risk upsetting her after I’ve finally gotten her to loosen up.

“But why is your face suddenly so red?” She narrows her eyes and peers at me from across the table. “You look embarrassed, Coach.”

I scratch my chin as I debate whether this whole thing will make Tenley feel uncomfortable. My eyes betray me when I cast a nervous glance over at the jersey, but she continues staring me down and presses her lips together as if she’s trying not to laugh.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Her voice is surprisingly sultry when she poses the question.

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