Page 7 of Third and Ten

Crap.

I forgot that I’d patted the sweaty backs of about forty teenage boys just prior to offering my hand to this lady. I turn my head and cringe, scolding myself and attempting to get it together before facing her again.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she replies with a tight-lipped, polite smile. It’s the kind you give when you accidentally make eye contact with someone on the elevator or when someone holds the door open for you but ends up inconveniencing you because you have to rush over to relieve them of their duty.

Come on, JD. Make small talk like an actual human.

“He’s a great kid, you know. I’m not really supposed to pick favorites, but if I could…”

Her smile stretches a little wider, looking more genuine this time. “He’s not so bad.”

I nod, sensing the unpleasant stench of football equipment lingering in the air and praying she doesn’t associate the smell with me. I clear my throat awkwardly. “So, ah, how’s Mr. Jude doing today?”

She looks away quickly, pulling the corner of her bottom lip in between her teeth, and her eyes begin to water. “He’s…you know, he’s hanging in there.” She sticks her hands in her pockets and digs a toe into the grass, obviously trying not to cry.

“That’s…good.”

Great. He’s freaking dying, you jerk. Why would you even go and ask such a stupid—

“Well, it was great to finally meet you in person.” I cut off my inner monologue with my best attempt to end the conversation politely and salvage some of my pride, but this whole interaction is going to hell in a handbasket. “Ethan should be out soon. Just let me know if you guys need anything.”

I turn abruptly, planning to tuck tail and jog back to the locker room as fast as possible, but instead I trip as I nearly bowl over Ethan.

“Whoa, sorry,” he apologizes, putting his hands on both sides of my arms to right me, despite my obvious size advantage. I clear my throat again, feeling a bit emasculated, and glance over my shoulder to see if Tenley has noticed the exchange. It looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re good, E. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say quickly, shaking off his grasp and stooping to pick up the clipboard I dropped.

“Wait, Coach, I wanted to introduce you to my Aunt Ten,” the little jerk says, smirking down at me. “Unless you two already got the chance to talk?”

I stand and notice his shoulders shaking lightly as he stifles a laugh, and a look back toward the crowd gathered outside the locker room tells me that Ethan wasn’t the only witness to my failed attempts at being smooth. I can hear a few of the guys catcalling and snickering over in the distance.

I hit them with my best teacher glare, and they shut up quickly, shuffling back into the locker room. Ethan also has the good sense to drop his head and scamper away as soon as he sees my jaw clenching. “But, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Coach,” he calls, most likely terrified at the number of extra laps he’ll be running later if he keeps it up.

I don’t look back as I stomp over to the locker room, the remaining players scattering like roaches the second I walk in.

“Anyone in here have something to say to me?” I demand. Most of them keep their eyes locked on their own feet.

“Come on, Coach,” one of the seniors says, shuffling over and reaching out to pat my shoulder. “A guy like you shouldn’t be striking out that easily. You almost made that nice lady cry. What happened to the sauce, man?”

I press my lips together, trying to keep my laughter contained. Who am I kidding? He’s right. But the truth is that it’s been a while since I’ve had to put forth much effort with women after my short-lived football career inadvertently made me a small-town celebrity, which also equates to “most eligible bachelor” on any given day. I certainly haven’t faced a shortage of offers since my return to Camellia a handful of years ago, not that I’ve been intrigued by any of them. Regardless, whether it’s due to the infrequent practice or my lack of interest, I’ve apparently lost my touch now that I’ve finally found someone I want to impress.

And I’m not exactly sure why, but I’m definitely interested in Tenley Robin.

Okay, yeah, she’s obviously stacked. And maybe the way Ethan’s been talking about her for a while has created the illusion that I know her already, but there’s something else about her drawing me in, even after that single disaster of a conversation. Either way, I’m not giving up that easily. I’ll just have to work on making a better impression, or at least manage an interaction that doesn’t end in either laughter or tears.

“What the hell do you and your country-ass mullet know about sauce, anyway, Landreneau?” I finally say, cracking a smile and playfully shoving him out of my way.

The rest of the locker room breaks out into new fits of laughter at his expense. I take a few steps forward, then pivot back around to give them all the death stare again, silencing them in seconds. “For the record, I wasn’t shooting my shot or anything like that with Ethan’s aunt. I was just being polite. It’s part of my job to reassure your parents that I’m a decent guy.”

“Yeah, but she’s…” A kid named Damien gestures crudely with both of his hands, but Ka’von, my star wide receiver, shushes him, and Damien wisely trails off once I turn my glare on to him.

“Let me find out that any of you said a single word about Ms. Tenley again, good or bad, and you’ll be flipping tractor tires until your arms feel like they’re going to fall off,” I declare, stepping forward to poke him in the chest. Damien shoves his hands behind his back.

“Got it?” I say, searching each of their faces.

“Yes, sir,” most of them grumble in unison.

“Good. Now, clean this place up before you shower. Y’all’s stink is salting my game.”

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