Page 44 of I Got You

“Maggie,” he calls, gaining on me.

I stop, turning slowly and hoping he needs something other than to try to flirt and suggest we go out again. “Hi.” He stands closer than I’m comfortable with, so I step back.

“Hank is looking really good this year. Whatever he did this summer worked.”

I nod. “Yeah. He had a great team this summer and has been training.”

“I told him that I’d be glad to help him after practice or on weekends if he wants.” He smiles, but it's smug. Ewww.

“Well, that’s nice of you, but Hank’s got a pretty good thing going, and he’s doing great. I actually don’t think he needs more training. He puts a lot of pressure on himself as it is.”

He nods like he understands, but I catch a glimmer of irritation. “You know some of the parents aren’t happy that he’s starting this season.”

Oh boy, here it comes. I stiffen. Hank doesn’t need this joker to help him, and he needs to get the hell out of my space. I push my hair behind my ear, hoping he catches a glimpse of my ring.

“Yes. I’ve heard, but given how hard Hank works and the fact that he’s demonstrated his ability, he’s earned that spot. I don’t think anyone can dispute that.”

“Well, they want us to bench him until the first quarter. They think the seniors should start.”

I scoff. “I’m sure they do.”

He wraps his hand around my elbow. “Look, I have to get over there. Let’s have dinner, and we can discuss it. I’d hate to see him lose his spot.”

I stare at him and his audacity, keeping my fist at my side so I don’t punch that smug-ass look off his face. If I need to talk to anyone about Hank, it’ll be the coach, not his assistant, and it won’t be over dinner. I plant my feet, knowing I don’t want to cause a scene, but this jerk just hit every wrong button in my playbook, and he’s about to understand where he can take his suggestion.

Chapter 14

SHANE

I’m stuck in traffic and tired of listening to Rob drone on about all the positive press that will come from me marrying The Rocket’s daughter. For the last five minutes, I’ve tuned him out because outside of explaining the high-level details of how Maggie and I met and our ‘whirlwind romance,’ it’s just none of his business.

I’m done telling him the only thing he needs to know is that we’re married and starting our life together. I told him about Tim and gave him Tim’s agent’s number. Trusting him to use discretion, I’m going to allow them to work out the timing and details of releasing a statement.

“Look, Rob, I have somewhere I need to be. Please make this simple and call me if you hit any snags. Maggie doesn’t need anyone calling her, and Tim’s death needs to remain private as long as possible.”

“I got it. I’ll be in touch. Enjoy your new wife.” He lets out a low whistle. “I never thought I’d hear myself say those words to you. Take care, buddy.”

I disconnect the call, my frustration building at the backed-up cars. Practice went well. We fine-tuned some things, and surprisingly, my conversation with Nick, the giant chip on his shoulder, went better than expected. We have an understanding, and he may even let me help him. But it’s the little chat I had with Hank this morning that has me wanting to plow over these cars.

He was quiet. Based on what Maggie has said, he gets nervous before games, which he and I have in common. I was content to let him have his silence, but as we pulled into the parking lot of his school, he didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he asked me if I was coming to his game. When I said I was planning on it, he seemed relieved. He told me his assistant coach was constantly hitting on Maggie and had approached him about her.

My anger was instant that a coach would put a player in that position, let alone a kid. I’ve seen that kind of manipulation happen at the higher levels, but even asking Hank about Maggie crosses a line in my book. Then there’s the matter of this guy hitting on Maggie. Given that she’s married to me, she’s not interested.

As cars finally start moving, I don’t analyze why the idea of someone, anyone, cozying up to Maggie makes me a little pissy. Instead, I remember what it felt like to wake up this morning with her body tucked into me. Even in complete darkness, I knew her face was pressed against my chest, her leg over mine. Admitting to myself that I didn’t mind it isn’t going to help me when it comes to sharing space with Maggie, nor is examining this feeling of needing to be where she is right now.

After another long ten minutes, I pull into the school parking lot and throw the jersey over my t-shirt before heading to the field. I round the corner of the stands, and my eye catches on a #5 jersey, the same as mine, further down the sideline. It’s the little firefly that only hours ago stood before me wrapped in a towel, and I liked what I saw just a little too much.

Walking toward her, I notice her stiff stance and the hand wrapped around her elbow. The hairs on my neck bristle, and for the first time since she called me one, I feel like a bear on the prowl.

I make it within three feet of her to hear her say, “You’re not seriously suggesting what I think you are?”

I step up behind her, making my presence known to whom I have to assume is the assistant coach. His gelled hair, school polo, and prickish look make me want to punch him in the face, and that’s before I find out exactly what he said.

“Hey.” I slide my hand around Maggie’s waist, pulling her away from his grasp.

His eyes tip up to mine and grow wide as Maggie rests against me.

“You’re…Shane Carter,” the douche says, stuttering just slightly.

---