“Willow? Lassiter? What the hell’s going on here?” His words had intruded on the moment, and Willow’s eyes had gone wide. She’d pressed her lips together and given a tiny shake of her head, which I was smart enough to understand meantdon’t tell him how we know each other.
Well, hell. Like I’d planned to turn around and announce to Coach that I’d met his daughter before when we’d hooked up a few months back—when I’d fucked her brains out even though we hadn’t exchanged last names or any other pertinent info. The guy liked me now—as much as any coach liked his players—and I didn’t want to jeopardize that.
So I’d given Willow the briefest of nods, acknowledging that I understood, and then I’d taken one step back, plastering a respectful smile on my face.
“What are you talking about, Daddy?” Before my eyes, Willow had transformed from worried to exasperated, rolling her eyes as she answered her father. I’d watched as she and her dad had traded quips and jibes. It was the kind of family vibe that I’d come to suspect only existed in fiction, like in movies or on TV sitcoms. Coach clearly loved his daughter, and it was equally apparent that Willow adored her dad.
In fact, I hadn’t picked up on anything the least bit off until Willow had stolen a sip of her father’s drink.
“Ewww. This isn’t sweet.”
“Isn’t it?” Coach tried the tea. “Sure, it is. Tastes fine to me.”
“Maybe my sweet tooth went into overdrive while I was living in Europe.” Willow’s tone was light, but I didn’t miss the flash of . . . something else in her eyes. It was that same worried expression I’d noticed earlier.
But she’d recovered so quickly that I decided I must have imagined it. Mrs. Casey joined us, and within a few moments, we were all seated at the dining room table, enjoying her hot and delicious lasagna.
If it had been just the coach, Mrs. Casey and I eating, I would have relaxed and enjoyed myself immensely. The Caseys’ home was warm and welcoming, much like the couple themselves. Once again, it wasn’t unlike unexpectedly finding myself dropped into the kind of television family that I’d always assumed wasn’t possible in real life; I hadn’t lived with parents like these, and I hadn’t known anyone who had.
But the beautiful woman across the table from me, the one whose every smile and hooded glance brought back some memories that made it difficult for me to breathe . . . she was complicating this evening. I still couldn’t believe that I’d found her again—not that I’d been looking, of course, but all the same, what did it mean that we’d met again? Was it some kind of strange karmic twist, or just a crazy coincidence?
I wanted a few moments alone with Willow, but whatever fate had brought us together again seemed intent on keeping us from being able to talk privately. Maybe it was because I suspected that if wewerealone, I’d find myself wanting to do a hell of a lot more than just shoot the breeze. Sitting here, seeing her, getting just a tease of the intriguing scent of her perfume or shampoo or whatever it was that smelled so damn good . . . my hands were clenched in my lap to keep from reaching for her.
When we finally finished eating, Willow offered to handle clean-up. I opened my mouth to insist on helping her, but before I could get out the words, Coach announced that he and I were going to talk over his famous chocoffee. I saw the way Willow wrinkled her nose and wanted to hold up my hand for a high-five of agreement. I’d tried Coach’s specialty before, and it had left me feeling vaguely sick—it was so sweet. But I wasn’t going to say that, not when I knew how much Coach loved making it for his players.
Mrs. Casey left us to take a phone call, and Willow disappeared into the kitchen. I was left at the mercy of Coach and the steaming drink in front of me.
We talked for over an hour, reviewing Coach’s plans for the next few games, how he envisioned moving around players and some new ideas he had for training. We went over the strengths and perceived weaknesses of our upcoming opponents. He offered me encouragement, building me up and giving me some advice on how I might continue to hone my team leadership.
I appreciated every piece of affirmation and all of his ideas, but the entire time, I wondered where Willow had gone and how I might find her. What I might say. How it might feel to hold her again . . .
“Well, son, I guess I’d better let you get back to the barracks.” Coach slid back his chair, and I did the same, trying not to seem to be too eager to leave. “I know that you have more than football on your mind.”
I jerked my focus up to Coach’s face. “Sir?”Jesus, how did he know?
Coach shrugged. “It took me a little bit of time to get used to West Point and all the differences between this school—this academy—and all of the colleges where I coached before. The players on those teams lived and breathed the game during the season—most of the year, to be honest. But here, football is just one item on your priority list. You have your academics, which are more challenging than they are at any other school where I’ve worked. And you have all of your military obligations—the PT, the inspections, parades, your cadet officer duties.” He shook his head. “I’m amazed that you boys can hold it together. You have my admiration.”
A lump rose in my throat. Coach admired me? That was . . . incredible. But I couldn’t help thinking what he’d say if he knew how many ways I’d made his daughter come that night this summer.
Shit.
I pushed the thought from my mind. He couldn’t find out. Willow was right—it was essential that her father never find out about the two of us. I’d never be able to look Coach in the eye again.
“Thank you, sir.” I took the hand he offered and shook it with feeling. “I know the team is grateful for everything you’ve done for us, too. We’re going to win this week.” And then, with a grin, I added, “And we’re going to beat the hell out of Navy come December.”
“That’s all I ask,” Coach chuckled. “All right now, Lassiter. Get going. I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”
“Yes, sir.” I paused at the front door. “Please thank Mrs. Casey again for a delicious dinner. And—and please tell your daughter that it was a pleasure to see—to meet her.”
“Will do on both counts.” Coach slapped my back. “Get back safe, son.”
I gave him a wave over my shoulder and jogged down the porch steps, fitting my hat onto my head as I went. The evening was cool, and I was glad of my wool uniform, even as I couldn’t wait to get back to the barracks and change into gym shorts and a T-shirt.
As I began to walk down the block in front of the Caseys’ home, a movement in my peripheral vision gave me pause at the same time that I heard my name.
“Dean.”
I wheeled around, frowning. Willow was on a small stone bench, blinking up at me, her eyes bleary and hair stuck to one flushed cheek. She looked as though she’d been asleep.
