“Gotta go. Mom’s back. Talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up before he could say any more. Then she texted,And come up with something good, or else!
Simon scowled.
He wanted Jenna happy. He wanted his mom happy. He thought, just maybe, Flash might be the man to keep his mom on her toes. At least he wasn’t creepy or stuck-up like that boring restauranteur. Darren What’s-His-Face. Ugh. What a loser… like the idiot Jenna wanted to notice her.
He had an odd feeling about her dating a guy. For the longest time, it had just been him and her, friends despite their different backgrounds and genders. He had a mom who worked her tail off to make ends meet. Her parents rode in private jets. He liked football, guy stuff, video games. She liked…well, football, guy stuff, and video games.
Aside from that, she was most definitelynota dude. Jenna, he recalled with surprise, not realizing how much he’d buried of what he’d actually seen this past summer, had grown curves. Like, boobs. And she was pretty. More than pretty, actually. Gorgeous. Hot.
Geez. What the heck? If it ever came down to one of them liking the other,shewas supposed to be all intohim, then he’d let her down easy and they’d continue to be strange best friends.
But trying to get some guy to notice her?
Maybe Jenna had something else going on. His mom was always complaining about his moods and puberty, though he didn’t see any big deal. But what if Jenna had girl stuff going on? He wondered if he should ask his mom about it, then remembered the one time he’d mentioned Aunt Nora being constantly on her period. His mother had gone ape on him. No, best not to mention confusing woman chemistry to his mom.
He’d deal with Jenna on his own. In the meantime, he’d figure out how to get his mom to move on with her life, so he could move on with his. And he’d stop feeling guilty about it. Flash seemed cool. The guy liked football. He had money, so he wouldn’t be sponging off Simon’s mom. But just how decent and trustworthy was he?
And damn it. How trustworthy was this jackass of Jenna’s? Now thoroughly annoyed, Simon plotted. And plotted some more.
******
Becca wheeled her cart down the aisle and groaned as she did a mental rundown of her list. They’d run out of everything, mostly because Simon had a hollow leg. He devoured a bag of potato chips in one sitting. And forget the Oreos. If they lasted longer than an hour it meant her son had taken sick.
Hmm. Maybe she should run to the big club grocer instead. But that meant more shopping, and she’d already filled half her cart.
Decision, decisions.
She stared at the rows of canned baked beans, dithering on what to do, when a cart tapped hers. She blinked up into Mitch Flashman’s penetrating gaze. Gray should be a cold color, but as he watched her, she felt a disturbing warmth fill her.
He smirked. “Well, well. The woman who has a debt to pay. Becca Bragg.”
“Oh, ah, hi…”
“Mitch. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my name already?”
She tried to ignore his grin but felt herself smiling. “Well, Mitch isn’t exactly what I was calling you.”
He laughed, and she liked the sound of his amusement. It wasn’t forced and came from deep inside him. “I can just bet. Simon already told me you thought I was an ass.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “That boy has a big mouth.”
“I know.”
“But you seem to have gone up in his estimation. Are you the new coach now?” Simon had mentioned how little they’d been seeing of Coach Deacon lately.
“Just filling in for my brother while he deals with the pub. His partner’s wife had her baby, so they’ve been busy.”
She smiled. “How nice. But that’s got to be making it difficult for your brother. From all the practice time Simon has, I know you coaches spend a lot of time with the kids. And Simon told me you watch films about the plays too, even when they’re not there.”
He nodded. “It’s amazing how many long hours are involved in coaching at the high school level. The guys don’t get paid nearly enough for all they do.”
She’d wondered about that. Deacon Flashman had also been in the NFL before leaving due to an injury. But she’d have thought he’d still have a sizable fortune tucked away somewhere. He had to coach for the love of the game. “So, what’s your deal?” she asked before she could think the better of it.
“My deal?” Mitch crossed his arms over his chest, and she noticed a very fine male form beneath a blue, cable-knit sweater. Good Lord, it felt as if the temperature in the store had spiked.
She cleared her throat, wanting to remove her coat. “Well, it’s obvious you don’t need the money. You must really love football to agree to help out with our small high school team.”
His stare seemed even more intense.
