“And are you pleased when your team wins?”
He sighed. “We’re talking about fourteen-to-sixteen-year-old boys. Obviously, they want to win games. But they need to develop the right skill sets. Not just for the game. Coaching football—it’s about teaching them communication. Team building. Conflict resolution. Giving them opportunities to be the best they can be.”
Another of those inviting smiles. “Then youdothink people can change.”
Did he? The possibility prickled like a limb coming to life, heavy and painful.
His phone vibrated with an incoming text. He glanced at it.
LAURA:It’s Charles.
His mouth compressed. “Excuse me. I have to...” He pulled to the side of the road. Switched off the Bluetooth to make the call from his cell.
“Tim. Thank God,” Laura said without preamble.
“What is it?”
“Charles is here.”
“ ‘Here’?”
“Outside my flat.”
So she was safe. “I fail to see the problem.”
“He’s been drinking. He won’t leave.”
It was still raining. Eventually, Charles would get wet enough—or sober enough—to give up and go home. Tim hoped. “Give him time.”
“He’s bothering the neighbors. You have to come and get him, Tim. I don’t want to call the police.”
He ground his teeth together, hearing the implicit threat. “Fine. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
He slid his phone back in his pocket.
“So... Not too late,” Dee said softly from the other side of the car.
For a booty call, she meant.
He could correct her. But she was too warm and pretty. Too vulnerable. It would be dangerously easy for him to make a mistake with her.
He pulled away from the curb. “Just helping out a friend,” he said to the darkness beyond the windshield. True enough.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
She exited the car before he could get around to open her door. He walked her to her front steps, the streetlights reflected in the puddles.
There was a moment on the stoop, with the porch light spilling on her hair and shining in her big dark eyes, when, if things were different—ifhewere different—he would have kissed her good night. But there was no question of that. No chance she would invite him up to her single room with her charges sleeping down the hall.
He tried to be glad. He was glad.
“Thanks again,” she said, fumbling in her bag for her key.
He nodded, hands clasped behind his back like he was standing on parade, watching her down-bent head as she unlocked the door. He was still braced, legs shoulder-width apart, when she got the damn thing open, turned, and... hugged him. Quick. Friendly.
Shit. He hadn’t seenthatcoming. His body reacted before hisbrain. Her breasts squashed briefly against his chest. Her hair smelled great. “You’re a good friend,” she said, not quite looking him in the eye.
And before he could respond, she was gone.
