When he didn’t respond, she let out a low breath, and his dick responded by swelling all the more.
“Oh come on, Zeus, it’s not that hard. You use a power tool to drill a few sheets of plywood together. Easy.”
Fuck me.The images that materialized in his mind, of her holding a power tool, could send him back to prison. He shifted his stance to hide his discomfort.
“Now, if you all would just—” She fluttered her hand as if to dismiss the basketball players. “We’ll get to work.”
Was it wrong that the fucking nerve of this woman was turning him on? Her audacity knew no bounds. He’d been dealing with it, with her for months, so when had it become such a fucking turn-on?
“I’m coaching,” he enunciated loudly, satisfaction tempering his desire when she reared back slightly. He stretched his arm wide to show the room of star-struckteenage boys behind him. God knew the state those poor fellows were in. “We’ll be done in forty-five minutes.”
“Wait, Coach, we can—” Beck’s voice cracked as he came up beside Jordan, and he cleared his throat nervously. “We can help the girls measure stuff.”
All the boys nodded eagerly, turning the same shade of beet red when Vanessa turned her million-watt smile on them.
“Aw, isn’t that so sweet.” She glared at Jordan. “And kind.” Glancing back at Beck with her sugar smile, she added, “What’s your name?”
“That’s Beck,” a girl in Vanessa’s entourage said in a bored tone, although when Jordan glanced at her, he noticed her blush quickly.
Vanessa stretched her arm out, extending the measuring tape toward the lovestruck teen. “Great. Well, Beck, I’m thinking right along center court is where we need to start measuring.” She turned to her girls and clapped her hands. “Alright, let’s plan a show!”
Everyone scattered, even the boys. That was how fast Vanessa Barone steamrolled his entire practice.
An hour and a half later, Jordan grabbed his bicycle out of the lock-up area in the staff room and headed for the exit. He had a pounding headache and a craving for a cold beer. Only one person made him crave an alcoholic drink in the last decade.
Vanessa Barone drove him mad. She’d spent forty-five minutes waltzing around the gym in her designer heels, adding even more grooves to the already scuffed floors. Without missing a beat, she tapped notes on her phone asshe ordered besotted teenagers around while they measured out space, taped down the stage design and took estimations on how many chairs they could fit into the gym.
To be fair, he hadn’t seen his boys work that hard in a long time. But it was impossible not to be caught up in Vanessa’s stratosphere when she was on a mission. Even he had helped mark out the stage. He still wasn’t sure how she planned on building the damn thing, but he sure as hell knew she wouldn’t pick up the hammer herself.
Which washerproblem, he reminded himself. This washeridea,herproject. If she got special permission from the center’s administration, then he wasn’t going to argue. But if this thing was going to steal practice time from his boys, then he might…
The familiar clicking of heels drew his attention to the hall. Fuck it.
An unanticipated smile broke across her cherry-stained lips when she saw him. “Well, Zeus, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Got all my measurements right here.” She tapped her silver phone case, making the diamond charm attached to it catch the hall light as it swung. “I already ordered the supplies, so I can start working on it tomorrow or the next day.”
He slowed to a stop as they met each other in the hall. “You’re serious about doing this yourself?”
“Of course I am. I’ll get the girls to help me, and if you’re up for it, maybe some of the kids on your team can help us too. They were great today.” She tapped the side of her chin with a long, manicured nail. “Hey, do you think any of them would like to be in the show? We could use a few guys to model the menswear I’ve lined up.”
Before he even had a chance to make sense of the question, Vanessa zeroed in on his bike.
“Wait, did you bike here?” Her eyebrows shot up as if the idea of him on a bicycle truly shocked her.
“That a problem?”
“No,” she drew the word out as if she needed to think about her next words carefully. “Just didn’t take you forthiskind of a biker.”
Her gaze slid over the tattoos running from his neck to his fingers, lingering on the rose inked across his hand, its thorns curling around his fingers.
Interest flickered in her expression. Or was it hesitation?
He gave himself a mental shake. Stupid to care. Stupider still that her reaction mattered.
“Nah, the biker gang scene wasn’t for me. I was more a run-of-the-mill, street gang, stealing cars, drive-bys, that kind of thing.” He couldn’t help the satisfaction he got from seeing a twinge of trepidation dance across her forehead at his bluntness.
He preferred if Vanessa didn’t know the details of what he’d done in the past. They had no place in her orbit.
She shook off his remark with another smile, this one a bit more pinched than the last. “Well, I love cycling.”
