"You like it strong, right?"
And hard and long.
"Excuse me?"
TD glances over, one eyebrow raised. "Your coffee. You said you like it strong. I'm not misremembering, am I?"
"Um, no, yeah, I—Yes. Strong. Thanks."
His eyes narrow even more, and his lips twitch.
"Excited for your first day at work?" I ask, which is entirely normal and not an excuse to distract him with conversation so he slows down and I can keep ogling him for longer.
"Uh…" He delays answering as he fiddles with the knobs, so, yay, my plan is working. "I guess."
"You don't sound very convincing."
He stays leaning back—Jesus, how does a man in his late forties have abs likethat?—and shifts his gaze to me. "It's a long story. I should have been in town months ago, but I've…" He huffs out a heavy breath. "I've had a lot going on."
It sucks that we don't have time to get into it right now because he needs all his focus for today, and I have to meet a family coming in soon to discuss arrangements.
"You know what?" I say, getting up to make my own cup of Joe and not using it as a pretext to get so near him I can see the beads of water that have pooled in the hollow of his shoulder. "You're TD Fucking Banks. The best damn coach of this decade and one of the all-time great coaches in NFL history. Yes, you've had some shit to deal with. Name me one person who doesn't. But the team needs you. This whole damn town has been waiting over tenyears for a football team, and they need you. So go out there and fucking kill it."
TD's eyes widen at my impromptu pep talk, and I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for self-restraint, managing to keep my eyes on his face and not on his meaty pecs, rising and falling with every breath he takes.
I finish with a hard pivot, "And you can tell me all about your first day over dinner at The Leafy Nook tonight. My shout this time."
5
TD
I step onto the field and immediately trip over a stray power cord snaking along the sideline.
What the fuck is that doing there?
Beau and Rein had warned me the stadium they bought wasn't entirely ready yet, but this is ridiculous. The turf still smells like fresh paint and rubber, half the bleachers are cordoned off with caution tape, and a forklift is parked in the north end zone.
Good thing I like a challenge. Now if only I could rustle up some motivation. The high from Tex's mini pep talk in his kitchen has faded as I face the cold, hard reality of what I'm up against.
I drag my whistle across my lips and scan the players—thirty strangers in brand-new forest-green-and-cream jerseys that still have creases in them.
"On the line! Let’s move!" I shout.
The players launch into drills with more enthusiasm than skill. The linemen charge into sled pushes, cleats scraping, arms pumping. A receiver drops his first ball, then another. His lips move, and though he’s too far away to make out what he muttered under his breath, it’s a safe bet it was a curse. A kicker sends a ball wide, almost hitting the forklift. Someone yells "Heads!" and the whole group flinches.
I swallow a frustrated laugh. "This is going to be harder than I thought," I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
"Hey, Coach." Kimball Manning, the defensive coordinator, jogs over to me, breath misting in the crispair. We've never met, but I know of him, and he greeted me warmly enough when I arrived this morning.
He's no Tex, but he's also not being a prick to my face. I actually feel a little bad for him. Beau let slip that he was gunning for my position, but since he's had a few rough years coaching-wise, and Beau and Rein wanted the team to get off to the best start possible, they chose me as head coach instead. Wouldn't blame the guy if he gave me the cold shoulder, but instead, he's supporting me. The Mannings seem to be good people. I just hope his faith in me isn't wasted.
"How's it going?" he asks.
"See for yourself."
Kimball takes in the chaos on the field, snorts, then barks at the defensive backs to get lower in their stance.
I glance at him sideways, looking for any resemblance to his younger brother. They've both got brown eyes, but that's where the similarities end. Kimball is a lot older than Tex, and I wonder what the reason behind that is.
