Win Me Over (3 page)

“Good. Hold it. These muscles need to be nice and warm.”

He could only blink. This wasn't Jane, the dance team coach's voice. Had she quit? Been fired? He'd heard the rumors last spring about her sexting with an administrator but tried to ignore gossip. Maybe this was a sub.

“Okay, good. Now everyone in line so we can do the assembly kick routine full-out. Let's start on eight with chins up. Smiles wide.” She punctuated the command with several rapid fire claps as the girls shuffled into place. And then … he saw her.

Damn.

She was on the small side, but her healthy curves were accentuated by her tight black pants. Good God, her ass was perfect, round and full but also firm. Tight.
Shit.

This was so not Jane.

Bennett swallowed hard, his throat going dry. Her muscular legs were spread in a wide stance as she stood with her little hot-pink tennis shoes gripping the polished wooden floor, her hands grasping her hips, and her wildly curly hair pulled into a high ponytail. He wanted desperately to see her whole face, but she was also turned away from him. She began counting off, and on eight the line of dancers looked to the side and began kicking in unison.

When he realized the girls were starting to turn in his direction he took off. A male teacher appearing to gawk at the dance team wouldn't look good, so he sped up—cursing the pain that shot down his thigh—and burst through the metal doors and into the sunlight. Squinting, he took the shallow stairs with a rail down the incline, because the grassy hill was a killer on his bad leg, even though it was faster.

It had been years since his accident, but the injury never failed to get a little tender during football season, when he was frequently on his feet for long periods of time. He drew the line at taking the longest yet least painful route—down the wheelchair ramp. A man still had his dignity to protect.

The familiar and welcoming sound of grunts, and skin on vinyl, met his ears and his body released tension like a balloon deflating. The vibrant green and white of the gridiron, the stench of sweat, the growl of a pissed-off defense coach. This was his world. Coaching high school football would never have been his first choice, but of the many regrets Bennett had in his thirty years, deciding to take this job would never be one of them. Never mind that coaching was the only way he could keep football as a permanent fixture in his life after his accident.

Coaching had turned out to be a perfect fit and he couldn't have asked for a better school. Football in Preston was a way of life. Most residents would no more miss a Friday night game than they would miss church on Sunday. He was from Texas, where high school football was part of their religion, so he was familiar with the mentality. Welcomed it even.

Bennett made his way to the sidelines of the practice field and sought out his good friend and assistant coach Reggie. “Thanks for getting them started, man; sorry I'm late.”

“No problem. We just finished warming up. Guys are amped up today. I can feel it. I let John take the defense to start drills, offense is stretching and reviewing the playbook with Ted, and now that you're here I'm taking my guys. I'm sure they're done running in this heat. I figured you want to work with Tate and Lane.”

“Sounds good.”

They stood and watched the boys for a minute until Bennett couldn't help himself anymore. Her cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “Hey, uh, what happened to Jane? She get sacked over the shit from last year?”

Reggie was no dummy. His deep chuckle told Bennett the man knew exactly why he'd asked, yet he never took his eyes off the boys on the field. “I wondered when you were gonna see her. She's a treat, isn't she?”

Bennett didn't respond, but he didn't have to. He and Reggie had been coaching together for six years. They had a bond that didn't require eye contact or even speaking, most of the time. It reminded Bennett of the relationships he'd developed with teammates over the years. Football did that, created a brotherhood. Reggie had played college ball and then gotten married and become a family man. Not every player with heart and grit was destined for the pros, just as not every player who made it to the NFL ended up a celebrity or even a success story.

“At least now I know why you were late. You got a look at the new dance coach,” Reg said with a smirk and a little hip shuffle that he was known for.

“Please, you know me better than that. I was with a student,” Bennett said, and Reg finally turned his way and raised an eyebrow. Bennett shrugged. “Okay, obviously I did see her. Might have held me up for a minute. Just a minute.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Reggie chuckled. “Why don't you talk to her? I'm sure she's dying to meet the beloved Coach Bennett. Do you some good to spend some time with a woman, you know? Just something to think about.”

Bennett shook his head in response before blowing on his whistle. He headed out into the field toward his quarterbacks, trying not to dwell on Reggie's comment. Yeah, it had been a while since Bennett had been with a woman. Eight months, and then a year before that. And then probably a year before that.

He tried not to think about it, because it was downright depressing. But in his defense, he had a lot on his plate with teaching and coaching and there wasn't room in his life for a relationship. Casual or otherwise … because despite the implied intent in the word
casual,
those often ended up just as messy as the real deal. There'd been a time when he'd thought he'd found his one and only woman. How wrong he'd been.

Like so many things in his life, he'd lost his fiancée, Ashley, due to his accident. Apparently once a professional football contract was no longer part of his future, neither was she. In retrospect it probably shouldn't have come as a shock, but at the time it had thrown him. Hard. Yeah he'd been in a dark spot at the time, but wasn't that when the people you loved were supposed to prove it? She'd up and left him when he needed her the most.

Luckily, teaching and football helped to remind him that all was not lost. His life in no way resembled the one he grew up imagining he'd have, but it was good. Respectable, if not a bit lonely.

Okay, a whole lot lonely.

However, this season there was no reason to have a damn pity party. This team was going to be amazing. He could feel it, and he'd learned to trust his instincts.

Bennett stood under the goalpost for a while, shifting his weight off his bad leg while he watched his offense run a few drills. As a coach he knew every position was important; each played its role in a win and was necessary. But as a former quarterback himself, he couldn't help but be a little partial. His starting senior quarterback, Tate, was outrageously talented.

Bennett watched the kid throw a perfect spiral down the field straight into the wide receiver's hands. All the work Bennett had put into molding Tate Grayson for the past three years had paid off and the coach was incredibly proud. They were all great kids, but there were always a couple who shined. The ones you knew were going to be something.

Tate wasn't without his faults. He had a problem carrying his emotions onto the field, but his arm was amazingly consistent and strong. He could run fast and size up the opposing defense in a matter of seconds, and he had reflexes capable of keeping up. Bennett had a feeling it had been drilled into Tate from a young age, because the kid's dad was an overbearing ass. Tate Grayson Sr. never failed to remind Bennett how to do his job and that Grayson's son deserved to start every game now that he was a senior.

Tate wouldn't start every game, however, because not only was that unfair—there were, in fact, other quarterbacks—but also it wasn't healthy. A player needed to rest during a game. But Bennett couldn't deny that he had a winning combination between Tate and his best friend, Jason Starkey, the best left tackle Bennett had ever had.

The two boys had grown up together, played Pee Wee, rec, and club league as teammates. They executed plays like they shared a brain; Jason always seemed to know where Tate was going to end up even before he did. He made Tate nearly untouchable, and whatever magic it was, it was a beautiful sight. It was what state championships were made of.

Bennett tossed out a few pointers to Tate from the side, nodding his head when he nailed it and encouraging him when he didn't. Reggie and the special teams guys had grouped in the side field and stopped to watch the last pass, cheering when the receiver caught it and immediately rolled into a somersault.

Bennett grinned. He enjoyed hearing the players interact with one another, not only cheering but also even yelling insults and innocent threats. He knew well that this kind of fraternizing was critical for the guys to trust one another and be successful. Add hard work, skill, and determination, and you had a winning team.

Luckily for his players, Bennett's time in the pros had earned them some extra attention from university scouts who had already started contacting him for visits. There were quite a few players—not just Tate and Jason—who could very well catch someone's eye this season. Time to get to work so that could happen.

A quick blow on the whistle and then Bennett bracketed his hands around his mouth and called Tate over to his side. Sweat dripped down Tate's overly long hair as he pulled off his dirty white helmet and let it dangle from his fingers.

“You see that pass a minute ago, Coach?”

“You bet I did. Nearly eighty yards, wasn't it?” He grinned.

“Baker's on fire, too; he's been catching everything I throw,” Tate said, his breath ragged.

“I saw his gymnastics moves. Nice.” Bennett cleared his throat, not liking what he was going to have to bring up next. “Listen, as much as I don't want to get into your personal business, I'm going to have to ask you a question. I heard you may have a problem with one of the guys on the South team.” Tate looked away instantly, and Bennett knew he'd hit a nerve.

Teenage drama was inevitable; it penetrated all facets of their young lives and teaching and coaching meant Bennett wasn't immune to it. Usually drama with his players was centered on one of two things: family and girls.

Despite Tate's dickhead of a father, his problem usually seemed to be girls. He was a good-looking kid, weight trained constantly, was way too cocky for his own good. Reminded Bennett of himself as a teen. But this time it wasn't about a female—well, not that kind anyway. Bennett had overheard some girls in his second hour gossiping and caught enough to know that Tate's little sister—a sophomore—had suffered an ugly breakup last weekend. It just so happened to be with one of the linebackers from tomorrow's opposing team. From what Bennett could gather from the conversation, Tate hadn't taken it well, which hadn't surprised Bennett one bit. The guy was seriously protective of his little sister.

Bennett figured the best plan was to get Tate's best throws in early, before the shit talking had time to turn ugly and get the team all riled up. There was no doubt Bennett would be pulling Tate off the field at some point, hopefully before a fight broke out and the kid did something he couldn't take back. It didn't happen often, but these young guys were all muscles, aggression, and raging hormones.

“I won't give you any trouble, Coach.” Tate finally met Bennett's eyes.

They were both silent for a moment. Bennett finally cleared his throat and spoke. “You need to talk about it?” he asked gruffly. “You know I'm here for you.”

“Yeah.” The young man nervously dug his cleats into the ground. “I know you are, but no. I can handle it. I swear I'll leave it off the field.”

Bennett nodded. “Listen, I know you can't turn your feelings off, but learn to use them to your advantage; don't let your anger control you. Got it?” Bennett asked, wishing he weren't speaking from experience. Tate nodded. “Well, now that we got that squared away, I wanted to officially let you know you're starting tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Coach, I appreciate it.” A genuine look of intense relief washed over the boy's face. And that's what he was, a boy, not even eighteen, but the pressure on these young athletes was incredible. “My dad's been giving me hell this week.”

It killed Bennett to hear it, but he wasn't surprised. Why couldn't some parents understand that it wasn't healthy or wise to live, eat, and breathe only one thing? Football was a game and only a game.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Tate. I know you wanna make your dad proud, but you play ball for you, no one else. It's not all about being the star of the show. No one wins football championships on his own.”

Tate's padded shoulders slumped. “My dad doesn't see it that way.”

“No disrespect to your father, but sometimes he's got shit backwards in his head.” Bennett wanted to add a few other choice phrases but managed to hold them in. Tate's father was the only parent in the house, unfortunately. Bennett was pretty sure Grayson was also an alcoholic. “Now go long and show me what I'm dealing with tomorrow. Put your frustration behind that ball.”

Nearly two hours later, the team was exhausted. Bennett's favorite hat was soaked with sweat from his standing under the early September heat, his forearms looked a little red, and his leg ached like a son of a bitch.

Afternoon practices were long and intense but much better than they'd been when Bennett had started at Preston. The coach before Bennett had held practice twice a day, morning and afternoon. That had been his first change. He switched to two-a-days only during spring ball. He figured the pressure of schoolwork, winning games, and normal practice was enough for the fall season.

That had been accepted begrudgingly, but his other changes? Not so much. He'd completely thrown the community for a loop when he started preaching to the boys that football wasn't everything. Yeah, he knew that wasn't always the norm for coaches, but he took this concept seriously. Another unpopular change was mandatory 2.8 G.P.A on Friday afternoon or they couldn't play that night. He knew it was higher than most schools, even higher than the NCAA, but this was high school and if they couldn't handle high school work and football how could they ever manage college? He even lectured all the teachers about favors. His boys didn't need special treatment. They also had to serve the community instead of their community serving them—as was so common with small-town athletes.