Win Me Over (8 page)

She walked over to where her bag and a stereo system sat on the front bleacher and plopped down. He sat beside her as she grabbed a water bottle and took a long drink. He didn't sit too close, but near enough, and even with that slight sheen on her skin she smelled delicious. Like a piece of fruit mixed with vanilla ice cream.

She finally let out a deep sigh and looked at him. “Do you need a prompt?”

He chuckled, partly out of nerves, another part out of this ridiculous attraction he was feeling, but also because she was just adorably funny. “No. I came here because … well, first I want to apologize for Friday. I don't usually behave like an ass.”

She looked genuinely surprised but quickly pulled herself together. “Apology accepted. I guess I'm sorry also. I was
slightly
out of line.”

She gave him a little wink, which did nothing to calm his nerves. He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure of what to do with his hands. “There's something else. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'd like you to reconsider.”

Her expression didn't change for a long moment; she just looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Finally, when he was close to getting up, she spoke. “Why?”

“Like you mentioned Friday. I'm hoping it will increase my odds of winning the Evan Award.”

“You said it wasn't that important to you.”

“It still isn't … for my own sake. But things have changed this year. If I win, it could help my players, and for that it's worth it.”

“Help them how?”

“Well. Apparently this year the winner of the award is given fifty thousand dollars to disburse as scholarship money to his senior players going to college.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment. He wondered what she was thinking. “That's really nice. Sounds like a good motivator. You're a good guy, Coach Clark. I don't know much about coaching football, but I think you deserve to win an award.”

“I don't
deserve
anything, but I'd like to try.” Damn, her words warmed his insides. People congratulated him on wins all the time, told him he did a good job, cheered for him. But something about this woman's honesty made him feel genuine pride while at the same time a desire to be even better.

He swallowed hard as she took another long drink and turned to face him, looping one foot over the seat so she could straddle the bleacher. Bennett squeezed his fists together, forcing himself not to look at her legs spread like that. It would be obvious and ungentlemanly.

“So this is official? We're doing this?” she asked.

“If you're willing.”

“I wasn't lying when I said how busy I was. But I am willing.”

He nodded his head. “Okay. Good. I'm glad.”

“Want to know a secret?” she said, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.

“Sure.”

“I was a tiny little bit disappointed when you said no.”

“Huh.” He smiled down at his hands. Her admission surprised and pleased him, and he considered his next question for a moment. “Will your boyfriend be okay with this?”

She laughed. “First off, I don't have a boyfriend. And second, if I did I wouldn't need his permission.”

Relief settled into Bennett's bones. “I just thought—”

“If you thought the guy from Friday was mine, I can assure you that's nothing. If I recall, he was wearing his favorite T-shirt that day. It says: ‘My Boyfriend Is Cuter than Yours.'”

It all made sense now. “Well, I guess you can't get any clearer than that.”

She gave him her full smile and the only thought that registered was how beautiful she was. Her confidence was real and refreshing, and he was suddenly really glad he'd made this decision.

“One thing we probably
should
get clear is that if we're gonna win this, we have to do things my way. I know dance and I know how to win.”

He scoffed. “Not that I doubt you, but you know, I do have a few wins under my belt as well.”

She pulled a face. “This ain't football, big boy. This is dance.”

“I'm sure if we compared notes we'd find that they have some things in common.”

She considered him for a moment. “Maybe. Would you consider dance a sport?”

He shrugged. “Sure. It involves physical skill, dedication, training.”

The corner of her mouth lifted a bit. “Good answer, Coach.”

“Am I being tested?”

“What if you were?”

“Then I'd want to pass. And I'd insist on equal play.” He considered his own question. “Do you believe winning is everything?”

Her lips tightened, but she didn't look away. “No. Working your ass off, finishing with dignity, and respecting your team is everything.”

“Nice. I would agree,” he replied.

“My turn.” She tilted her head to the side. “Would you date a woman that made more money than you?”

He was surprised and it probably showed on his face. “I guess, although I'm not sure why that's relevant.” Did she want it to be?

She shrugged. “It's not, really.”

“Okay, my turn. Are you glad I didn't turn out to be twenty years older?”

She bit at her lip, considering her answer. “Talk about irrelevant.”

“Is it? I don't know.” He wanted to tease her; in fact, he was sort of missing the charge from their last heated discussion. He liked her scrappy side. It made him want to see her when she finally let her guard down fully.

“Honestly? And I'm a very honest woman, by the way. But yes. I was very happy to find that you were not some feeble old guy.”

Bennett froze.
Feeble.
He wasn't quite there, but he was far from 100 percent. In fact, he wasn't looking forward to the physicality of dancing. But he wouldn't let her know that. He cleared his throat before he spoke, intent on changing the subject. “Last question. Did you really just call me big boy a few minutes ago?”

She laughed, throwing her head back, the column of her neck glistening with perspiration and begging for attention. She was so uninhibited, so free.
Happy
. Even when she was giving him her smart mouth she did it with relish. This girl was passionate and he found himself laughing along with her.

She let out a breathy sigh, staring into his eyes. “I did call you that. You're big. You're a boy. Only seems appropriate.”

He knew their time was limited, but he wanted to keep her talking. “You should know, you'll have your work cut out for you. I won't be good at dancing. And if
I'm
being honest, I really am not looking forward to it,” he said.

She tilted her head to the side. They locked eyes again; hers were so blue, so knowing, as if she could read his thoughts. “If you give me everything—and trust me—it will be fine.”

He swallowed, the depth of her words hitting him hard. She didn't look away, clearly waiting for his answer. “When it comes to this? I can do that.”

She nodded, clearly satisfied with his response. “Well, we should get started as soon as possible.”

Without thinking he said, “We can start tonight.”

“You're eager; I like it. However, I do have to come up with a routine.”

“How long do you need?”

“A few days. I think I have an idea already.”

“How about Thursday night? You can come to my place,” he said.

“You sure? I mean, I could probably arrange for us to come here.”

He shook his head. “No, my property is secluded. If I'm gonna make a fool of myself I don't want witnesses.”

“Also sounds like a good place for you to murder me and hide my body.” She grinned at him.

“I never considered it, but yeah, it would be good for that, too.”

They laughed together for a moment—something he was suddenly realizing he didn't do all that often, certainly not with a woman, but she was so easy to be around. They fell quiet and he decided he should go before things got awkward. “I guess I'll see you Thursday.”

“Okay. Are you going to tell me how to get there?”

“Oh yeah.” He glanced around, looking for something to write on; instead, she held up her phone.

“Why don't you just text it to me? That way I can call you if I get lost.”

He nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket, and she quickly begin to rattle off her number. That was easy. He typed out his address, hit send, and waited until she received it.

“Perfect. Thursday it is.” She squeezed his arm, her touch shocking and soothing him at the same time. “Stop worrying, Coach. This will be great, and the best part is that whether you like it or not, you're going to love hanging out with me.”

That was certain, because he already did.

*   *   *

At a quarter till seven Callie turned off the highway and onto Buckle Road. A wooden sign announcing the neighborhood, Oak Hill, sat off to the side. She'd seen it several times but never driven up. In fact, she was shocked this was where Bennett lived. With its manicured lawns and estate-sized homes, Oak Hill was popular with the country club crowd and the tastefully rich. Definitely not the place a public school teacher lived, but who was she to judge? Bennett
had
played for the NFL at one time, so maybe he had some money.

She was still a little surprised about his sudden change of heart. He'd seemed so certain in his classroom that day, but the fact that it had to do with his players made sense. From what she could tell he was incredibly dedicated to them. It was kind of sexy to see a man be so passionate about something. The fact that it was teenagers was even more adorable. She could also relate to that. Even in such a short time as dance coach she already had such immense pride and connection with her girls.

She also liked to think that he wanted to dance with her—even if it was just a little bit—because she was excited to dance with him. The past two nights she'd been up late, tweaking a routine she'd done in college and making it work for this competition. It was fairly easy, a little bit sensual, and of course lovely. Now all she had to do was keep her body in check while she put her hands on this sexy beast of a man. No big deal.

Callie rolled down her window, loving the crisp scent of the air and the sound of the trees' rustling in the breeze. This was the best time of year, late summer with just a hint of the chill to come.

Large houses dotted the fields and the trees thickened as the road began to wind up the hill. After a minute or so she realized she hadn't seen another house in the last half mile. Bennett had said his was the last one on the right; had she missed it? She decided to go a little farther and finally spotted another house nestled among several oak trees. So she really had been right on the mark with the secluded enough to murder someone jab.

She pulled into the long driveway, and her mouth dropped open as the home came into view. It was gorgeous. Not massive, but beautiful, with brick and stucco. A large wrought-iron door was bracketed by several low-pitched gables on the roof. The landscaping was well maintained and three garages took up almost as much of the front façade as the rest of the house. One of the garage doors opened as she pulled up and parked on the cement pad out front.

As the door lifted, a small white fur ball of a dog darted out to Callie's car, yapping all the way. She smiled as she opened her door, the little dog pushing her nose in to bark at her.

“Well, look at you,” she cooed, leaning down to scratch the dog's little white head. “You're about the sweetest little thing I ever saw.”

She was fairly certain the dog was a Maltese; a friend of hers had one growing up. As show dogs they had long white hair that hung to the ground, but this one was cut in an adorable little puppy cut save one tiny fountain of longer hair on the top of her head. Callie looked closer and saw that it was adorned by a blue bow dotted with tiny footballs.

She felt Bennett's presence even before she looked up and saw him watching her pet his dog. She stepped from the car and smiled at him.

“I'm quite shocked, yet another surprise from you, Coach Clark. Does your team know that you have a sweet little bow-wearing pocket dog up here for a companion?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and sport pants. “They do. She sometimes comes to summer practices. And the guys have camped up here several times. She gets lots of attention.”

“I bet she does.” Callie leaned down and gave the little dog one more scratch behind her ears, trying hard not to imagine cuddling against Bennett's large, naked body in a tent. An amazing visual, but a bad idea. If for no other reason than she refused to be the next dance coach in line to be reckless in the man department. “What's her name?”

He looked a little bashful and then muttered, “Misha.”

“
Misha
? Oh my.” Callie laughed out loud. “It just keeps getting better, doesn't it?” Her last words were directed at Misha herself, who jumped up and rested two tiny paws on Callie's knees.

“You obviously take her grooming very seriously,” Callie teased. “I love your taste in bows.”

Bennett sighed. “One of my players from a few years ago's mother is a groomer in town. She hooks us up. Misha has a standing biweekly appointment.”

Callie could tell that he was having fun with the conversation, and she liked that he wasn't above talking about his girly dog.

“That is really adorable, Coach Clark. If you're not careful I might start liking you.”

The looked at each other for a moment before Bennett finally nodded down at Misha.

“
She
obviously likes you,” he said.

“She is much better with first impressions than her grumpy owner. Misha can tell right away that I'm completely likable.”

“I've never had a problem finding you likable, Coach Daniels.” His voice was low, almost as if he'd rather she hadn't heard the comment.