Someone Like You (11 page)

Chapter Nine

“I think we might actually win this game!” Abby whispered to Pierce as they watched the team on the field. Yes, the Jaguars had an advantage in that they were playing the second worst team in the league. But Dylan had scored a goal, the Jaguars had held on to that 1–0 lead, and there were only five minutes left in the game. She was practically bouncing on her toes.

“I think you're right,” Pierce said back, smiling. “But shhhh! You don't want to jinx us. Game's not over yet.”

“Oops. Sorry.” Abby bit down on her lip, then said, “Just excited.” And grinned.

Something lusty growled inside him. Her luscious mouth . . . the thought of her excited . . . Jesus, he was crazy. Horny at a kids' soccer game at ten o'clock in the morning? That was
not
cool. But Abby got to him. That was for sure. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head. The steamy dream he'd had about her last night was proof of that. He'd woken up so hard it hurt. Now, he tamped down the sudden flare of lust and made himself look back out on the field. The boys were trying, they really were. The kid with the ball had two opponents on him, though.

“Pass, Scotty!” he called out. “Look around you, guys! Who's with you? Pass the ball . . . that's it!”

“Coach Pierce?” Bobby, the smallest kid on the team, tugged on the hem of his shirt and stared up at him with his big blue eyes.

“What's up, kiddo?” Pierce asked.

“I, um . . . my shoelace . . .” Bobby's voice trailed off and embarrassment turned his face red.

“Do you need help tying it?” Pierce asked him kindly.

Bobby nodded.

“C'mere, you.” Pierce dropped to his knees and tied the loose black laces on his cleats. “How old are you, eight? You know, I couldn't tie my shoes 'til I was eight. True story.”

Abby watched Pierce tie the boy's laces, listened to him cajole Bobby back into smiling, and something in her heart melted. Pierce constantly surprised her. Maybe it was because she underestimated him. She kept catching glimpses of a softer side of him—he wasn't all swagger and toughness, and she had to stop painting him as that pro athlete stereotype. Maybe he had
some
of the qualities . . . but the rest of him kept bashing those stereotypical traits down every time she saw him.

And it wasn't his fault he was outrageously gorgeous, she supposed. That was his parents' fault, really. And it wasn't her fault she was so attracted to him that just looking at him made her heart skip beats and her skin heat.

“Go after it, Dylan!” Pierce yelled with encouragement. Abby blinked away her haze to see her nephew out on the field, kicking the ball around an opponent to his teammate.

“Thatta boy, Dyllie!” she shouted. “Good! Go, Tyler, go with it!”

Two minutes later, the ref blew his whistle, and the game was over.

“We won!” Abby cried. The Jaguars all went nuts, jumping up and down as they screamed in victory. She turned to Pierce and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. “We won a game, at last!”

He laughed as his arms came up to return her embrace. “Feels good, huh?”

She didn't know what felt better, the win or him. Suddenly she realized how closely her body was pressed against his. The heady scent of him, a mixture of soap, a hint of cologne, and musky male . . . his lean, muscled frame, warm and taut and delicious against her . . . with a little gasp, she let go and stepped back. He was slower to let go, and as she met his gaze, she saw a glint in his eyes. Those brilliant blues sparkled with laughter, pride, and . . . something wickedly wanting. Dark and carnal, unleashing a flood of butterflies in her stomach.

Then the kids were rushing them, cheering and yelling with joy. Abby hugged her nephew as Pierce high-fived every member of the team, showering them with praise. After which he put his sunglasses back on while Abby got them into formation, sending the boys back onto the field to line up and shake hands with the other team, the way every game ended.

She looked at Pierce, standing by her side. His royal blue baseball cap and dark sunglasses shaded his eyes from the morning sun, and the smile on his face was genuine. His nose had a slight bump, and she wondered how he'd broken it. Those eyes, that mouth . . . the scruff on his strong, square jaw was sexy, and her fingers itched to play there. Damn, his profile was downright breathtaking. He stood with his legs in a wide, masculine stance, tattooed arms crossed across his chest as he watched the action on the field, obviously proud. Her stomach did a new little flip. “Thank you, Pierce,” she said earnestly.

He glanced down at her. “For what?”

“Are you kidding?” She gestured out to the boys. “This is the first game we've won, and it's week five already. You've been here a week, and look at the difference. You helped them.
You
did this.”

The side of his mouth lifted, but he shook his head. “That's nice, but I think you're giving me too much credit.”

“For once, I think you're not taking enough credit. The difference in this week was you. These boys needed a win so badly . . . thank you.”

He held her gaze for a long beat as her words took hold. She meant it. She wasn't being snarky; if anything, this was the nicest she'd ever been to him. And he
had
helped the kids. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he'd done something good. The realization warmed him to the core. “You're welcome.” He leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, then cracked a smile at the stunned look on her face.

The boys ran off the field toward them, surrounding them with excited chatter and yelps. On the warm morning air, the sound of bells reached him and he looked—an ice-cream truck had pulled into the closest parking lot. “You all stay here,” he told the team. “I'm getting ice cream for everyone. We have to celebrate!”

A group cheer went up, and he glanced at Abby for approval. “Okay by you, Coach?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled at him. “My wallet's in—”

“Stop it,” he said with a dismissive wave, already walking toward the truck. He bought an entire box of firecracker ice pops, the red, white, and blue ones he'd loved as a kid, and handed them out to the boys.

“We have leftovers,” he said to Abby. He held one out to her. “Want one?”

“I don't think I should,” she hedged, but her dark blue eyes lingered on his offering.

“C'mooon,” he coaxed, waving it at her in slow persuasion. “It's hot out here. You know you want one.”

She chuckled and took the ice pop from him. “Thank you. This was very sweet of you to do for the boys.”

“My pleasure,” he said, shooting her another grin before opening one for himself. Parents started to swarm over to retrieve their kids, but Pierce was transfixed, only half aware of all the people around them. Abby was sucking on her ice pop as she spoke to parents and kids. He watched her soft mouth circle the tip of the ice pop, her tongue drag along the side of it, and lust slammed him without mercy. Imagining what she could do to him with that mouth . . . her sweetly curved lips, that little pink tongue . . .
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn. Cursing himself, he wished he could shove the rest of the ice pops down the front of his shorts to cool down.

“Hey, you guys!” A blond woman who looked a lot like Abby was there, scooping Dylan into a hug. An older couple stood behind her, beaming down at him too. “You did great, Dyllie!”

“Your goal won the game for your team,” the grizzled, gray-haired man said. He fist-bumped the boy. “Way to go, Champ!”

“We're so proud of you,” the older woman said, hugging Dylan before turning to Abby. “And you too, Coach! Congratulations!” She hugged Abby tight.

“Thanks, Mom.” Abby smiled into her shoulder as she returned the embrace.

Pierce watched Abby and her family interact. There was such obvious love and support there. He'd seen more on display in sixty seconds than he'd seen in his own family for the past twenty years.

“You must be Pierce,” the other blonde said to him, holding out a hand for a handshake. “I'm Fiona, Dylan's mom. Abby's sister.”

“I figured.” He smiled, shaking her hand. “You look alike. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh God, where are my manners?” Abby said quickly. “Mom, Dad, this is Pierce Harrison, our new coach. Pierce, my parents, Jesse and Carolyn McCord.”

“Dylan talked about you constantly this week,” Carolyn said as he shook their hands too. She leaned in to whisper, “Think we have a bit of hero worship going on.”

Pierce grinned. “He's a great kid. Easy to coach. And he's good! He just needs to practice more, and he'll be great.”

Abby and Fiona had gotten their fair beauty from their mother, he could see. But the dark blue eyes they had were Jesse's. He noticed the way Abby's father looked him over, with vague wariness or distrust, and had to squelch the burst of unease. Fathers had been looking at him that way for years. He was used to it. But there was something edgier about Jesse McCord. The guy was real New York tough, with that take-no-crap look about him. On their date, Abby had mentioned her dad was a retired cop. NYPD, on the beat in Brooklyn for twenty-five years—that was no joke. He could tell the man was a force to be reckoned with.

“We were going to take Dylan out for ice cream,” Fiona said, “but it looks like you beat us to the punch with these ice pops.” She laughed as she looked down at her son's face, smeared with cherry red. “You're a mess already.”

“Any of you want one?” Pierce offered, holding up the other half-empty box. “We have plenty.”

“You know what?” Carolyn said. “I'll take one.”

“Me too,” Fiona said, nodding.

“Here, Jesse,” Carolyn said, handing one to her husband. “Have one.”

“No thanks,” he said.

“Dad's too manly to eat an ice pop,” Fiona teased.

“But Pierce is having one,” Dylan pointed out, “and he's real manly.”

A laugh burst from Pierce, but Jesse didn't look amused. “Um . . . I don't think your grandfather's manliness should ever be in question, Dyl. He looks pretty tough to me.”

“Damn right,” Carolyn laughed.

Abby watched Pierce interact with her family. If he was at all intimidated by her entire family being there, he didn't show it. She gave him another gold star on her mental Pierce Harrison Chart.

“How about,” Fiona said to Dylan, “an afternoon at the Edgewater pool and sprinkler park?”

“Yes!” Dylan cried, jumping up and down. “Really, Mom? You're not working?”

“Not today,” she said with a smile, smoothing back his hair. “And only the evening shift tomorrow. How cool is that?”

“Totally cool!” he cried. He turned to Abby. “You coming too, Auntie Abs?”

“No, honey,” Abby said. “You have a day with your mom to yourself. I'm going to catch up on my lesson plans for the week and do some reading.”

Pierce turned to her and asked, “Do we need to pack this stuff up, Coach?” He gestured to the balls and the net.

“Our balls and any garbage, yes,” she said. “We don't have to do the net.” She pointed to the next groups of players, already wandering onto the field. “Since we were the first game, we set up the goals, but the last teams' coaches have to take them down and bring them next week.”

“We'll take Dylan and let you do what you need to do,” Carolyn said. She smiled at Pierce again. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Mrs. McCord,” Pierce replied. “All of you.” He raised a hand to Dylan. “Up top, my man.”

Dylan jumped to high-five him, beaming with happiness. “See you!”

After Abby said good-byes to her family and other kids on the team, and they answered a few questions from parents, they were alone. Pierce had gathered all the stray soccer balls into the huge mesh bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I feel like Santa Claus with this sack.”

Abby laughed. “Ho ho ho.”

He grinned back. “You want me to hold these till Monday, or you want 'em?”

“I'll take them,” she said. She took one last sweeping look around. “I think we have everything.”

“Okay. Then I'll walk you to your car.”

As they strode across the grass, under the morning sunshine, Abby felt a mixture of emotions whirling through her: pride, excitement, giddy relief. “I'm just so happy for the boys,” she said. “They needed a win. I'm so happy they're happy.”

“Me too,” Pierce said. “It was a good morning. And now you have the day free? We should celebrate.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “We should, huh?”

“Absolutely. Preferably with drinks.” She couldn't see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, but the grin on his face was slightly devilish. “Let me take you out later.”

Her stomach filled with butterflies. “I, um . . .”

“I know, you have work to do. So go home and get it done, and let me take you out to dinner.” His voice dipped into a flirtatious, sexy rumble that made her toes curl. “Don't make me beg, Coach. Come out with me tonight.”

Flustered, she didn't trust herself to speak. They reached her car and she popped open the trunk. He put the sack of soccer balls in, closed it up, and turned to her. “So?”

She actually gulped. Pierce was walking testosterone. She'd never been around a man so utterly . . .
male.
She dated nice boys: the computer geeks, the soft-spoken ones, the good boys. She'd never been with a guy who had raw sexual appeal, a bunch of tattoos, and an attitude, that was for sure.