The Game of Love (10 page)

“Aha! So you admit to avoidance?”

She flung herself back in the chair and threw her hands up. “Yes! Yes, I have been avoiding him. We kissed once, he wanted to do it again, and since I didn’t, I thought it would be best to make sure he understood that by not seeing him.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t want one. I especially don’t want one with him.” She wrote down another grade, rechecked the name at the top of the paper and frowned.

“Well, if I know Brett, he probably won’t give you that much breathing room, so you better figure out how you want to handle it. Something wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. Well, yes but no. I already warned this student once about his poor work. He just failed another quiz.” And he was a football player. Much more of this and he was going to be ineligible to play in school sports. Of course, she knew who everyone would blame. Her.

“You’re a good teacher, you know the options. Try again. Come at him from a different angle,” Katie suggested, concern on her face. Her true concern for students was what made her a great middle school teacher. Chris knew she missed teaching. But because of Katie’s diabetes, which complicated her pregnancy, she and Jared had decided she should take the school-year off to await the blessed birth.

“Yeah, I’ll have to figure out something.” She didn’t want to admit who the student was or that she had already tried several tactics with him. “So.” She worked to stay chipper. “Wanna get some lunch? I hear it’s Salisbury steak day.” She watched the blood rush out of Katie’s face, knowing that was payback enough for her friend startling her. The thought of disgusting food turned Katie’s pregnant stomach inside out.

After recovering, Katie leaned down and lifted a small cooler. “Nope. God knows what they put in that stuff, and baby gets the best. Since I knew I was on my way to harass you, I dropped off lunch for Jared and you reap the benefits.” She started to pull out clear plastic containers with red lids.

Chris sighed in delight, grateful she’d get to skip the lead brick known as Salisbury steak. She reached for the container in Katie’s hand and popped the top. “Thank you.” She caught a whiff of fresh chicken salad and her mouth watered. “Leave Jared and marry me. You can be my wife and bring me food every day.”

Katie laughed, and the conversation moved on to more comfortable topics. New school rules, funny stories about students, new faculty. But Chris’s mind kept wandering back to her troubles. Both with the student and with that student’s coach, and the possible confrontations that could arise from either.

What the hell was she going to do?

Katie hit the speed dial on her cell phone as she pulled out of the parking lot and waited for Brett to answer.

“Hey, Katie. You ready to leave that husband of yours and come to me?”

“Brett Wallace, what the hell is wrong with you?” She had to fight hard to keep a firm grip on her annoyance with the male species. Brett’s natural ability to charm women—from ages one to one hundred—always made her smile.

“Uh, I’m too good-looking?”

She barely bit back a laugh at both his cluelessness and humor. “No,” she scolded. “Why have you not bothered to talk to Chris once since the night you two kissed?”

He let out a gusty breath, and Katie could almost see him running his hands through his hair like he always did when he was aggravated or annoyed. “Katie, now is not the time to join my mother in a matchmaking double team.”

“Your mother’s a smart woman.”

“Look, I’m trusting you’re not gonna turn sixteen all of a sudden and run to her with this.”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended by that and let you continue.”

“She got scared, Katie. She was spooked, and I didn’t think pushing her and forcing the issue was going to do any good.”

“But this is a little much, isn’t it?”

“Katie, despite your opinion of me, I do have a life outside being the full-time Lothario everyone takes me for.”

Life? Yeah, living alone in that mausoleum he called a house. What a life. “Well, if you have any interest in Chris, I am simply advising you to light a fire under it and get a move on. Speaking as the Official Best Friend…the time is now.”

“Or never?”

“Just…now.”

He stood outside Chris’s classroom door, gathering the courage to go in and ask her out. He’d either score big time, or he’d fall flat on his ass.

A pack of girls walked by him. They glanced at him, giggled about something and continued on toward the cafeteria for lunch hour.

He wiped the palms of his hands on his shorts, shook them out to release the nerves.

Christ, all I need is to be sitting by a phone with acne and I’m a teen again. Man up, Wallace. It’s a single date, not the senior prom.

He needed to just get it out in the open. Give his speech before she had the chance to throw him out. He took another deep breath and then yanked her classroom door open.

“Chris, I was thinking that, I mean if you weren’t busy we—Will. What are you doing up here? It’s lunchtime.” He stopped in his tracks and stared at them.

William Bradley, Brett’s star defensive lineman, was sitting in a desk in the front row. Chris was behind her own desk. Both glanced his way. The boy’s big, expressive brown eyes widened in surprise, then darted down to the toe of his shoe. “Hey, Coach,” he mumbled into the front of his shirt.

“Mr. Wallace. Is this important or can it wait? I’m in a meeting with a student right now.”

Will’s unease and Chris’s cool reply had warning signs flashing in his head. Forget the date, what the hell was going on with his player? “Well, if Will’s in some kind of trouble, I’d like to know about it.” He walked over to the desk next to Will’s, crossed his arms and sat on the corner. “As his coach, I think I should be made aware of the problem.”

Will’s feet shuffled, but his eyes never left the floor. Not a good sign. Damn.

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “We were discussing a plan of attack to ensure Mr. Bradley’s success in my class.”

“Plan of attack…as in, the normal methods aren’t working out?” Well, shit. This was about to get messy.

She folded her hands and put them on top of the desk, leaned forward a bit. Her blouse was buttoned too high for a good peek of cleavage, but his mind started to wander toward some pretty good “hot for teacher” fantasies.

“Mr. Bradley is struggling to keep up with the class work. I’m sure he’s doing his absolute best…” she shot him a look, waited until Will raised his head to look her in the eye, “…but the fact is, I would like him to do better. So we—”

“You’re saying his grades suck, right?” He looked to Will for confirmation, but the boy was back to not making eye contact, picking at the hem of his T-shirt. A shirt that probably cost Will close to half a week’s paycheck.

Her fingers snatched up a pen sitting on the desk, tapped it on the scarred wooden top. Her eyes became unfocused for a moment, as if she was lost in thought about how much to share and how much to hold back. “Mr. Bradley is currently teetering on a sword’s edge between passing and failing. One bad test will pull him down to failing. At this rate, with his performance, he will have a D, possibly a D plus for the grading period.”

A D? Fuck. He ran a hand over his hair, thought up a few more inventive curses. “That would make him ineligible.” Will couldn’t afford to be ineligible.

A frown puckered her brow. “No, not as I understand it. Mr. Bradley told me that he does well in the rest of his classes. He’s mostly an A and B student, so his grade point average should be well above what’s required to play.”

“Team policy. Nothing below a C on grade cards or they’re ineligible to suit up.”

“Team policy. So, your own personal policy?” Her nose crinkled in an adorable way. Why did she have to be adorable now?

“Yeah.” When one brow lifted in silent question, he bit back the sarcastic remark about how even cavemen needed to be able to read. She’d think he was serious. God, it was like she waited for reasons to dislike him.

She nodded once. “I can respect that.”

“Good. Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.” He turned to Will. “You’re going to report to—”

“Excuse me?”

Brett looked back over. Chris was standing now, her palms flat on the desk. Her eyes were narrow slits. “Coach Wallace, I appreciate your concern for your player. It’s refreshing—”

“Great. So let’s fix this. I’ve got this covered.”

Her fingers curled into the desk, crunching the papers they touched. “You’re not listening to me. William and I were already in the middle of a meeting, which you interrupted. We were already in the process of figuring out what to do.”

“I get that.” Was she not listening? “But he’s my player so I think I should have input.”

“And I think—” Her mouth snapped shut and she glanced to her left. Brett followed her gaze and he saw why she stopped.

Will was still sitting in the desk. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open as he stared at them.

Shit, he’d totally forgotten.

“William, you can head to lunch now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Will scrambled out of the desk, grabbing his book bag. “See ya at practice, Coach.” He scurried out the door, letting it close behind him.

He looked back at Chris. She stood as still as a statue and her eyes were closed. It was like she was in a deep meditative trance.

“Um, sorry. I forgot he was still here.” He rubbed a hand over his head and squeezed his neck where it met the base of his skull.

One delicate finger tapped the scarred wooden desk a few times. Her eyes remained closed.

“All right, so you’re mad that I interrupted. But to be fair, I thought all the students were in the cafeteria.”

“I’m not mad that you walked in.”

That was a surprise. “You’re not?”

Her lids lifted and her eyes burned at him. “No. I’m angry that you came in here and tried to take over my job.”

“No, that’s not what I tried to do at all.” Had he? No, he just knew how his players worked. He knew Will, knew the shit he was dealing with at home. “I just meant that I thought—”

“I, I, I, I,
I.
” She mimicked his tone and grabbed a stack of papers off her desk. Her hips brushed the corner of the desk as she walked around it and headed to the back of the classroom. Her feet were bare but she walked on the balls of her feet like she was still in heels. Her nails were pink, which was surprisingly cute. But the big sexy shocker was the chain of daisies tattooed across the arch of one foot.

“You seem to be very focused on what
you
can do and what
you
want to do.” She opened the top drawer with a jerk of her arm. “Exactly what qualifications do you have to teach math, Brett?”

“None. But that’s not what I meant.” How was she twisting this around on him? He just wanted the best for his players, dammit. Why was she so mad?

“You barged in here, found out there was a small problem with a player and took charge. You didn’t consult me. You didn’t ask me if I had plans. You simply took over.” She slammed the drawer shut with a snap, the metal screeching. “And in front of a student. You undermined my authority.”

“And you weren’t even giving me a chance—”

“To what? To do my job for me?” She slammed her palm down on top of the file cabinet. “Do you think I can’t handle it? That I’m incompetent and can’t help a student with a problem?”

Where the hell did that come from? “No, not at all. I just want to be involved. He needs to be on that field. I want him on the field.” There was no doubt about it. Will came from a household that was near poverty level, with his father constantly in and out of jail. He needed a football scholarship if he had any hopes of making it into college.

She walked to the front of the classroom, picked up a rag and began wiping down the board. Symbolic, that. Like the algebra formulas written in dry-erase marker, any hope they had of starting something good was being wiped away.

“Shockingly, this isn’t all about you and what you want. I think we’re done here. You may leave now, Mr. Wallace.” Her tone told him she wouldn’t say another word to him if he begged, bribed or tortured her.

He walked up behind her and placed his palms on the board next to her head. Bending down slightly, he tried to ignore the fresh, clean smell of her.

“Will Bradley is a good kid. Whatever his problems are in math, they shouldn’t drag down his entire life. Football is his ticket to a better life, and I want you to think about that. Whatever you have against me, don’t take it out on him.”

Satisfied he had done his best for the moment, he left, determined to find a way to keep Will on the field.

“Oh, I could just break him in two!”

She put action to word and snapped the handful of spaghetti in half before dumping it into the pot of boiling water. Satisfying, but not nearly as good as wringing Brett’s neck. She wiped her hands on the apron her Martha Stewart-loving friend had loaned her.

“All right, if you replay the conversation, never once did he ask or tell you to give Will a passing grade, did he? Some coaches might have tried that.” Katie, always the peacemaker, gathered ingredients for the pasta salad she was teaching Chris how to make. “And he never actually said he wanted to take over, did he?”

“Well, no. But it was implied. He kept acting like he knew what was best and I could just step aside and let the men fix it.” She snorted and stirred the softening strands of angel hair. “He kept talking about how William needed to be on the field, like it was life or death.”

“Did he say
why
Will needed to be on the field?”

“It’s pretty obvious why, Katie. The kid’s good. I’ve seen some of the games from the concession stand.” Tapping the spoon against the rim, she set it down and leaned against the counter to watch her friend mixing the dressing.

“Do you know anything about his story?”

“Brett’s?”

“No, Will Bradley’s.” Setting the spoon in the sink, Katie started gathering the oil and spices needed from the pantry. “His family is just this side of making it.” Her voice was muffled from the pantry. “The kid has two jobs on top of playing football and school.” Reappearing, she sat the boxes down on the counter and went to sit down. She waved a hand at the pile. “You can take over from here, my feet are killing me. Will Bradley’s only chance of making it to college is a football scholarship. He needs to be on the field for as long as possible to give scouts the chance to see him.”

Chris thought that over, replaying the last thing that Brett had said.
Football is his ticket, and I want you to think about that.
It made sense…now. But she wanted to hold on to her anger, her indignation for a little longer.

“Why didn’t Will say anything about this when I asked him why he wasn’t prepared for tests?”

“He’s a teenager. Do you think he wanted to tell the new teacher that his family has money problems?”

“Oh.” It made sense. But it still didn’t account for Brett’s behavior. “He didn’t even ask me what I had planned. He acted like I was out to get the kid. I’ve been busting my butt trying to give him different ways to pull that grade up. I can’t do the work for him!”

“Ahem.”

At Katie’s discreet noise, Chris looked down. She’d stirred so hard she sloshed some dressing over the side of the bowl. Reaching for a paper towel to clean up, she forced a few deep breaths. “I have been working with the kid an hour before school every day the past week. I’m exhausted. I’d like to use that time for sleep. But I’m there. I’m doing my best. Does he see that?”

She glanced back, saw Katie fighting off a smile. But being the good friend that she was, she shook her head no.

“No. He just automatically assumes I am out to get him. Because he’s just
soooo
important that he occupies my every thought.” It was closer to the truth than she liked to admit. She couldn’t even sit on her couch anymore without thinking about what she had privately dubbed “the lapse in judgment.” She blamed it on low blood sugar.

Sitting there, trying to pay attention to
Extreme Home Makeover
led to reminders of the pressure from Brett’s lips, the gentle prodding of his tongue. How he didn’t demand but still managed to get what he wanted. And God, his hands on her bare skin, brushing up her ribcage. Feeling those calloused fingers trace a path along her side toward her breast like they had all day to—

“You’re blushing.”

Surprised by the masculine voice, she dropped the bowl on the floor, splashing zesty dressing and vegetables all over the linoleum. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry Katie, I’ll go get the—” She looked up and saw Jared looking at her. He stood behind his wife, his hand resting on her shoulder in that innate gesture happily married couples managed to pull off with no effort, making single people hate them.

They both, of course, shared identical smirks.

“Blushing harder.” She didn’t need him to tell her that. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“Yeah, well. Hot.” She went for the mop Katie kept in the hall closet. “Jerk,” she hissed at Jared as she walked by.

“Denial,” he stage-whispered back.

“Will! Over here! Bring the sheet.”

Brett watched the senior lumber over to the sidelines, shuffle in his bag and produce a piece of paper. Three weeks had passed since the showdown in Chris’s classroom. He could only pray that his choice to let teacher and student work without his help had been the right one.

Will’s face was blank as he handed over the report card. Brett scanned the grades quickly, found what he was looking for and snapped his eyes back to Will.

“B minus? You pulled your grade up from a D to a B minus in a couple of weeks?” He didn’t bother to disguise the awe in his voice. The kid deserved every moment of praise.

Will shuffled his cleats in the grass, looked out over the field where his teammates were running plays. “It was no big deal.”

“How’d you do it?” He needed to know.

“Ms. St. James.” Will’s eyes met his, and Brett saw a boy fighting to be the man he would become. “She met up with me every morning before school since we couldn’t meet after. ’Cause of practice and all. Not bonus or nothing,” he added quickly. “Just extra stuff to work on. It sucked, but she helped. A lot.” He gave a quick flash of teeth. “Plus, she’s kinda hot, for an old lady, so it wasn’t hard to look at her every morning.”