CHAPTER 5

ROMANCING MISS FOGERTY

SAGE

The first month of school flew by.

While grad school was similar to undergrad in the overall quantity of essays and readings assigned each day, there was the additional expectation that not only did they need to be accurate and concise in their work, but they needed to demonstrate that they could apply what they were learning to case-studies based on real-world situations. It was engaging, and kept Sage actively reading ahead in her textbooks out of genuine interest.

Was she a little bit stressed that all of her classmates had very solidly committed to post-graduate plans and specific careers? Sure. Maybe a little bit.

But it would be fine.

The team manager job was actually helping keep the stress of her future at bay. Things wouldn’t really pick up until the season officially started in mid-October, but there were still responsibilities to help with the season preparation. So far, she’d had meetings with the equipment manager, a stout and severe woman named Felicity Armison (fondly called “Armie” by everyone in the athletic department), who commanded a large crew of student workers to help with the less-glamorous parts of the job — namely, laundry.

Piles and piles of nasty, sweaty laundry.

But, for Sage’s part, Armie was getting her up to speed on what she, as team manager, was responsible for, especially when they went on the road, where she would have to handle all of the equipment herself.

She felt a vague pang of jealousy at the little conveniences the college athletes had access to: laundry service, branded sweatshirts and jackets, team t-shirts, and the new Nike team shoes, complete with green accents.

It looked pretty damn nice to be a college athlete.

She also was in email communications with the admin guy who handled the nuts and bolts of travel bookings. There were eight teams in their conference, and while three of them were reachable by bus, five required a flight. As a smaller, Division III school, they flew commercially, but bus rides were chartered for the team. Additionally, there were hotel rooms to book, food budgets to consider, and a whole slew of other things that she would be responsible for keeping track of. It all kept her busy, but it wasn’t quite enough to completely dull the shadow of dread that hovered just out of reach.

It was the end of September, and she’d just finished her last class for the day in the Business and Marketing building. She rushed across campus toward the Humphry Center, where she was meeting the team for the first time.

She’d received an email from David — fuck , Coach Hughes — asking if she’d come to an open gym to meet the team. While the start of the season was still a week or two away, the team was going to be running an after-school basketball camp at a local recreation center. When she’d suggested the idea of the team doing community service there to Coach Hughes, he’d immediately jumped at the idea.

She pulled on her hoodie as soon as she walked in the front doors, silently cursing the temperature swing from sweltering outside to freezing inside.

The team was playing in the practice gym. She could hear the bouncing balls and echoing shouts before she reached the wooden doors. Pausing for a moment with her hand on the handle, she took a practiced deep breath before pulling the doors open.

The scene before her was so achingly familiar that it felt like a blow to the stomach. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Tall, leanly-muscled bodies wearing team-issued shorts and practice jerseys ran up and down the court, while other players sat on the bleachers watching the game.

God, the sounds…the squeak of shoes, the heavy breathing, the shouts of “I’m open,” and “ball” and “screen right” were the soundtrack of her life up until four and a half years ago.

She spotted David and Coach Dixon sitting apart from the players, heads bowed together in conversation.

Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she walked toward the two men.

David looked up. She watched as his jaw tightened, and his gaze dipped down to her bare legs. Why the fuck was she wearing running shorts? For a moment, she stopped, unable to get her feet to keep moving.

You’re a grown-ass woman Sage. You’ve kept your shit together around hot guys before. Even if they didn’t have his arm hair or tree-trunk thighs or an almost shy smile that threatened to melt her.

Forcing a smile onto her own face, she walked toward him, raising her hand in a wave.

Coach Dixon must have noticed that David’s attention was elsewhere, because he turned to look over his shoulder, giving Sage a nod when he saw her.

“Miss Fogerty,” Coach Dixon said, adjusting in his seat so that he faced her. “Good to see you.”

“Thanks, Coach,” she replied, lowering down to the bleachers next to him. A few of the players had turned to watch them, obviously wondering who she was and why she was there.

“Hey.” David gave her a tight smile, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. She noticed that he’d kept the facial hair, although it was trimmed a bit closer to his face. His dark hair was still too long, even though she could tell he was trying to hide that fact by wearing a baseball cap.

“They’ve only got six points left to finish this one,” he continued. “They’re playing to twenty-one.”

Sage nodded in understanding, turning her attention to watch the team play.

She’d done her research. There were fifteen guys on the team, which was pretty typical for a college roster. Four seniors, three juniors, four sophomores, and four freshmen.

Immediately, she picked up on a few players who were obviously freshmen, based on their hesitation on the court and their tendency to pass instead of looking for a shot. She also picked up on the guys who were shooting the ball way more than they should. There was one guy who looked to be almost 7 feet tall with the body of a true center, who, while he didn’t seem to be the most skilled with the ball, played with a huge grin on his face and had an obvious knack for finding the open man on the court. Another player, with bleached twist-braids pulled up into a knot at the top of his head and legs so skinny that it looked like his ankles could snap at any moment, commanded the outside, showing speed and handles that identified him as a point guard.

One player took more shots than any of the others. He looked like a military kid: tall, muscle bound, with short blonde hair and the kind of rigid posture that looked like it’d been drilled into him from a young age. She could see the tension in his body from the sideline, and watched how he grew more and more stiff with every shot he missed.

That guy needed to meditate or something .

The game ended on a breakaway layup that had the other team groaning and cursing.

Sage watched David’s face, noting the furrow in his brow as he watched the team in the first moments after gameplay. She bet that he was watching which players turned to each other, exchanging fist bumps and high fives as they talked through the game. There was also no way that he missed the ones who turned away, standing alone. The blonde kid was one of those, his practice jersey pulled up over his head as he walked, alone, to the wall.

“Alright, circle up,” David’s loud voice called out as he pushed to standing, walking onto the court. His physical presence, even among the young players, was commanding, and he had a few inches on most of the team.

The guys shuffled over, not seeming to be in a particular hurry. It struck Sage in that moment, watching how the players responded to their head coach, that David was still actively working to earn their respect. In their eyes, he was still the unproven new guy.

Once the group was assembled around him, David looked back over his shoulder and gestured for her to join them. The weight of his eyes on her was heavy, like his hand on her thigh at the bar.

She stood up, walking over to stand between David and Coach Dixon. The guys immediately zeroed in on her. She noticed a few of them looked her up and down, with one guy even biting his lip and raising his dark brows at her. She returned his stare with one of her own, doing her best to project an expression that said: Not in your fucking dreams .

David cleared his throat, the sound low and almost threatening. “This is Miss Fogerty, who’ll be our team manager this year. This means she’ll be keeping stats, traveling with us, and helping keep us organized and on schedule.” He cast a quick glance in her direction before turning back to the team. “You’ll treat her with respect and listen to what she has to say. Any questions?”

The guy who’d given her the flirty eyes earlier raised his hand. Idiot, Sage thought as she rolled her eyes.

David seemed to have a similar reaction, looking unimpressed as he said, “Yes, Chris?”

The player’s wide, white grin contrasted with the deep mahogany of his skin. “Are there any rules about romancing Miss Fogerty, Coach?”

Most of the players laughed, although a number of them at least tried to hide it. Sage saw David start to open his mouth to respond, but she jumped in before he had a chance to speak.

“Chris Terrence, right?” She tried to make her voice as saccharine as possible. “While I don’t doubt that you are a legendary romancer, I’d recommend re-focusing some of that energy toward your free throws.” She shook her head. “Forty-five percent last season? That’s bad, Terrence. That’s really bad.”

Once again, the entire team devolved into laughter and teasing, a few of them shoving at Chris’ chest. To his credit, he took her ribbing as she’d hoped he would — clasping a hand over his heart and dramatically stumbling back as though she’d wounded him with his words.

She looked quickly between both coaches, gauging their reaction. Coach Dixon looked amused, a small smile playing on his normally downturned mouth. David, though — he looked between her and the rest of the team, and she couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. Confusion, and maybe a bit impressed. When he looked back at her, she gave him a smile, needing in that moment to reassure him. Of what, she wasn’t sure.

Something loosened in his shoulders when he saw her smile, and he shook his head as his own smile grew. Turning back to the guys, he held up his hands. “Alright alright, now that we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about what happens when you try to romance Miss Fogerty —” He had to pause as the team once again laughed, but didn’t seem overly put out with their behavior. If anything, he looked relieved, like their laughter was something he’d been trying to find. “We’ve got some stuff coming up this week, so listen to Miss Fogerty and check your emails for the details.”

“Right, so you’ve got a community service event next week on Wednesday. You’re going to be putting on an after-school camp for kids at the local rec center. It’s a free program, so a lot of these kids may not have access to sports camps. It might be their first experience playing basketball.” She paused, tucked a stray hair back behind her ear. “I already checked everyone’s schedule, so all of you need to be there. Wear your gray team shirts.”

“And it’s alumni weekend this weekend,” Coach Dixon added. “So you boys need to be out and about before the football game, since we typically have a pretty big alumni turnout. What with this guy returning,” he cocked his thumb toward David, “there’s liable to be a bunch of guys coming in. So behave, and make the program look good.”

The guys nodded, and Sage noticed that their response to Coach Dixon was different from how they responded to David. No, Coach Hughes.

Fuck.

“Alright guys, get out of here and remember to eat green stuff,” Coach Hughes said, effectively dismissing the team.

Only one player — the skinny guard with the topknot — responded to his blatant attempt at humor. “I cook a damn good mac n’ cheese with all the sneaky veggies in it, Coach,” he said, grinning and revealing deep dimples and slightly crooked teeth. “Me and Erik are making dank meals over at our place.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Monty,” Coach Hughes replied, a fond smile on his face as he watched Monty jog off to join the guys as slowly left the gym, undoubtedly going to the locker room.

Sage walked back over to the bleachers and sat down, waiting to give the players time to get out the door. While she was going to be around the team, she had no illusions that she was part of the team, and wanted to respect that boundary.

She watched Coach Dixon shake David’s hand, the assistant coach’s face once again stuck in a frown. They exchanged a few quiet words, and then the older man turned toward the door, following the players out of the gym. She watched as the heavy wooden door slid shut behind him, the click amplified in the suddenly silent space.

“Mind if I walk with you?”

She started at the sound of David’s voice so close to her. Getting up, she adjusted her bag over her shoulder, shrugging as she started toward the door. She felt him fall into step beside her, and she caught a whiff of him that she hadn’t before — a clean, familiar smell that she couldn’t place.

He reached out ahead of her, pushing open the door and stepping aside so that she could walk through first.

“Thanks,” she said, chancing a glance up at him as she walked past.

He watched her with intense focus, like observing her was the only thing on his mind at that moment. It was an uncanny feeling, and she felt her cheeks warm in response.

She slowed, waiting for him to join her as the door shut behind them. She noted with a smile how well-matched their long legs were as they walked down the quiet, empty hallway that bordered the glass-walled racquetball courts.

“So,” David said, breaking the silence between them. “I feel like we should probably talk about what almost happened between us.”

“Probably a good idea,” she said, bracing herself for what was inevitably going to be an uncomfortable, if not necessary, conversation. Sometimes, being an adult was a real fucking bummer.

“So,” he said again, pausing to clear his throat. “We met at a bar, hit it off, and were planning on going home together.”

She couldn’t help but snort. “We were going to fuck, David.”

Ah fuck.

“I mean —” She came to a sudden stop as she stumbled over her words, feeling her cheeks heat beyond what should be physically possible to endure without bursting into flames. “Coach Hughes. You’re Coach Hughes.” She shook her head. “Shit. I just mean, there’s no reason to be vague. We both knew where that night was ending.”

He reached a hand up to scratch his beard as he looked away from her, and she noticed his own face was flushed. “Yeah. We both knew, Sage.” He exhaled loudly, turning back to look her directly in the eye. “What do you want to do about the fact that we have a history — even though it’s very brief — of being interested in each other?”

Sage blinked up at him. She hadn’t been expecting that question. Men like David Hughes were supposed to say “So here’s how this is going to go” and lay down all the rules. But here he was asking what she wanted to do about it. It was an odd sense of power she’d never felt, like she held the future in the palm of her hand.

“I,” she began, hesitating as she tried to organize her thoughts. “I would like for us to be however we want to be with each other.” When David opened his mouth, his brow furrowing, she held up a hand to stop him. “Nothing physical. I’m not saying that,” she rushed to explain, internally berating herself for her clumsy attempt to explain what was in her head. “If you feel friendly towards me, then act friendly. If you just want to keep a polite distance, then do that.” She looked into his brown eyes, losing herself for a moment in their maple-syrup warmth. “If that’s alright with you, then that’s what I’d like to do.”

He seemed to search her face, his expression unreadable, and then his mouth slowly curved up into a reluctant smile. “That works for me.” He shook his head, and for a moment something that looked a lot like regret flashed in his eyes. Her face must have held a silent question, because he grimaced as he added, “I really did enjoy meeting you. Just so you know.”

She felt her own lips quirk up, a pang of something constricting her chest. “Me too.”

Again, quiet stretched between them, only this time it was obvious that they were both thinking about what almost was. It was a monumental task to take someone who you had very neatly grouped in your head and re-categorize them. In this case, it was changing: David: hot, good chemistry, and very interested to Coach Hughes: colleague, kind, and off limits .

“Are you one of those farmers market girls?” David’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“What?” She had no idea what he was… oh . She pointed at her canvas bag that touted the faded Santa Barbara Farmers Market logo. “This?”

He nodded, and then did a thing where he scrunched up his nose in an almost-grimace, like he’d just replayed his words in his head. “I like the farmers market. It’s good.” Again, that fucking adorable expression that was so at odds with the formidable bulk of him. “I mean, I was just trying to make conversation.” He shook his head. “Shit.”

Sage felt the laugh bubble up out of her throat. “Yeah, I guess you could say that I am one of those farmer’s market girls.”

“Nice.” He looked relieved at her reaction, his smile widening as his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Let me guess: you’ve got a house full of plants and you eat granola for breakfast every morning.”

She raised a brow at him. “Only one of those is accurate.”

“My money’s on the granola,” he said, his tone teasing.

“Guess you’ll have to wonder, then.” She shrugged, a warmth under her skin at how easy it was to share air with this man.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, turning and beginning to walk slowly down the hallway. She fell into step beside him, unable to look away from the relaxed smile on his face.

“You have friends coming back this weekend?” he asked.

Sage shook her head. “None can make it this year,” she admitted. She hated the fact that none of her roommates were going to be back in Charleston for their first weekend as official alumni. She understood that they were busy, but she still hated it. “My older sister is coming, though.”

David looked surprised. “She went here?”

“Yep,” she replied. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought of her older sister. “She graduated in 2007, but she still has a ton of friends around here.”

“Nice. I hope you have a good visit with her.”

“Thanks.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. When had they climbed the fucking stairs?

Talking to David Hughes was easy and comfortable and weirdly normal, like for a few minutes she’d been able to forget all about the almost-sex and simply enjoy his company. Well, she hadn’t completely forgotten about the almost-sex. How could she when he was all huge and himself ?

“I guess I’ll see you next week,” David said, tipping his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the athletic offices. “Have a nice weekend?”

Based on the pained expression on his face, she guessed that he hadn’t intended for that to be a question. “You too.” She gave him a quick nod, turning away quickly, not wanting to prolong the moment.

Only she wanted to prolong the moment, but she knew she shouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

* * *

Clinging to her sister’s hand as they walked down the busy sidewalk on King Street, Sage thought about how much she hated heels. It was Saturday night, which meant that the streets were packed with bar and club patrons, bachelorette parties, and, on that particular weekend, crowds of Southeastern alumni.

Sage had spent as much time as possible with Brinley since she’d finished class on Friday, tagging along with whatever she and her friends were doing. They mostly sat around restaurant patios or went for long walks, both activities that she independently enjoyed. The laughter and stories were an added bonus.

Tonight, Brinley was vibrant as always, wearing an outfit that somehow walked the fine line between looking hot as fuck and sophisticated. Her group of five friends were all dressed similarly: floral sheath dresses or tight jeans with bright blouses. And of course, they were all wearing heels.

At Brinley’s insistence, Sage was wearing a thin strapped, vibrant blue dress that brushed her mid-thigh, and she’d lost the argument about the brown leather pumps. Brinley had relented on leaving her hair unstyled, as long as Sage agreed to wear it down. She already regretted making that choice, as she felt her hair sticking to her neck.

The things she did for her sister.

Brinley and company stopped in front of a dark stoop with swooping letters in white neon above it that said Verve . Low, rhythmic music pulsed from inside, but it was decidedly more subdued than some of the other clubs they’d passed on King Street.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. It was certainly an establishment that catered to an older clientele, what with the lack of flashing strobe lights and the music that was just quiet enough that you could hold a conversation without shouting. A long bar ran the entire length of one wall, and high cocktail tables filled the space between the far wall, which held secluded booths. There was minimal lighting, which only reinforced the feeling that you’d entered into another world and could forget about your troubles, at least for a little while.

Sage followed Brinley to the bar, where her sister immediately commanded the attention of one of the smartly dressed bartenders, ordering the group a round of tequila shots.

Brinley, while a consummate mature adult for the majority of the year, let loose every year with her old college friends. They always started with tequila shots, moved to frozen margaritas, and almost always concluded the night with fried chicken sandwiches from Ricky’s, a 24 hour diner that looked like it was plucked straight from the fifties.

Nicole, one of Brinley’s friends, led them to a corner booth, and the women all piled in together before shooting back the tequila.

Sage sucked on the provided lime as she settled back into the cushioned seat. While she had no claim to Brinley’s friends, they were all so fucking nice to her that it made her painfully aware of the lack of friendship in her life this year.

They included her seamlessly in their conversations, asking about school, her new apartment, and if she was still exercising like a maniac. She rolled her eyes at the last one, but admitted that yes, she still started most mornings with a workout.

“Brinley said you’re doing your grad school internship with the basketball team?” Anecia asked, tossing her long, carmel-colored braids over one shoulder. She glanced at the rest of the group. “Isn’t David Hughes coaching the team this year?”

Sage nodded, watching with curiosity as the rest of the table reacted.

Everyone’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh my god,” Nicole said, leaning forward toward Sage. “He’s really back?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, he’s the head coach this year.”

Anecia groaned, throwing her head back. “That absolutely devastatingly hot man is back in town. How am I supposed to show up for work every day now that I know we are breathing the same air?”

The rest of the women laughed. Brinley shoved at Anecia’s shoulder. “No chasing after men who don’t know that you exist, Necie. It’s not good for you.”

Sticking her tongue out at Brinley, Anecia turned back to Sage. “David was a senior when we were freshmen. We were all obsessed.”

“Not me,” Brinley said, wrinkling her nose. “I was too busy with my upsettingly mediocre boyfriend.”

Again, the women laughed, and then promptly launched into mercilessly teasing Brinley about Shipley, the guy who she’d dated for the first two years of college. Sage had met him only once, and he was just as terrible as they made him sound.

They ordered another round of shots. The bar was starting to fill up, and soon enough a group of men who knew Nicole came over. The group continued to fracture into smaller factions as more and more Southeastern alumni showed up.

Sage didn’t see anyone she knew beyond recognition, so she made her way back to the bar to order another drink. Just as she was leaning forward to catch the bartender’s eye, she felt someone move in beside her.

She looked back over her shoulder, coming face to face with a wide torso covered in a gray button up. The man was handsome, probably a few years older than her, and looked like a Viking-lumberjack with his shoulder-length blonde hair and reddish beard.

He smiled at her. “Can I get you a drink?” He leaned in closer, bracing himself against the bar.

She searched his face for a moment. “Sure,” she said, opening up her body to face him. She ignored the part of her that looked at his blue eyes and wished they were dark and shadowed by curling lashes.

“I’m Gus,” he said, reaching out a hand that was covered in dark, geometric tattoos.

She slid her fingers between his. “Sage.”