Page 34

“I’m West Dupont, I’m the athletic director for Bluebell High and the surrounding schools.

I’m also a sports trainer and a teacher.

” His smile is genuine and not at all smarmy, which is surprising for how good looking he is.

Usually dark, swoopy hair, a little chin stubble and a lean frame gives “you’d be lucky to have me” vibes, but West seems genuinely nice.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Dupont.” I look at my son, my only concern at the moment, and glance back at West. “You think this is normal soreness? I know he wants to be back, and he’ll hate me if I say he’s not ready, but I would hate to have a worse injury occur because he’s back too soon, and then have him be out longer, and miss out. ”

West bobs his head in understanding, keeping one fist pressed into his other palm as he speaks.

“Definitely. I completely understand your concerns. Totally. But the discomfort that Tanner is experiencing now is very much normal for his injury. And I want to warn you, he should take some Advil tonight because the soreness will likely increase. I liken it to getting braces.” He looks at Tanner.

“Have you had braces?” Tanner nods, and smiles, showing off his straight teeth.

“He got them off last year,” I tell West.

“Right,” West says, “then you know what I mean. You get braces on, and you think it’s no biggie. The day you get them, you may even have a celebratory meal. But later that night, when it all sets in, your jaw is bumpin’ and your head is throbbing, and all of a sudden, having braces sucks.”

I can’t help but snicker a little at that. “We got you a ten-piece nugget meal and you inhaled it. Then that night,” I say, turning back to West, “he was in so much pain.”

West nods. “Yeah. That could be how you feel tonight, right up here,” he says, moving his hand around his collarbone, extending over his shoulder and up the sides of his neck.

“This entire area is going to realize you just wore thirty pounds of gear and smashed into a bunch of people today. I’d suggest icing all evening, off and on, every twenty minutes, and staying ahead of it by taking Advil now. ”

Tanner nods, waving him off as he pushes up to sitting, letting the ice packs fall to the table. “I’ll be okay.”

West motions to the bags of ice as Tanner tugs his shirt on. “Take the bags. Take some Advil.” He gives Tanner a fist bump. “Good work today, kid.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dupont.”

Tanner glances behind me, and based on the flare of light in his eyes, I know that Coach McAllister just entered the training room. When I turn and indeed see Dean standing there, my stomach twists and wings sprout from somewhere inside my chest, leaving me with a fluttery, light headed feeling.

“Hi,” I greet, praying to anyone listening that I don’t turn the color of a cherry in front of my son and West Dupont.

Dean tips his hat. “Howdy, Clara June.”

Howdy. All rough and gravelly, with sweat leaving traces of dark on his chest and under his arms. In blue jeans, faded leather boots and a Bruisers football t-shirt, Dean McAllister is an orgasm for my eyes.

He takes his hat off, revealing a head of sweaty hair.

He strokes a hand through, and I catch sight of a bead of sweat traversing the sinful terrain between his ear and throat.

I have it bad for Dean McAllister .

He comes to stand next to me, both of us turning to face Tanner.

It’s just where he’s standing, and it means nothing, but I can’t help but get a glimpse into what it may feel like to be a unified front with a man like Dean.

What it would be like to have a teammate like Dean, in the relationship sense.

A shiver of awareness wriggles its way down my spine, pooling with warmth between my legs.

“You did good today, Tanner,” Dean says to my son, bending down to grab his slides. Tanner puts them on, then jumps lightly off the table.

“Thanks, Coach.” He looks between us. “You’re still coming to get chili dogs with us, right?”

West busies himself with a stack of clipboards. Dean nods. “Sure am.” He faces me, and I catch a whiff of his skin, a bit tangy from the sun, with notes of this morning’s mahogany based cologne still blaring through. I could wrap myself in the way he smells.

“Dupont tell you to ice off and on for the rest of the night?” Dean asks Tanner, who nods, then salutes.

“Yep, yep,” he says, striding ahead of us toward the door. I turn to say goodbye to West, but he’s distracted, speaking in a hushed tone into his phone, hand cupped over the receiver in some semblance of privacy.

Outside, the last of the sun melting on our shoulders, I turn to Dean. “You’ll tell him thanks for me? You know, for taking good care of Tanner?” I ask, referring to West.

Dean shrugs. “That’s his job.”

I stop in my tracks as Tanner drifts ahead, slapping palms with two other boys still waiting for their rides. Dean stops too, confusion knitting his brows. “Just because it’s his job doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve thanks.”

For a second, it seems like Dean’s eyes flash with darkness, not like anger but more like, erotic desire. My stomach clenches, but before I can lower my voice and inquire, he smiles.

“You’re right. And I’ll pass that message along.

” He bumps his arm into mine, and it’s the first physical contact we’ve had that was intentional, I think.

My arm shivers privately from the warmth of that singular touch.

Just a brush of his arm against mine, and my nipples are hard, and my lower half aches.

“You know how we planned to meet there later?”

I’m fuzzy in my head from his arm brushing mine, but I nod as if I’m not floating on cloud nine. “Sure.”

He stops, reaches out, and places his hand on my hip for a moment before letting go.

It’s brief, it’s meant to ground me to the intention of tonight, to remind me that even though it’s chili dogs on a school night, it’s about us.

It’s about him and I wanting more of each other, in broad daylight, in front of my boys, to build something more.

My brain nearly short circuits from all these subtle touches. Beneath my jeans, my panties are damp, and I’m sticky with arousal.

“I was thinking maybe I'll pick up all four of you,” he says, and I struggle not to drown in the depth of his eyes.

“Five of us, actually.” I smile. “Jo Jo’s coming, too.”

He returns my smile. “The way I figure it, if the kids are there or not, this is a date. And I don’t like the idea of not picking my date up.”

My mouth feels all dry and my throat sticky.

“It’s… it’s a date? Tonight is a date?” I want it to be, I definitely want it to be, but I guess I assumed since my kids are coming that it’s…

I don’t know what I thought, actually, now that I’m forced to actually consider it.

It’s not like I bring male friends to dinner.

I don’t even have a male friend, not really.

Of course it’s a date. It just… looks different than dates in my twenties .

He’s unfazed by my confusion, smiling, reaching for my hip again in a move that threatens to make me melt. “It’s a date, Clara June, even with the kids there.” He winks, and a heated shudder wracks my shoulders. “We’ll get our own table anyhow.”

I sigh. “I wanted it to be a date.”

His smile slips away, and in its wake is a serious, pointed expression. One that does not help the flurry of desire roaming needfully through my bones, infiltrating my veins. “The first of many, I certainly hope.”

Tanner shouts my name, throwing open the passenger door. “Mom, let’s go!”

I take a few steps back and feel the loss of his touch on my hip. “See you in a bit.”

He tips his hat and I am all too aware of the seam of my panties right now. “See you soon.”

On the drive home, Tanner tells me all about his first practice back. And I retain very little of it, because my mind is elsewhere.