Page 3 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Practice is bearable for me, but only because I don't mind sweating. I come from Louisiana. The only thing not wet in the summer down in the bayou is a nun's pussy. But some of the bigger guys are heaving their guts on the sidelines. I tap the bent shoulders on my way by, giving my silent support.

In spite of the hellish heat, I kicked the new QB's butt with satisfying firmness. There wasn't one drill, one throw, one play that he performed better at than I did. I especially enjoyed hitting him in the helmet with the football in a bullet throw from forty yards. The spiral on that ball was a thing of beauty.

Rivulets of sweat sting my eyes and I taste the salt, but I smile anyway. New Hampshire’s worst summer weather doesn’t come close to what I’ve dealt with in Louisiana all my life.

Carrying my helmet, I head off the field while I drip and ignore the banter of my teammates. Until Shelby shoves my shoulder, his hand sliding off my slimy skin. I almost ignore that too, my thoughts ping-ponging around between my dad leaving and the leggy basketball coach. But it's not healthy to dwell on certain trouble, as my Cajun gramps would say. It'll find you when it needs to.

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Shel."

"You sound like my last date," He says.

"Then you're doing something obscenely wrong. Girls should be in love with that pretty face and tight ass of yours."

We're twenty yards away from the field house, still out in the heat of the practice field where I stop at the water station.

Shelby lets out a low whining whistle, followed by "Man-oh-man, look at that."

I shake my head, not bothering to look up. We often get an audience along the fence watching practice and especially when the team parades off the field and we have our shirts off, all slicked up and grimy.

He elbows me. "She's a stunner. The legs--"

Legs? My head shoots up and I turn in the direction of his stare. Fuck. It's her. Ms. Hot-Shit Trouble-Pants, aka Coach Amanda Lake. She’s talking to one of our team’s assistant coaches. What the fuck? She’s laughing. Leaning in. Flirting. Fuck if it isn't enough to get my alpha territorial juices flowing and it takes all my used-up self-control to stop from stomping over there to steal her attention.

"Coach Ryan seems to be getting along with her," Shelby says, pouring a scoop of water over his head. "I wonder who she is?"

"New Assistant Women's Basketball coach," I say in a neutral voice. But that doesn't fool Shelby, who punches my arm. I shove him back, crush my water cup, toss it in the pail and head for the field house door. The fact that we'll be walking right by the cozy couple, leggy Coach Lake and grumpy Coach Ryan, has nothing to do with my abrupt move. Shelby follows me, keeping stride for stride and talking under his breath.

"How do you know her, lover boy? Give the details? You on a first name basis or--"

"Or nothing. I saw her on the SPU website. Athletic Department news." No need to tell him I went looking for her online.

I stop directly in front of Amanda Lake and Coach Ryan.

“What brings you out to the football field in the heat?” I use my most suggestive drawl. She gives an appreciative lift of one side of her mouth.

“I had to check out the new quarterback. Of course.” A-plus in ball-busting. Tamping down my dick who reminds me I love feisty chicks, I meet Coach Ryan’s look of menace.

“You’ve met?” He says. “Figures.” He gives me his narrowest-eyed glare, with his lips compressed tight enough to flatten a stripper’s tits.

“Sure have,” I say, but my attention is back on Amanda Lake. I’m thinking all the things I want to say but can’t in mixed company, communicating everything on my mind through my eyes. Not that it would be all that hard to read me because I’m pretty fucking sure the smolder will give her a blistering sunburn if I don’t fucking quit staring like I’m a dick on fire.

“That’s right,” she says, cooler than January in the tundra. “Jonesy and I have a date.” She’s talking to coach, but she’s staring at me. Shit.

Somehow—maybe it’s my game face discipline finally coming to good use in real life—I keep my reaction neutral, swallowing down the pop in my lust meter. Unfortunately, the jump in my dick can’t be helped and I grit my teeth as I harden and squirm inside my fucking cup.

Coach Ryan raises his brows and shoves me in the shoulder.

“You looking to get benched? You need to be told no fraternizing with—”

“Relax Kevin,” Amanda says on a half laugh filled with more compassion than amusement. She focuses on him, aiming her killer eyes at him. What the fuck is that? Amanda Lake is so far out of his league. She can’t possibly be interested in Coach Ryan. He’s like a wounded animal when it comes to women ever since his wife left him. Real needy. She’s just being nice to him.

“Don’t you know a joke when you hear one?” she adds calmly, like she’s petting him with her voice, soothing his male pride.

“Coach Lake has a great sense of humor, doesn’t she?” I say. “I bet women’s basketball will be a barrel of laughs this year.” I turn away from the assessing look she levels at me, shove Shelby and head with him to the locker room.

“See you next month,” she calls after me. I don’t turn. She adds, “For our date.”

Fuck. I can hear Coach Ryan saying something, his voice angry and unamused. I refuse to slow my steps, ignoring the shit.