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A chorus of oohs goes through the boys and I chuckle.
“Don’t get too excited. Ain’t none of you pipsqueaks gonna take me down. But that’s the point. You hit with all you’ve got, even when the target’s bigger and badder than you and you have no shot. You still give it your all.”
Allyson’s been standing off to the side while I gave my rah-rah speech, but I have what’s probably the worst-slash-best idea ever. “Al, tackle me,” I order.
She startles. “What?”
“Tackle me. Show them how it’s done,” I repeat.
She laughs nervously. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She’s looking at the boys like they’re going to agree with her, but they’re on my side. “Get him, Coach. Take him down!”
The power of positive peer pressure is on my side once again as she nods slowly, agreeing. She lines up and I coach her through it.
“Step one, most important . . . wait until I say go. You don’t want to hurt me or hurt yourself because you’re rushing.” I drop into position myself, holding the thick pad up and setting my feet apart for stability. I don’t think Al’s really going to come at me with all she has, but the boys will so this is a good practice round for me too.
“Head up, shoulders down,” I say, and Allyson obliges. “Feet buzzing.” She shuffles her feet, dancing on her toes. “Shoot ’n rip,” I say and clench my teeth, preparing for the hit.
Allyson runs dead at me, fiery challenge in her eyes. She thinks she’s taking me down, I think in the half-second before she gets to me.
The slam is nothing to me, a mosquito on a horse’s flank, more annoyance than anything else. But I push back, holding my position as she drives into the padded dummy between us.
Suddenly, my foot slips on the grass beneath me and she has me teetering. Her momentum and my loss of balance send us careening backward and she tackles me to the grass. My breath whooshes out and Allyson yells in surprise, “Whoo!”
Time utterly freezes. With her on top of me, our bare legs tangled, and our faces so close together, I can see the freckles I used to count with kisses over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. There used to be twenty-two, but this close, I can see there are definitely more from the years of sun upon her face. Our eyes lock in shock, her mouth opening like she’s trying to say something. An apology, maybe? An insult, more likely.
“You okay?” I ask even though I’m the one sprawled out on the grass. I can smell her, a sweet blend of perfume and sweat, and then she wiggles, trying to get up.
“Oh, my God! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened,” she rambles. It’s cute how freaked out she is, but the squirming is not doing me any favors when she’s this close and smells like sweat and flowers, which reminds me of sex with her.
“It’s fine. Let me help you up,” I grumble.
“Oh, I’ve got it,” she argues.
“Al, quit wiggling or this is gonna be a different kinda show,” I say under my breath.
She gasps and finds the adrenaline to pop to her feet, leaving me on the ground with just the big pad to cover my hard on.
“Shit.” I keep my voice down because of the boys, but the curse comes out unbidden at her reaction. It’s only natural, not like it’s my fault my cock stood right up at attention when she was writhing around all over me with her sexy body.
I roll to my side, coming up into a squat to give my cock some breathing room as I hide behind the dummy. “You good, Coach?”
Allyson’s nod is a bit too fast, but I return my attention to the boys, who are watching slack jawed.
“And this is why you give it your all every single time. Would you have thought Coach had a chance in hell at taking me down?” They all shake their heads, and I agree with them. “Me neither. But she came in full-throttle, and I wasn’t as ready as I thought.”
Why does this sound like a bigger metaphor than the tackle she just got on me?
“My foot slipped, but that’s an excuse. Truth is, she took me down, fair and square. And if we’d been playing a game, it’d be a fair tackle. So even when you think you’ve got zero chance, you’ve still got a shot. Remember that next time you have to line up against someone bigger than you. Remember tiny Coach” —I hold my finger and thumb up, an inch apart— “taking out ‘Brutal’ Tannen.” I hold my arms out wide, making myself as big as possible in comparison.
Little do they know, their coach did more than take me out. Once upon a time, she utterly destroyed me. But that wasn’t on the football field, so I try to keep my mind where it belongs.
