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Fire danced in Lark’s eyes. I loved that she was a bit of a brat and liked to push my buttons. She walked her fingers up my chest before tapping the end of my nose. “Noted.”
The smirk on her lips told me exactly what we’d be in for later, if I had any say. “You’re still coming up later?”
“Three o’clock, right?”
I dropped my keys into my pocket and secured my hat on my head. “I’ll be at the field anytime after noon. You and Penny can watch the practice if you’re bored.”
Lark stepped up to me. Her hand went to my hat and turned it backward with a grin. “Muchbetter.” She leaned in closer. Her warm breath floated over my ear and made me swallow back a low groan.“So hot,”she whispered, then slapped me on the butt and laughed as she turned toward the kitchen. “Have a good day, dear!”
* * *
The shit-eatinggrin didn’t leave my face all day.
The summer sun was high, and it was brutally hot. I made sure the other coaches were cautious. It was Friday and we had a field full of high school students for a one-day summer training camp.
Pride coursed through me as I looked out onto the field. These kids would have the opportunity to be trained by some of the finest coaching staff in the country. The kids could see the university, tour the facilities, and hopefully be eager to join our ranks in the fall. I wanted them to feel like our school was a special place.
But that didn’t mean we went easy on them.
The kids were grouped by position and ability. I had worked hard to make sure that no one group far outmatched another. Those with less skill could learn from the technically skilled players. I also found that players who weren’t born ready had a tenacity that others lacked. I liked mixing those groups together—building up their confidence while also stretching them as players. Their attitudes also played a major role in whether our scouts would pay special attention to them.
Depending on their positions, each player had the opportunity to work on passing, skill and combo drills, and scrimmages. As I walked on the field, a group of comically large kids—the big dogs—were ready to start work with my lineman staff. I nodded at them as I passed, ignoring the whispers as I found the group of coaches running the individual training squads.
“Great turnout, Coach.” Ricky, my offensive coordinator, crossed his arms and looked out onto the field.
“As it should be. We’ve got one of the best teams in the country.” My eyes skated over the small clusters of hopefuls. If they were lucky, maybe one or two would have a shot at the NFL. If that were the case, they had four years to prove their worth, and it all started right here. “Maybe we’ll round up a few more before fall.” I clamped a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Let’s get ’em started.”
“Should I run the dog piss out of them?”
I huffed a small laugh. “Nah. We’ll go easy on them for now. Normal warm-up.”
Ricky nodded and blew his whistle. I scanned the schedule on my clipboard, making notes on how I’d spread my time over the one-day training camp. It was important to me to meet each player. Hear a bit about his story. The way he spoke about his high school career, future goals, and even his family told me a lot about a player.
The university had struggled in the past with players getting too big for their britches—kids thinking they were hot shit on campus and ruining any chance at the pros over drugs, reckless nights, or injuries.
Things like broken pinkies.
I shook my head at the sheer ridiculousness of Joey’s injured hand. So far the best thing for him had been to hang low in Outtatowner and stay out of trouble, but his cocky smile and carefree attitude still made him very popular with the girls.
I also need to talk with him about that.
My eyes scanned the nearly empty stadium. It was only a few minutes past noon, and even though I’d told Lark to show up around three, I looked for her.
For hours, I looked for her.
We ran the kids hard. They needed to know that university ball was a step up from their small towns and high school glory days. At Midwest Michigan University, you didn’t fuck around—not while I was coach.
After a grueling afternoon, I was ready to give them a break. The coaches gathered the players in a semicircle, and I stepped onto a small platform so I could look out onto the field. Several of them had a lot of potential, and a few even caught my eye. I’d be having some serious conversations with the other coaches, comparing notes and deciding whether we’d be making any offers for the open positions.
As I began my speech, my eyes snagged on Pickle, grinning and waving wildly from the first row of stands. She was across the field, but her little arms were flying above her head. My heart pitched and I smiled, but I continued to speak with the players and field questions.
One kid, a quarterback from Iowa with serious potential for greatness, raised his hand. I pointed at him and nodded for him to speak up.
“So what’s the secret, Coach? How do we make it onto the team?”
The players around him laughed. That was whateveryonewanted to know—how to make the team and make it big.
I watched Lark walk up behind the players, Pickle bouncing in front of her and my father at her side. My stomach tightened as I watched them and considered the quarterback’s question.
