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“Almost through, Coach,” she shouted, as if to be heard all the way down on the ball field twelve rows below.
Coach scowled, hands on his wide hips. “Correction, little lady, not only is this field off limits to civilians but it’s almost dark, Shane. Y’all get your narrow asses down from there and outta here before I’ve gotta come up there and yank you down my own damn self.”
Chapter Nine
Tatum
“What now?”
Shane stood, innocent and aglow in the dim streetlight above them. His face was still flushed, skin slightly sweaty as they huddled in front of the stadium, still giddy after their narrow escape from Coach Clayton’s red-faced, tobacco-spitting ire.
“Now?” Tatum was livid. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Cockblocked, and more, all at once, looking, no doubt, as immature and horny as she felt.Hadfelt, in fact, since that stupid glimpse of Shane’s stupid abs back in that stupid locker room. “Now I go home and hang my head in shame, that’s what!”
“What?” Shane’s face fell like he thought it was the most natural thing in the world to get chased out of an empty stadium by a real live coach, barking after them the whole time. “But it’s still early. Don’t you want to get some pictures of me in front of the stadium or something?”
“Pictures?” Tatum was incredulous, waving her valise like a gladiator’s shield. “Pictures? I’ll be lucky if I’m not yanked off this story before I get home, Kid.”
Shane bristled, all 5’10” of him, wiry and taut as they stood in the dark, face to face and still gently panting from their nonstop descent down what felt like twelve flights of stadium steps. “I’m not a kid, and Coach is all bluff and bluster. He’s shouted at me way worse than that before, trust me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of his athletes. I’m supposed to be the grown-up here, remember?”
Shane all but stamped his feet, looking as adorable as he did confused. Did he truly not understand how glaringly unprofessional getting kicked out of an empty baseball stadium on her first day of the job had looked just now? How a simple phone call from his coach to her editor could not only get her yanked from this story, but put her entire academic scholarship in jeopardy?
God, how could she have been so stupid?
“So, then, be a grown-up and keep interviewing me.” Shane still didn’t get it, God bless his adorable little Southern jock heart.
“What? Now?”
Shane jutted out his chin, as if surprised by her response. “Sure, why not?”
She wanted to, obviously. While he’d been weaving his scandalous tale of high school sexcapades and making her panties wet with every new lurid detail (five orgasms minimum indeed!), she’d wanted nothing more than to keep the night going by whatever means necessary.
There was a bar right around the corner where they could have gone to, uh, continue their interview. Or the pizza parlor just past that. Hell, she would have bought a six-pack for them at the Quick Pick down the street and sat on the curb talking to him all night, but now? Even a shameless hussy like Tatum had her limits…
“Shane, trust me, you’re a nice guy. Sweet, even. Innocent, possibly. And I can’t wait to talk to you more. Tomorrow, okay? Maybe. Possibly. That is, if I don’t get fired on the way home tonight.”
“You’re not getting fired, Tatum.” Shane sounded more confident than he had all night.
“Have you met my editor before?” The very thought of Moira’s wrath, however justified, gave Tatum the shivers—and not the good, thigh-quaking, panty-drenching, nipple-busting kind Shane had been giving her all night long with his scandalous Baptist ass, either. “One call from your coach and I’m done. Finished. Kaput.”
Shane puffed out his chest adorably, making her wonder if it was smooth underneath that clingy grey t-shirt.Jesus, woman, get a grip!she thought to herself, squirming from heel to heel on the quiet pavement just the same. “Listen, not to pull rank here, but have you seen the size of this stadium?” He waved one of his big, skinny hands toward the main entrance, ticket windows and faux brick like some fancy Broadway theater.
“Yeah, remember? I was just sitting there with you for hours. That is, before your big lug of a coach kicked us out like teenagers making out on prom night.”
He gave her one of his syrupy smiles, as if his mind was picturing that very thing. God knew Tatum was! “And, not for nothing, but have you seen the size of the school newspaper offices?”
“You mean our tiny-ass building just off campus? Yeah, I have. I work there, remember? So, what’s your point, exactly?”
He waved his hands back to the stadium again, giant, massive, and well-heeled, then back at her, smirking all the while. “My point is, I just feel like the athletic program here at Sycamore State has just a little more pull than theSatesman, that’s all.”
“Yeah, which is why one call from your coach and I’m out on my ass.”
He reached forward then, big hands on her shoulders. The gesture was sudden, shocking, and most, most sublime. His hands were warm, tender, squeezing her gently but with a strength just beneath the soft gesture that implied much, much more. At least to her fevered, blue-balled, horny brain, that is! “I’ll make it right with Coach, promise. I’ll run a few extra laps, straighten up the locker room, hell, I’ll even run a toothbrush along the grout in the men’s locker room if I have to, but you’re not getting fired, okay?”
For the first time, Tatum sensed the power dynamic shift between them. Subtly, perhaps, but shift it did. All day she’d been teasing him, the older woman to his sweet, vaguely innocent (or so she’d thought) freshman self. The sexy librarian, or so she hoped, to the farm-fed young jock.
Suddenly, he was the one taking the reins, reassuring her in just the right way, at just the right time, sealing the deal on whatever lies she’d been telling herself all evening that she wasn’t crushing on him madly!
