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“I’m sorry,” he said. Blake slipped his hat off and ran his palm over his hair before tugging it back on. There was no way he could focus on the tennis module today. They’d only started on Monday and hadn’t quite caught on yet. Southern boys were born with a basic knowledge of football, passed on to them by their fathers, but tennis? Not so much. Broadening their horizons required more concentration than he could give today.
“It looks like rain might come in,” he said.
The twenty-five fourteen-year-old boys who were lined up on the grass in front of him all looked up at the clear blue skies in confusion. There was only one gray cloud on the horizon, but they didn’t dare question Coach.
“Let’s run the mile today and head back inside.” He led the group over to the track that circled the football field. “Four laps around, gentlemen. All of you better cross the line in less than thirteen minutes, or the whole class runs the mile again tomorrow.”
A collective groan sounded as the boys assembled at the starting line. Blake picked up the stopwatch hanging around his neck. “On your mark, get set . . . go!” He hit the start button as the boys tore off down the track.
That bought him a few minutes of peace. If they had a gym, he’d take them inside to work on their free throws, but until a new one was built, “the mile” was a gym teacher’s best friend. Walking over to the bleachers, he sat down and watched his students run.
He hadn’t been this tired in a very long time. Not since preseason training camp in the NFL. It would help if he could sleep, but Ivy had somehow managed to ruin that, too.
It was bad enough that Ivy had embarrassed him and tanked his football career. But since she came back to Rosewood, everything was off-kilter. Starting Thursday, he was going to be spending far too much time with her. He’d spent less than a combined total of an hour in her presence since she’d returned and still he found he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. What would he do after the fair and the prom and the concert?
He just had to stay focused, that was all. He didn’t have to speak to her. He didn’t even have to touch her, aside from the dance. Blake just had to pretend she didn’t exist. His grandmother had been right. He would do what needed to be done for the good of the town. Nothing more.
A couple of the faster boys crossed the finish line after about seven minutes. Snapping back into teacher mode, he stood up and checked his stopwatch. “Good hustle!” he called, clapping. By about twelve minutes all the boys had crossed the line and were sitting in the grass along the track.
“Hey, Coach? Isn’t that Ivy Hudson?”
Blake looked up. Coming out of the band room was the woman he’d decided only minutes ago didn’t exist. It was really difficult to forget about her when she popped up everywhere he went.
Ivy was cutting across the field, heading toward the bank, where he could see her rental car was parked. He supposed she’d wanted to just slip in and out to see her father without coming in the front door and stirring up the whole school. He could understand why.
His students were rumbling with chatter. Blake caught snippets of “She’s so hot,” “Do you think she’d autograph my boxers?” and “Her music sucks, but she’s got a nice rack.” Classy fourteen-year-old observations.
In the distance, he could see Ivy stop in her tracks. She’d finally realized he was standing there among the kids. She looked around, but they both knew the field was completely fenced. The only way out was the tiny gate she had to go through him to get to, or back through the front and completely around the school. With a sigh, she straightened up, tugged her leather jacket down, flung her dark hair over her shoulder, and charged forward.
The boys’ chatter increased and Blake felt his own heart rate jump up proportionally.
“She’s really coming this way!”
“Coach, is it true you used to date her?”
Blake was considering a path of pure denial. Teachers were not to discuss their love lives with students.
“No way!” another boy shouted.
“I saw an old homecoming picture in the award display case that had Coach and Ivy together.”
“Co
ach and Ivy Hudson?” his mouthiest student said with an incredulous tone, making Blake frown. It wasn’t that unbelievable. “Not in a million years.”
“Hey, now,” Blake turned to face the rowdy group of boys, finally intervening. It had gone too far and was frankly starting to damage his sense of pride. “Not that it is any of your business, but yes, we dated for several years. It isn’t that big of a miracle, thank you, Mr. Peterson. We broke up before she became a singer.”
Thank goodness his freshman boys had only been about nine years old when Ivy’s first song came out. Even if they’d heard the whispers, they hadn’t known what it meant back then. And now, hopefully they didn’t realize it was about him. He’d have words with any parent who told their student about it. He needed to be an authority figure on campus. He wouldn’t allow that stupid song to ruin that as well.
“Oh, and Mr. Jackson, if you ask her to sign your underwear, you’ll sit in detention after school today.”
A couple of boys laughed and Kyle Jackson got shoved by his friend. “You might think you know Miss Hudson because you’ve seen her music videos and let her headline in your fantasies, but you will treat her like a lady if and when you meet her. Is that clear?”
A chorus of disappointed “yes, sirs,” sounded in response. That wasn’t enough to give him confidence to introduce his students to her. Besides, Blake hadn’t been alone with Ivy since she was near naked at the lake. If he couldn’t ignore her, maybe they needed to have a chat before they had some huge blow-out in front of the whole town. That meant the twenty-five witnesses milling around in various stages of arousal needed to disappear quickly.
“Hit the showers, boys. Then get to studying that tennis handout for tomorrow. There just might be a quiz.”
A few hung back, hoping to get a better glimpse of Ivy, but a stern look from Blake sent the last of them running back toward the makeshift locker room.
