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Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the long wooden arms of her chair. I stifled a grin.
“So,” she started. “Where do we begin?” She looked everywhere but at me.
“Eyes up, Sprinkles.” I commanded.
A light blush creeped into her cheeks, then she gave a slight shake to her head and pulled out her handy dandy notebook.
I folded my hands in front of me. “Wearegoing to talk about yesterday, but not right now. You can relax.”
I watched as she steeled herself, as if putting on her professional mask would protect her from me. “You’re something else, you know that right? Where did this Alpha maleness come from?”
“It’s always been there, as you well know.” I winked. “But we need to focus on this first.” I patted the file folder in front of me. “Then we can talk.”
It was a promise, and I always kept my promises.
Whitney heaved out a breath. “Fine. What exactly do we need to go over?”
“I’m so glad you asked.”
I filled her in on the calls I made that morning. After lots of coaxing, I convinced Jeremy that he needed to tell his parents about his experience with the coach and how he told me to help stop Coach Ramstrom from pressuring other players. Jeremy’s concerned mother, Janine, immediately came to the station, Jeremy in tow. While she wanted to pull her son from the team, I encouraged her not to. Her son didn’t want that either, so I backed him up. I wanted to stop the coach, not discourage the teens from the game altogether.
“What do we do to stop him?” she had asked me, concern lining her face. I filled Janine in on my plan, while asking her to do some digging of her own. As a supportive mom, she knew lots of the other player’s parents. I requested her help to see if any of their players had made similar claims.
Sure, teens liked to keep things from their parents, especially things that might get them in trouble, but if just one other parent corroborated what Jeremy told me, that could be enough for probable cause.
In the meantime, Janine would hire Whitney to bake cupcakes for the team party, coordinating their delivery at the coach’s house.
All the groundwork had been laid, I just needed to walk through it with Whit one last time before Saturday.
So that’s exactly what we did for the next hour. We sat there together going over the plan with me explaining the players, and Whitney chiming in to ask questions. Throughout the conversation, Whitney relaxed more and more, excitement in her voice. She wanted to do this, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think it was just because she wanted to help out a teenage boy, or me.
I think she was just as pissed as I was about what Coach Ramstrom was allegedly doing to these boys.
I think she saw me in them.
But that was just speculation.
I think my understanding of the sport and the pressure this town places on the players hit home for me as well. I clenched my fists just thinking about how dangerous a game Coach Ramstrom was playing.
Once we were both confident with the plan, Whitney sat back in her chair for just a brief second before reaching for her purse, signaling the end of the meeting.
Then the mood in the room shifted.
We both stood at the same time, with me walking closely behind her towards the door. My fingers instinctively found her arm, trailing down from the shoulder to her elbow, which I used to turn her around so that she faced me.
Her breath hitched. Whitney started to open her mouth but before she could speak, I cut her off, claimed her lips as my hands rested on her hips, walking forward until her back hit the wall.
Whitney opened her mouth to mine, and I swept my tongue along her lower lip before deepening the kiss. Her hands found my waist, pulling me in closer so that we were flush against each other.
She mewled and it damn near made me lose it.
My erection pressed against her leg, which she lifted to give me better access. I held her leg around me, grinding against her as the friction built between us.
Our kisses became more frenzied, my lips devouring hers. I ventured over to her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla. Her permanent smell. I groaned, needing her desperately.
My groan must have brought Whitney back to reality.
“Jack?” she whispered between kisses. Her hands stopped working their way over the planes of my body. “We need to stop. Someone will hear us.”
