Crash

“Coach A!” I yelled over the noise.

“What?!” he hollered, spinning around. The look of irritation on his face melted as soon as he saw me. “Lucy?”

“Hey, Coach A,” I greeted, feeling like I should give him a hug, except that would only start a new rumor about me being some sort of teacher seducer or some crazy ass shit like that. Coach A had been my brother’s football coach since the seventh grade—he’d been like unofficial family.

“Lucy?” he said again, looking at me like I couldn’t possibly be here. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a student,” I said, feeling the scar I liked to keep sutured closed rip open again. “I transferred this year.”

“That’s great,” he said, waving off one of his assistant coaches. “But I meant, what are you doing here?” He motioned to the football field I was toeing.

“Oh,” I said, looking over at Sawyer, who had his foot elevated. He was watching me, smiling his Sawyer smile, and waved. I didn’t reciprocate, injured player or not. “I come bearing a solution to your lack of quarterback situation.”

Coach A grinned a smile of amusement. “Of course you have, Lucy. Still trying to save the world?”

“Always,” I said, “and in case you haven’t noticed, it’s working. The world is still here.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “So what’s your solution to my quarterback problem?”

“You know Jude Ryder?” I looked up into the stands, where Jude was back in our spot and looking around for me.

“Everyone does,” he replied, surveying me like I’d gone bonkers. “How does Jude Ryder solve my problems?”

I didn’t even pause. “Let him play QB,” I said. I didn’t let Coach A’s choking on his own breath stop me. “He’s stronger than your two best guys put together, he’s got an arm the Mannings would envy, and he’s accurate as a sniper.”

Coach A’s expression didn’t change.

“I’ve seen him, Coach. He’s the real deal.”

He stayed quiet for a while, appraising me. He knew from experience I wasn’t a putz when it came to football. I’d been to at least twenty games a year since I was a toddler—that wasn’t what he was struggling with. It was the Jude part he was all bent out of shape about.

“Give him a shot,” I said, not above begging. “It’s not like you can lose any more than we already are.”

Coach A muttered something under his breath.

“I’m going to lose my license over this, but what the hell?” he said, sliding his hat off. Looking over at me, he raised a brow. “So, where is Southpointe High’s newest quarterback?”

I shot him a grin which he mirrored. “Right,” I began, spinning to survey the stands. However, a broad chest was blocking my line of sight. “Here,” I finished, that warm, melty feeling picking up right where it left off.

“I turn my back on you for two seconds and you disappear on me,” Jude said, his brow furled. “How can I look after you if I don’t know where you are?”

“Look after me? Jude, we’re at a high school football game.” This whole protective thing had just taken on a whole new level.

“Exactly. There are at least three dozen ways a girl like you could get hurt at one of these things. If you want to go somewhere else, next time just wait for me and I’ll go with you.” His face was lined with worry, which worried me. This kind of territorial was a bit much. I was all for protecting your woman and all that credo, but I wasn’t for you can’t go anywhere, do anything, or think your own thoughts without my approval.

“Jude,” I grabbed the side of his arm, “chill. I was just catching up with Coach A.”

“Now probably isn’t the time to be shooting the breeze with Coach Arcadia, Luce,” Jude said, glancing down at Sawyer, who was still watching us. Jude smiled like the devil where Sawyer was propped up on the bench. “It looks like the man’s got to take care of some problems.”

“His problems are taken care of now,” I said, crossing my blanketed arms one over the other.

Coach A glanced up from his clipboard, appraising Jude and likely second guessing his decision. “Suit up, son,” he commanded, nodding towards the locker rooms. “I think I can stall the refs a few more minutes, but not much longer than that. They want to go home and get dry just as badly as the rest of us.”

“Hold up, Coach.” Jude raised his hand. “Why are you ordering me to go suit up? I’m not one of your ass slapping players.”

Coach A looked at me. “You are now.”

Jude was quick. “Luce?”

One word and he might have well have asked a dozen questions. The man had mastered the art of inflection.

Arching a brow, I waved an imaginary pom-pom. “Go, Southpointe.”

CHAPTER NINE

There was nothing but an inch and a half of free space on the first bleacher. It would work. There was no way I was missing out on Jude jogging out of that locker room.

If he did.

I wasn’t sure just how pissed he was with me for my latest bout of solve the world’s problems-itis, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was somewhere between ragin’ cajun and a rabid badger.

Squeezing in between two guys with bare chests and Go Spartans painted in blood red across their stomachs, I sucked in everything that could be sucked and hoped I could hold my breath for two and half more quarters.