Coach Love(52)

The woman crossed her arms over her ample chest. He sighed, got up, and yanked his shirt over his head so she’d go away and leave him alone. Since the weekend of the fish fry he’d focused forward, determined to ignore not only Melinda’s full-court pressure to reconcile, but more importantly his growing urge to peel Cara away from her perfectly nice fiancé and run away with her.

As he waited, exposed, skin pebbling in the early morning gloom, he got past the initial embarrassment at her frank scrutiny of his naked torso by recalling all his time spent in various locker rooms. What he wouldn’t give for that life, one where he had shoved memories of Cara to the dump heap, letting long simmering anger at how she’d kicked him to the curb fuel his ardor for other women—lots of other women.

But no, she had to move home, get hired at the new physical therapy clinic, and he had to walk in the door after his injury and become her patient. When he’d seen her the first time, it had taken him several seconds to find words. Her long auburn hair, a near perfect color match to his, had been scraped into a ponytail, she’d been chewing on her fingernail, concentrating on a computer screen at the front desk. The mild tremor of hope that fate had tossed him a bone squashed in the blinding light of her giant rock of an engagement ring.

“Hi,” he’d said, his voice croaky and lame.

When she’d met his gaze after he’d cleared his throat the second time, all the color had drained from her face.

“Uh, well, I’m here for....” He’d pointed down at his leg by way of explanation.

The other girl at the desk had gone full-flirtation mode, seemingly blind and deaf to the obvious tension between them. When Cara had finally spoken, his gut churned. Every single miserable moment he’d spent pondering how he could have been a better boyfriend to her, so she would not have dumped him so blithely slammed into his consciousness. He’d very nearly walked right out and driven into Lexington for therapy. The last thing he needed was the woman who’d broken his young heart into a zillion pieces touching him anywhere, even clinically. He honestly didn’t think he could take that, on top of all the failure he’d been gagging on the last few weeks since the injury.

But it had been all right after that initial shock. Her brisk, professional approach and cool touch had calmed him. Once he’d been evaluated and had his first torturous session, he’d been in too much pain to worry about her. But it had set off a chain of events that led him to that wine bar and tumbling back into her life. He knew that as well as he knew he had to let it go, let her go. She had a new future now, one that included a rich husband and a move to the city.

A strange touch on his belt made him jump back to the present. “What’re you doing?” He stepped away, alarmed.

“You deaf? Take those off, too.” Jackie unbuttoned him in a way that made him feel as if he were at the doctor’s office for the look-away-and-cough exam.

“I know I’m hot and all, Jackie, but it’s a little early in the day to jump my bones, don’tcha think?” He kept hold of his zipper, pants still on, aggravated and anxious.

“I have no more interest in your bones than I do your opinion on the current climate in the Middle East.” She laughed, the sound cigarette-rough. “Now let me see what’s under there.”

Figuring things were already so surreal, why not get naked in front of his strip-club manager boss, he unzipped and hooked his thumbs into his underwear. The Love household had been strict about nudity. The boys were expected to come out of their rooms dressed, or from the shared, overworked single bathroom covered from the waist down. But years in locker rooms had shed him of modesty.

“Hold on there, stud.” Jackie turned away. “No full monty. I don’t wanna see your block and tackle. Only get an idea how some woman might imagine it as she holds a fist full of dollars.”

He got out of his jeans, kicked them aside, and stood dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of boxer briefs. “I’m not stripping for anybody, so get your jollies now so I can get dressed and go into the office for a nap.”

She circled her finger, indicating he should show her a rear view. He did, wiggling his hips a little.

She made a satisfied sound. “I’ve got a problem, Love, and I need your help. It’s good for a cool envelope of cash from me and a share of the tips that get shoved into your skivvies—although....” She tapped her teeth with a long red fingernail. “We’ll have to find you some better ones than them Salvation Army drawers.”

“There aren’t enough cash-stuffed envelopes in the world to make me get up there.” He jerked his thumb toward the main stage, which was drab and cobwebby in the early-morning light shining through the single window. He tugged his jeans over his hips and zipped then reached for the T-shirt he’d draped over the bar stool. Jackie hovered close, still scrutinizing his chest. A telltale flush crept up his neck.