The noise grows louder as I listen to my players bitch about the party last weekend. I shouldn't smile, but I do. I might have made a call and had it broken up. It was a bastard thing to do, but I was unable to help myself. The idea of these boys pawing at her had me seeing red for no reason.
This Willow girl won’t get out of my head. She is in my bones, and I can’t shake her. It’s been weeks, and this is still going on. Finding out she lives in the same building hasn’t helped the situation. I’ve been actively trying to avoid her at all costs, knowing the temptation is too great for me to resist. I know being caught alone with her would break my resolve.
I’m thankful that when she stepped onto that elevator that Zoey was with her. I don’t think I would have been able to hold back. I gritted my teeth the entire ride down to the lobby. Her sweet scent, a mix of cherries and vanilla, had filled the elevator, tempting me in a way that I’ve never experienced before. I had to keep my eyes trained forward after catching a glimpse of her outfit. The boots she was wearing were enough to give me a fucking heart attack.
“You want me in a red shirt?” Reid asks, throwing the door open to my office.
“Yes.” He almost looks disappointed that I don’t want him to get the shit knocked out of him.
“They aren't going to get their hands on me.”
“I know, because you’ll have a red shirt on.” I stand, grabbing the red shirt from one of the tables in my office and shoving it into his chest. “You got a good head on your shoulders. Let’s not knock it around too much.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, wanting a chance to show he’s quick on his feet. I know he is, but there is no point in risking it. He walks off with the shirt to go get ready. I do my usual rounds, stopping to talk to players and going over some of the things on the game tape I noticed. My ears perk up when I hear Willow’s name.
“You going to bring that Willow girl again? I saw her social,” Mack says as he ties his shoes. “She’s not just hot but funny too.” Her social? What the hell does that mean?
“Why are you watching their fucking social media? It’s all chick shit,” Reid says, putting the pieces together. It’s only another blow to me, reminding me I’m way too fucking old for this girl.
“I was checking her out.”
“Well, don’t,” Reid orders as Mack stands. Reid may be taller than Mack, but Mack is a fucking tank. I’d know because I used to be one myself. I’m not as big as I once was as a lineman; I’ve let some of the weight drop off over the years. It’s funny how now I’m actually in better shape, health-wise at least. Mentally I’m a damn basket case, thinking about Willow.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, dude. I’m not after your girl. I want the blonde. Don’t tell me you’re fucking them both?” Reid is on him before I can move, throwing him right into a locker. Mack goes to grab for him but stops, knowing better. There won’t just be an all-out fight, but it’ll land his ass off the team if he leaves one mark on Reid. The university won’t have it any other way.
“You stay the fuck away from Willow. You hear me? Unless she comes on to you, don’t even look her fucking way. And trust me, she’s not going to come on to you.” I knew I liked Reid from the moment I met him. “Are we clear?”
“Yeah,” he agrees. Reid lets him go and steps back. He flicks his eyes my way, finally noticing I’m standing right there. I can see the oh shit moment in his eyes, not because he actually fears me but the worry that I’m going to make him do running drills all afternoon. Usually I would but not when the kid has inadvertently done me a favor.
“Everyone on the field. Warm up!” I shout.
“Don’t need no stuck-up rich pussy anyways,” Mack says under his breath. This time it’s me that reaches out and grabs Mack, getting into his face. Willow may not be mine, yet, but there is no way I would allow any man to ever disrespect her in my presence. Or any woman, for that matter.
“I don’t know what kind of locker room talk you did at your other school, Mack, but that shit doesn't fly in mine. I hear it again and we’re going to have a problem. Understood?”
“Sorry, Coach,” he rushes to say. “I was trying to push his buttons.”