Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

She feels like a new version of a puzzle I once could do from memory.

But whatever questions I might have about the girl I used to know and who she’s grown into, one thing’s for sure. I have got to stop watching for her and pay attention to practice.

“Good footwork, Cooper. Light and fast, I can tell you’ve been practicing. Make sure you keep your eyes looking for defenders as you run, Derek. Holes will open and close quick.”

It’s the smallest addition to what Mike already told them, almost a verbatim repeat of his critique. Mike raises one brow in question, but I smile to let him know I’m fine and hope he thinks I just wanted to emphasize it for Derek.

They run the play again, but I don’t see a bit of it because she’s here.

Allyson walks down the sidewalk of the park, keeping her distance from practice. I automatically think it’s to stay away from me, and a thread of anger starts to burn, but I realize a second later that she can’t walk in the grass in her heels.

She looks like she’s come straight from work in high heels, a slim black skirt that hits just above her knees, and a sleeveless blue blouse the color of her eyes. Her waves are pulled back in some sort of twisted knot on top of her head, and there are glasses perched in front of the bun.

She’s got some sort of sexy librarian thing going on that I wouldn’t have expected to do a damn thing for a rough cowboy like me, but suddenly, bookish nerds are looking mighty fine. Or at least this one is.

She doesn’t smile, and even from here, I can see that she’s biting her lip uncertainly. Her arms cross protectively over her middle as her eyes meet mine.

We just stare, words and thoughts and emotions crossing between us like Wonka Vision, but whatever it is she’s trying to tell me, it’s coming through all wrong and I can’t decipher it. I used to know what she was going to say before she even thought it and took delight in finishing her sentences for her. Now, I couldn’t tell you if she wants to kill me or fuck me.

Or both.

I hate it.

I want to stride across the field, cage her in, and ask her to just be straight with me. At least then, I’d know where I stand and could adjust accordingly. Because this confusion irritates the fuck out of me.

If she wants to be enemies, fine. I’ll get on board with glaring at her and leaving her the fuck alone. I’m damn near angry enough to demand we do that myself. But if she wants to fuck, maybe I’ll bend her over the nearest flat surface and make her scream my name again.

I’m just not sure which she wants.

Hell, I’m not sure which I want.

Coach football. Avoid Allyson.

My own words echo through my head. To hell with her. She doesn’t get to decide this. I do, and I’m not going back for more promises and sweet nothings only to be thrown away like yesterday’s trash.

I turn around to the boys, dismissing her. I pull my cap down tight, curling the edges a little more, and then cross my arms over my chest.

“You good?” Mike says quietly from beside me.

Shit. Hadn’t really considered that the silent staredown at fifty paces was a second act for Mike and the team moms who I now realize are watching raptly.

Instead of answering, I grunt.

“Might need to bring popcorn for the moms if you’re going to keep the Showcase Showdown action going. I’m Bob Barker. Please spay and neuter your pets.” He’s trying to joke, but I’m not in the mood for it.

I let out a whistle, making everyone flinch with the volume, but it gets their attention. “Circle up, boys. Last push for practice.” They form a loose circle that includes Mike and me. “We’re going to do something new. Starting person” —I point at myself— “will call out an exercise, like burpees. Everyone does five.”

I drop to the grass, do a push-up, and then jump up, repeating it four more times. Finishing, I wait for the last kid to complete his fifth and then point to Mike who’s standing next to me.

“Jumping jacks,” he says, catching on. Everyone does their five.

We keep going . . . squats, toe touches, windmills, tuck jumps, and then things start to get sillier. “Hop on one foot,” Cooper says, and we do. “Hop on the other foot,” Liam adds, and we do that too.

By the time we make it around the circle three times, we’re exhausted and the kids are laughing. Mostly because the last exercise Joshua called out was for everyone to do the chicken dance. We’d sung and danced along, even shaking our tail feathers. I might’ve intentionally wiggled my ass Allyson’s way a little bit too, rubbing her nose in what she can’t have . . . me.