Ford laugh
ed and pulled me out to the scenic overlook. The sun was still warm as it nudged against the horizon. Still, there was chill sent to the air that meant autumn was on its way. It was my favorite season, especially when Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away.
"Did I tell you that my father and Polly will be home from Cuba in time for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"I know. Your father mentioned it when I talked to him the other day." Ford popped his mouth shut and admired the sunset with a sudden keen interest.
"Oh, no, what are you and my father planning now?" I asked. "I can just imagine the headline: Men Plan Elaborate Feast, Use Every Dish in the Kitchen."
I laughed at my own joke and turned, but Ford was gone.
He was down on one knee. The sky streaked with reds and golds as he reached for my hand. "I have one last headline for you: Will you marry me?"
I dropped to my knees and kissed Ford a dozen times over before I took a breath and said, "Yes. And you can quote me on that.
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BAD COACH
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Eryn
The tension in the air was almost tangible. Everyone's nerves were on edge, everyone's breath was held, and my team was collectively hanging in the balance. After four hard-fought rounds, it had come down to this one play. The games were tied up at two apiece, and we stood at the ready to defend our one-point lead. At 14 to 13, this could be the deciding play. If we took this point, we'd take the game and the match.
Our opponent, however, had the serve. I was positioned at the net on the left: my favorite position. I watched the serve come in, waited for it to be received – which it successfully was – and then sent back over the net.
Over the net…and right in the direction of their two best players, Kelly and Tammy. They always worked as a pair, and I could see the setup for a spike coming from a mile away. I dashed in fast and low, correctly anticipating the spike, and managed to block it with a low dive. In the process, I set it up for a perfect counter-spike, which my best friend Leena smashed with almost poetic perfection.
The ball zipped between two players and bounced just inside the line. We had the point.
My team let out a cheer of victory, and we all rushed in to hug each other. I gripped Leena tightly, smiling and basking in the joy of our victory.
“That was a perfect block!” she exclaimed. “How did you see that spike coming?”
I shrugged as I detached myself from our embrace. “K and T weren't exactly subtle with their movements. I saw it coming.”
“Really? ‘Cause, I didn't.”
I glanced across and saw the pair of them glaring daggers at me. They were clearly not happy about the fact that I'd ruined what they had thought was a perfect setup maneuver. I couldn't understand why they were so mad, though. It was just practice, wasn't it?
The harsh blast of a whistle jolted me from my thoughts.
“All right, ladies, gather round! Before y’all hit the showers, I just want to tell you about this coach situation.”
My practice team, the second string, mingled with the team of starters we had been playing against and gathered around Coach Hatting. Coach Hatting had temporarily come out of retirement to coach us over the past few weeks while the powers that be searched for a new coach. His small, blue eyes swept across the crowd of young women in front of him while he chewed gum, causing his square, stubble-covered jaw to move back and forth like a bull's and crinkle the heavy wrinkles around his eyes.
“Now, as y’all know, today was my last practice with you ladies. I'm too old for this, gosh darn it. And as much as I love the game, I've got a beach house that needs fixing and a fishing boat that ain't seeing nearly enough use. I only came out of retirement because of the incident involving your previous coach, but we ain't gonna speak about that now. Water under the bridge.