“Thank you.” Jaclyn took his hand. His palm was big, rough and warm. Had he noticed she’d held on a little too long? She climbed her front steps, enjoying the feel of his presence behind her a little too much. “You’re right. It’s more fiscally responsible to hire a promising new coach than to lure a more established one.”
“A promising new coach.” His tone was dry as he quoted her. “Yesterday, I was the man who’d destroy the team.”
He stopped a step below her, but Jaclyn still had to look up to meet his eyes. His broad shoulders sheltered her from her surroundings. He was strong enough for her to lean on. But would he keep her from falling? Could he? Was he the franchise’s savior or its destroyer? The evening was suddenly too quiet. “If the salary wasn’t your motivation, why did you want to coach the Monarchs?” He stayed silent so long, she considered repeating her question.
But then he smiled. His tempting lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. “My father would get a kick out of it.” DeMarcus nodded toward her door. “You should go in. It’s getting late.”
What didn’t he want her to know? Should she press him or shelve her curiosity for another day?
Jaclyn unlocked her door. The lights she kept on in her entryway masked the house’s emptiness. It was a noticeable contrast from DeMarcus’s home. “Thank you again for dinner and for seeing me home. I hope to hear good news from you tomorrow.”
His eyes creased at the corners. “Good night.”
She entered her grandfather’s house under DeMarcus’s careful regard, locking the door behind her.
Unease shadowed Jaclyn as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Even if DeMarcus agreed to coach the Monarchs, would she be able to keep the team in Brooklyn? And would her growing attraction to the former NBA superstar and his dimples further complicate the situation?
DeMarcus found his father reading in the sitting room. “Are you waiting up for me?”
Julian gave his son a skeptical look. “Why? You’re not sixteen anymore.” His father closed the hardcover novel he’d been reading. “Are you going to coach the Monarchs?”
Trust his father to get right to the point.
DeMarcus settled into the matching armchair. His mother’s chair. “Should I?”
“It’s your decision.”
DeMarcus pushed out of the soft armchair and wandered across the room. The days were getting shorter. Long, evening shadows protected the view of the neighborhood from the sitting room window. “I’m risking my reputation if the team continues to lose.”
His father snorted. “No matter what happens, no one will take away your awards. You’ve earned them.”
DeMarcus turned from the window, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his black warm-up pants. “Those are things. What about my image? I’ve built a name as a winner. What happens to that if I coach the team to another losing season?”
Julian shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what other people think. At the end of the day, all that matters is what you think.”
“But what do you think?”
“Listen to your gut. It hasn’t failed you yet.”
“Why won’t you give me your opinion?”
“You aren’t sixteen anymore.”
DeMarcus scrubbed a hand over his face. In his mind, he held the image of Jaclyn’s cinnamon eyes sparkling with the light of the street lamp outside her mansion. His shoulders tensed. “I can’t guarantee her a winning season.”
“Did Jackie ask for a guarantee?”
“ No.”
“If you take the job, do your best. That’s all anyone can expect from you and all you can expect of yourself.”
DeMarcus’s chuckle was dry. He perched on the edge of the bay window’s shelf. “I remember that lecture from my years at basketball summer camp. You and Mom gave me some version of that speech before every game.”
Julian put the novel on the small table between the two armchairs and settled further into the overstuffed brown cushions. “The philosophy was right then, and it’s right now.”
“But Jack needs a winning season.”
Julian cocked his head. “That responsibility wouldn’t be just on you. It’s on the entire coaching staff, the players and the front office.”