Love Me (Take a Chance 2)

Garrett cleared his throat. “Nothing much. I’m just letting your aunt know about practice on Monday at five.”

“Oh, okay.” Chris looked up at Kiersten expectantly. “Ready to go to Friendly’s?”

“I’m always ready to go to Friendly’s,” she replied. When she slung his gym bag over her shoulder, her gaze met Garrett’s for one brief second. “Good bye, Coach Garrett.”

“See ya,” he murmured.

He watched her walk away, the swing of her hips teasing him. Over the past three months, they had been getting together at her place to have a few drinks on the weekends, but not as lovers. Just as friends. Very platonic friends. It’s all they could ever, and would ever, be. He was her kid’s teacher and coach. Though the school didn’t frown upon such things, other parents did.

All it would take was one game where he played Chris longer than another kid, and all hell would break loose. So no matter how much he might like to see how those swinging hips felt in his hands…he needed to keep his head on straight.

And his hands to himself.

Rolling his shoulders, he headed back to Mike’s side. Upon seeing his return, Mike flashed him a dirty look. “About time,” he muttered under his breath. “Done drooling all over my sister?”

Garrett ignored him. “Okay, everyone. Listen up. Practice is Monday at five, after school. We’ll see you all then. Coach Mike and I have to go over some end-of-game plays, so we’re gonna head out now.”

The women dispersed, leaving him and Mike alone. Mike scowled at him and punched his shoulder. “Look, fuck-wad, stop chasing her. I know my sister pretty well.”

Garrett ground his teeth together. Was he so fucking transparent?

“I’m not chasing her.” Garrett mentally flinched at how untrue that sounded.

But he wasn’t. They were friends. If there was a moment or two where he wished they could be more, then so be it. That was life. It didn’t mean he had to act on the desire. That certainly wouldn’t do at all for his image—the same image he’d worked very hard to build.

“Looked like you were to me,” Mike said.

Garrett gritted his teeth. “Then you weren’t looking close enough. I’m over her. I’ve been over her since college. You’re the one who needs to move on, man.”

“I did.” Mike eyed Garrett in a way that all too clearly conveyed that he doubted Garrett had.

Garrett grabbed the clipboard. “So did I.”

“Good. Now, I need to drink a few beers and find a woman with a lot of daddy issues and no attachment issues whatsoever.” Mike gathered up his jacket and clipboard. “You in?”

Garrett hesitated. After all of the ribbing Mike had been giving him, the last thing he wanted to admit was that he was spending his Friday night at Kiersten’s. “Nah. I think I’m getting sick. I’m gonna go home and take it easy.”

“Like you’ve been doing almost every weekend lately? Are you going to shave your legs and douche, too?” Mike snapped. “What the fuck, man?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right. I’m going to go home and douche. See you later, asshole,” Garrett called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget that we have our own game tomorrow.”

Mike called out, “See you then. Wear a pretty skirt for me, will ya?”

Garrett flipped him off and stalked out of the gym. The cold air blasted his face as soon as he went outside, and he inhaled deeply. Damn, but he loved winter. Tiny snow flurries drifted down from the sky, and Garrett took a minute to appreciate the sheer beauty of the unblemished white snow falling around him. Too bad it wouldn’t stick to the ground. It wasn’t cold enough in Vegas for that.

But it sure looked pretty.

And then it struck him how very much like life falling snow could be. It all looked great at first glance, but within minutes all you had left was yellow snow and gray streets. Nothing ever stayed pure and fresh—which was why he avoided entanglements.

It wasn’t because the only woman he really wanted didn’t want him. No. All he needed was a warm body in bed every once in a while, and he was good to go. It didn’t matter who she was, or where he found her. Intimacy was overrated and overbearing.

Unfortunately, the more he told himself that…the less he believed it.