Page 6 of Hometown Halftime
“You could’ve had another beer,” I tell him sweetly, “if you hadn’t been staring at my tits while you were talking to me.”
His mouth drops open.
“Time to go home, Bob.”
Chapter two
Riley
I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just a meeting with the Athletic Director. Just Knox, Coach Wells, and some woman Knox keeps calling “perfect for the job.” This is just an assistant coaching position Knox talked to me about when I told him I was coming home for a semester. I officially applied two days ago because I need income since my scholarships are on hold. I need something close by, and, most importantly, I need something that feels familiar and new at the same time.
Now I’m standing outside the Athletic Director’s office at Cedar Falls High with my hands shoved into the pockets of my cleanest jeans, trying not to pace a hole in the floor. Knox told me to be here five minutes early. I’m twelve minutes early. My stomach is doing something complicated and annoying.
The door swings open, and Knox steps out, wearing a grin. “There he is,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Glad you’re here.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re sure I’m not underdressed?”
“You’re fine.” He waves to have me join them. “This isn’t a job interview. It’s a vibe check.”
“A what now?”
He ignores my question and leads me into the room.
Cam is leaning against the far wall, eating a protein bar. The Athletic Director, Coach Ramsey, is sorting through papers behind his desk. We always just called him the AD when I played football in high school.
Standing near the window in faded wide leg jeans and a black long-sleeve tee is a woman. She looks familiar. I think she works at Gordy’s if I remember correctly from high school. I try not to stare, but she has her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, arms crossed loosely over her chest like she’s completely indifferent to our meeting. Everything about her is composed, confident, and slightly scary.
She makes it a little hard to breathe.
She looks at me, and her eyes scan over me, assessing, as she narrows one eye and fuck, she's beautiful. Black hair contrasts against her pale skin, bright blue eyes filled with suspicion, and full, pink lips pressed in a tight smile. Her makeup is simple, except for her black eyeliner and thick lashes. She's not the soft, girl next-door kind of beautiful I've gotten used to at college parties. It's more like here's a woman who could drag you into a storm, and you'd thank her afterwards, asking her to do it again.
Fuck, I think I might be in love.
Knox clears his throat. “Kinsey, this is Riley Weston. Riley, Kinsey Malone. Head coach—assuming she stops being dramatic about it and accepts the position.”
She shoots him a look that could melt asphalt. “Keep pushing me, Dalton. I dare you.”
Cam snickers from his place against the wall.
I step forward and offer my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her hand meets mine, warm and firm. There’s no hesitation in her grip.
“Riley,” she says. It’s just my name, but it makes my pulse pick up its pace. “You played football for Knox, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Quarterback.”
“Great arm,” Knox adds unnecessarily.
“Magical arm,” Cam corrects. “Great aim, man can find a hole anywhere.”
My face heats, because that sounds…not appropriate. Kinsey doesn’t blush though, she just lifts one eyebrow.
Coach Ramsey gestures toward the small conference table. “Have a seat. Let’s talk logistics.”
We all sit. I’m across from Kinsey, which is either a strategic placement on Knox’s part or just a terrible inconvenience for my attention span.
Ramsey runs through the details—season schedule, budget, equipment orders, transportation, practice times—and I nod through all of it, answering questions when asked, hoping I sound older than I feel sitting at this table full of experienced individuals. Every time I start to relax, Kinsey shifts in her chair, crosses one leg or adjusts her ponytail, and the movement drags my attention right back to her.
