Playing For Keeps
Authors: Kathryn Shay
Tags: #contemporary romance, #raising children, #opposites attract, #single parent dating, #football romance, #college professor romance, #parents and sons
Note: PLAYING FOR KEEPS was originally
published in 2005 as OUR TWO SONS. I’ve updated and revised the
book, and changed the title mostly because the initial one did not
reflect the emphasis in the storyline! KS
PLAYING FOR KEEPS
Kathryn Shay
Published by Kathryn
Shay
Originally published in
2005
Copyright
2012
Kathryn Shay
Cover art by
Rogenna
http://sweettoheat.blogspot.com
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
The heavy wooden door to what used to be
Jacelyn Ross’s office whipped open just as she raised her hand to
knock on it; out barreled two hundred pounds of pure male
flesh—right into her. The man said, “Oops...damn.” His fingers
grasped her shoulders to prevent her imminent fall.
Totally unbalanced, Jacelyn pitched forward
into his hard chest, smacking her nose against it; the contact
actually
hurt.
“Ouch.”
He chuckled, gentling his hold on her.
“Sorry.”
As she drew in a steadying breath, she lifted
her gaze. “No, it’s my fault.”
The man’s face was all angles and planes.
Short hair, a bit darker than honey, accented his features. Eyes
the color of warm gray suede were alight with mischief. And he
smelled so good. “Not that I mind.” He glanced down at her shirt
and those eyes narrowed. “What are you doin’ up here, darlin’? This
area is off limits for Beckett students. Or are you a Buckland
fan?”
A small liberal arts school in Rockford, New
York, Beckett College, had recently implemented a Sports Studies
major, where students could pursue all the business aspects of
athletics—such as management, finance, marketing and law—and apply
them to the sports industry. To coincide with the new program, the
Buckland Bulls, a professional football team in upstate New York,
had moved their summer training camp to Beckett and would be part
of the course of study. The team shared this space with the new
staff, which was why no one was allowed up here in the summer.
But her, a fan? Oh, please. She was
forty-three years old. She had a PhD and was head of the Business
Department. She’d been married and had a nineteen-year-old son.
“I’m not a fan.” Self-consciously, Jacelyn
tugged down the blue T-shirt she wore with white shorts. She’d come
to the campus today to clean out her new office and a very odd
request from her son, Kyle, had brought her here. Despite her
casual attire, and her utter embarrassment about doing this, she
tried to maintain some dignity. “I work at Beckett.”
Abruptly, the man released her and stepped
back. “Whatever you say.” He circled around her.
She called out to him. “Wait! I’m looking for
one of the Bulls’ coaches, Mike Kingston. Is he inside?”
Halting, the man turned back around and
folded his arms across his chest. “You got him right here, little
lady. What can I do for you?”
“Give me your autograph.” She couldn’t fathom
why Kyle wanted this man’s John Hancock so badly. Jacelyn knew
people coveted sports stars’ signatures for resale, but she was
sure her son wouldn’t do that. There must be more to his reasoning,
but he’d been vague and evasive when she’d pressed him to tell
her.
Kingston’s eyes turned flinty and his posture
stiffened. “I don’t give autographs.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Though Kyle had warned
her of this, she was still mind-boggled. It wasn’t like he was a
Nobel Prize winner or a famous writer or a scientist who’d
discovered the cure for cancer. She’d been told he held numerous
records and had earned many accolades as a wide receiver for the
Bulls before becoming a coach, but the fact remained that he was
just a silly ball player. “I know you don’t give them out. It’s why
I’m
here. The signature is for my son.”
He looked her up and down—it was a very male
perusal—but not a friendly one. “Yeah, when snakes walk upright.”
Again, he started away. “Y’all have a nice day.”
Reaching out, she grabbed his arm. It was all
steely muscle. “Honestly, it is for my son. He’s a staunch fan of
yours and is dying for your autograph. Since I work at the college,
I said I’d try to get it.”
“No can do, babe.”
Darlin’ ? Little lady? Babe?
Kyle
had told her Kingston was from the South, but did men really call
women those things these days? “What if it was your son who asked
you for something? Wouldn’t you want a stranger to help you get
it?”
His face blanked. “I’d do anything for my
little guy.”
She hadn’t known he
had
a son.
Still, she capitalized on the knowledge. “I would, too.”
Which was exactly the truth. After her
ex-husband Neil had left her and Kyle for a more prestigious job
and a younger woman, Jacelyn had promised herself that she’d
compensate Kyle for his father’s absence.
She’d even come up here like some groupie to
beg on Kyle’s behalf.
The words stuck in her throat, but she got
them out “Please, Mr. Kingston.”
Sighing, he shook his head. “Gimme
something.”
Before he could change his mind, she handed
him the program that outlined the daily agenda for the Bulls’
summer training camp. He scribbled on it, and thrust it back. She
gave the paper a quick peek. “Could you address it to Kyle?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Where I come from, Kyle is a girl’s
name.”
“Not—” But before she could explain, he
pivoted and stalked away.
“Well,” she said staring at his retreating
back. “That was rude.” Jacelyn looked down, then smiled and shook
off her irritation. She’d gotten
the King’s
autograph,
even if it wasn’t personalized to Kyle.
Swallowing her embarrassment, she headed for
the steps.
o0o
What the hell was this world coming to? Mike
thought as he banged out of Basil Hall and strode toward the sports
complex. People lying to get a few scribbles on a piece of paper?
Go figure. He’d stopped signing autographs because he was told they
were selling on eBay for tons of money, then he’d found out his
boycott only made his signature worth more. Like hell this one was
for that woman’s son. She was dressed as a student, and her hair
was in a ponytail, but he supposed she could be around thirty. She
might have a kid, but he didn’t believe her story for a second.
Walking through the quiet paths of the campus
calmed him. Beckett College had been chosen as the new site for the
Buckland Bulls’ summer training camp for many reasons: they’d
outgrown their old facilities at a neighboring state school; the
Bulls’ director of development and marketing had been a Beckett
graduate and had an “in” with the college president; and Mike
himself had recommended a look-see at the campus. One of his three
older brothers had gone to school here and Mike had enjoyed
visiting when they were both still in college. Even then the
grounds were real pretty with their ivy-covered stone buildings and
a springtime so green it took his breath away. He also liked the
fact that the campus was out of the city but close enough to get to
restaurants and theaters. So when the choices had been knocked
around, and the powers that be had asked his opinion, he’d thrown
Beckett’s name into the hat.
He passed people pitching tents, vendors
checking out concession sites, the workers who were renovating dorm
rooms for the team carrying in air conditioners and huge air beds.
Set-up for the camp took a couple of weeks, and was almost done.
The low rumbling of voices and occasional hammering livened up the
solemn campus.
“Hey, Coach, how you doing?” One student in a
group sitting at a picnic table called to him as he walked by.
Beckett usually had two summer-school sessions of five weeks each,
but the college had canceled the second one because it would
overlap with the Bulls’ arrival. There were a few special seminars
taking place, though, before the team got here.
“Great, guys. You?” He kept walking. Not that
he didn’t enjoy the contact, especially with kids. But he was
hoping to get a run in before meeting with the team’s administrator
in charge of the camp. The guy wanted to talk about the parade
coming up next weekend. The fanfare was necessary, but if Mike had
his druthers, he’d have passed on most of it. He was the team’s
wide receiver coach, however, and he had responsibilities. One of
them was to carry the ball on PR stuff until the head coach, who
had had a family emergency, could get to Rockford. Another, that he
looked forward to more, was as team liaison with the college Sports
Studies program. He’d just been appointed last week and was hoping
to use his brain, as well as his body, in that venue.
Before he knew it, he was at the site. He
hustled through the huge red helmet serving as the camp entrance
into the tent that would be the activity center. Once outside
again, he jogged over to the practice field. In the year preceding
the camp’s move to Beckett, a new field house and two playing
fields had been built. Leaving on his light nylon jacket, even
though it was seventy-five degrees and humid, Mike began to cover
the gravel path around the field at a slow jog. Running helped
clear his mind, so after a few laps he was feeling pretty good
mentally. He noticed some people sitting in the bleachers, and a
couple of guys by the fence, watching him. He blocked them out.
Suddenly, something snagged his attention— a bright-blue T-shirt a
ponytail and long legs. Most of the time, he steered clear of women
who hung out by the fields—too dangerous—but today, his interest
was piqued. It was the girl from the office, the one who’d stolen
his signature. Hell and damnation! He kept running, and forced
himself to think about something else.
Tyler. That little guy always brought a smile
to his lips and tugged on his heart. His son was now living with
him permanently. Six months ago, Tyler’s mother Trudy had called to
say she was going to Europe with an Italian soccer player.
Once
a groupie, always a groupie,
Mike had thought at the time and
then had felt bad for his unkind sentiment when she didn’t come
back. Both she and the guy had been killed in a car accident. Mike
had flown out to Ohio to be with Tyler, who’d been staying with
Trudy’s parents. With the Bulls in the middle of playoffs, it was
decided his son would finish school there and come up to live with
Mike in New York at the end of the year.
In the last six weeks, Mike had spent time
with the boy, and was stunned by how much he’d loved being a
full-time daddy to Tyler. But during that time, the normally quiet
child had been even more subdued. And he’d had bad nightmares. So
Mike had decided to bring his son to training camp instead of
leaving him with his own parents for the rest of the summer as had
been the plan. They’d keep him for a week while Mike got settled,
took care of some details for the camp and found somebody to watch
Tyler while he worked.