The Odd Ballerz (10 page)

“No…” Aubrey said, drawing out that word, in between laughing.

“Yes. I’m in middle school all over again, and not just the clumsy part,” Memphis said to Aubrey’s continued laughter.

“I could sign up for this camp too. Keep you company. What days of the week did you say again?”

“What? No. I look bad enough on my own against middle schoolers, which says something. I don’t need you as my competitor. I didn’t know you were interested in football anyway,” Memphis said, getting rid of the page filled with the images of Z.

“I like the game. Grew up watching it on TV with my brothers. Never thought to play it, though.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You’re getting in shape at least. That’s good,” Aubrey said.

“I’m okay being out of shape, or at least I was. I no longer have a choice in the matter. So, Aubrey the new district manager… it does have a nice ring to it,” Memphis said, changing the subject back to something other than her physical conditioning again.

“And you’re sure you’re not bothered by it?” Aubrey asked.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Good. I’ll keep you posted. I have an appointment across town, so I better get. See you later,” Aubrey said, grabbing her purse.

“Yep, and thanks for being honest about the position. I appreciate it,” Memphis said.

“What are friends for?” she said, smiling.

Memphis waved once more when Aubrey reached the door. She reached for her salad and removed the outside packaging before sliding a forkful into her mouth, moving her mind into its musing mode. So Billie was finally giving up the ghost. She would miss her, the woman who’d saved her life, at least career wise. Did she want her old mentor’s job? Yes, would have been her answer before this whole football thing started. Now she was considering trying to make the team for real.

After all, Coach Z said she was improving, and he didn’t seem the type to lie. Maybe there was a future in football for her, a diversion in her life, for a bit at least. Now if he came with it on a personal level, that would be perfect, and all her desire to start a life elsewhere she would put away immediately. She only ever considered a change as a way to shake up her life. Up the insurance ladder in a new town and she could fill her days with new business, with new people, perhaps even new men.

The only downside of it, and it was a huge one, was that she’d have to leave her sisters behind. Her heart hurt at that thought. Maybe she wouldn’t have to. She could stick around and see where this football thing led, or more where he led, the hope that refused to die. She smiled and sat back in her chair, allowing her mind to wander wherever it wanted to take her, which for now was back over to the images of Coach Z.

# # #

Friday

Memphis was determined to be early today. Proving a point to Coach Z was her motivation. She turned into his drive, and for the first time she had plenty time to look over his place. Z’s
compound
, her name for it, with his home at the center, and everything else, all the other buildings built in the same red brick as his home, sat around and across the road from it. Maybe he was a part of the preparedness movement, one of those dudes getting ready for the end times. Otherwise, how did one explain the need for all of this?

Grass, waist-high, surrounded his place in the front; an attempt at privacy perhaps. It ran about ten yards deep before it met up with grass recently cut and covered with clippings. That hadn’t been there earlier in the week, had it? She didn’t have the answer to that. This running-late thing had impeded her attempts to study this part of his place. She only knew the back of it, due to her running—okay, walking—around the track.

Behind the ten yards or so of cut grass sat his home, and it was nothing near what she’d expected from an ex-footballer. Where was the huge and sprawling house, instead of this small and old one, maybe even the original red brick homestead from back in the day? She drove past a small parking lot out front, two to three cars, with a sidewalk made of stones leading through the yard, forking as it reached his house. One fork led to the front porch, and the other led to a side deck.

The front porch was large, which she liked. It started to the right of the front door, snaked all the way around to the left side of the house where it connected up with a side deck filled with picnic tables and lounge chairs on end, and a large outdoor grill area on the other. There wasn’t a rail of any kind on the deck’s edge, just two steps down and you were standing in the side yard.

She continued on a few yards or so before she encountered the metal gate, open and tied back to a post. She was through it and checking out the back of his home, where an in-ground pool sat in the middle of his backyard, with lounge chairs surrounding it.

The football field was up next and to the right. She’d heard how difficult it was for some players to leave their glory days behind, but really, a personal football field? A good deal of money was needed for one to build a private football field, she imagined. This one was standard size with lights, two goal posts, and a track, the cushiony kind of track one would find in some of the better high schools.

The field was pretty, with its white line markers in stark contrast to the green of the grass, which meant sprinkler systems and plenty of water. It was the only green grass in the otherwise sea of brown that was the other parts of his property and more typical of Texas in June.

The coaches were milling about, during their usual preparation detail, she guessed. She drove past them, the first time she didn’t have to duck and hope to go unnoticed. She held her head high today, even waved to Coaches Z and D, who were both staring in her direction. She followed the drive onward, continuing with her assessment of his property.

# # #

“Look who’s here and early,” Damian said. Jones had just passed them, waving. “Looks like your little talks before camp worked,” he said, smiling. “I assume that’s what you two are over there discussing. It’s not what I’d choose to talk to her about, but that’s me,” Damian said.

Z checked his watch and, yes, Jones was, in fact, fifteen minutes ahead of the start time. Good for her, and it was nice to know she could be on time. She parked and of course he continued to watch, or it was more he waited to see the shape of her as she exited her car today. It wasn’t long before her leg appeared in a high-heeled shoe, all early-stage striptease is the way he viewed her one-body-part-at-a-time exit from her car. Wow, he thought, taking in the totality of her outfitted in another dress, a gold one today that fit like a glove, short-sleeved and everything totally covered. He liked that about her.

“It never gets old, does it?” D said, chuckling, standing beside him still.

“No, it doesn’t,” Z said.

“I think you should go over and commend her for being on time for once. Praise her for doing the right thing. Positive reinforcement is what it’s called,” D said, chuckling.

“Maybe, since I have to go over anyway. I left my whistle, and one always needs a whistle with Jones,” Z said, moving away from D, heading to the restroom, wanting to get a closer look at her in that dress. Not that it would change anything. She was still off limits. Yeah, yeah, not technically, he told himself again. He knew, but she would remain so nonetheless. However, knowing that fact didn’t diminish the pull of her body. A siren’s song was Jones’s ass, and it would be nice to see it up close for once.

She was walking purposefully toward the restroom, with a nice, sure stride, and no sign of the falling woman here. All confident and sexy, and he loved the swing of her hips, a smooth glide from side to side. He was almost to the restroom, and wow, however potent Jones was from a distance, it was three times that up close.

He reached for the door and held it open for her, glad for the safety of his shades to hide his feelings behind. His mouth was fixed in its usual straight line so there would be no outward signs of his feelings as he looked her over. Perfect in gold today, gorgeous against the brown of her skin, the dress hugged her curves from the top of her collarbone down to just above her knees and tempting she was, and good thing he was a strong dude who had his priorities in order.

“Jones,” he said when she reached him.

“Coach,” she said, meeting those shades again, and that mouth, a matching set of seriousness.

“Congratulations,” he said.

“For?”

“For being on time, and for putting to rest a theory I had about you,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What theory is this?” she asked, smiling.

“One that ended with me kicking you out of camp. I thought you were deliberately falling, running late, and whatever else, to get out of the bet you made with your sister.”

“Wow, your comments the other night and now today. I really didn’t know football players did all that thinking,” she said, smiling. “But thanks, I think, for not thinking so ill of me. And since we’re on the subject of theories, you’re not the only one with one. You want to hear mine?”

“About?” he asked, watching the emotions play over her face. Irritation, embarrassment and hurt again, flickered across it, and more confirmation that he’d been wrong about her.

“You, and why you feel it’s necessary to meet me at the beginning of every session to personally point out my tardiness,” she said, her eyes on his. She didn’t really have one, was straight up winging it, because she was a little bit pissed at his assumption, and that pity thing was back in his eyes, which brought out the defensive side of her. Always.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“You hope to make me crumble. Then you’ll have me where you want me,” she said, moving closer to him.

“And where is this?” he asked, lowering his voice, and if she didn’t know better she would have taken the look in his eye as interest of the sexual variety.

“Offering you cheaper insurance. That’s what you’re really after… what this is about, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing between their two bodies.

He laughed, couldn’t help himself, surprised, and not for the first time. “What
are
you talking about, Jones?” he said.

“You’re looking for discounts, deep insurance discounts. You wouldn’t be the first, you know. It’s okay. I can take a look at your policy. I don’t mind. I can see if your insurance agent is screwing you. I won’t tell him or her that you’re considering cheating on them.”

“Jones,” he said, chuckling.

“See, now didn’t that sound crazy? About as crazy as me falling over my feet so you’d have a reason to throw me out,” she said.

He laughed.

“Can I go now, Coach Z, sir? Now that we’ve settled that matter,” she asked.

“Yes, you can,” he said, chuckling as she moved away from him.

“I do have a job, and I’m trying to make this work. I’m not looking to quit,” she said.

“Glad to hear it, Jones. You still have only one strike remaining, so be careful how you use it,” he said, smiling as he walked away.

She stood by the door for a few minutes before she went inside to change.

# # #

Five minutes later, Z stood near the track, watching the boys and Jones start into the running of their laps. He’d eventually made it over to pick up a whistle, his mind running overtime with thoughts of Jones in that dress mostly, and the possibilities of what all of her looked like without it. One could dream. It was also that bit today about him looking for discounted insurance. Priceless, and that bit of personality, added to the look of her, was the reason his thoughts were in a tangle. Fun and entertaining, however unintentional, was Jones. He had been charmed and he would add sexy, humorous, and hurt again by his comments, to his assessment of her.

“You must be Z,” a feminine voice said, interrupting his Jonesing-for-Jones musings.

“I am,” he said, turning to face a woman his height, tall, pretty, blonde, lean, with the build of an athlete. You could see her figure outlined in the shorts and the form-fitting shirt she wore. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

“I’m Aubrey White. We spoke on the telephone this afternoon. I called about playing for the Ballerz. You’re the head coach, Zachary Sloan?” she asked.

“Assistant coach in charge of offense,” he said.

“Noted,” she said, and smiled. “I decided to come out tonight after all. No use putting it off.”

“That’s great,” he said.

“The boys are out on the track, I see,” she said, turning to face them.

“Yes. Two warm-up laps before we start camp,” he said.

“Should I join them then? I came dressed to participate.”

“Sure, if you want. It’s as I said on the phone, the first week of camp is mostly coaches observing. We are handing out assessments this evening actually, so you’ll miss that,” he said, smiling. “Is there a position you have in mind to play, one that you’ve played before?” he asked.

“No. I haven’t played before but I think I would make a good receiver. My dad’s big into football, and I ran the idea by him. Being a receiver was his suggestion. I have the height advantage, not super speedy, not your kind of speed. I’m in good shape, and used to running, pretty strong too, not your kind of strength, though,” she said as she reached out and wrapped her hands around his left bicep.

He looked at her hands on his arm, surprised and yet not.

“I’m sorry,” she said, removing her hands.

“No problem,” he said and smiled. “Campers will be split into two groups after today and will train in those groups next week. How about you fall in with skill players and we’ll go from there. You should probably get started on your laps,” he said.

“Sure,” she said and smiled.

He watched her move away from him, surprised to see her here. She had called this afternoon, said she’d been thinking about trying out for the Ballerz for some time, heard they were looking for players. He’d gotten lots of calls like hers. It was one thing to call, but another to a show. Women’s football looked quirky on paper, fun even, which was true, but it was also hard work, not as hard as the men’s game but close.

She’d also said she was good friends with Alex, or maybe it was Jones she was good friends with, he couldn’t remember. She said she might come out tonight and keep her friend company. It was what good friends did, so it must have been Jones that was the good friend.