two players exchanged glances. Mark smiled grimly and kept driving. He had a lot to think about—recruiting and trading for next season, not to mention hundreds of emails and phone calls waiting to be returned—but his brain kept skipping back to Rainey.
She’d grown up nice. The wet T-shirt had proved that. But it’d been far more than just a physical jolt he’d gotten. One look into her fierce blue eyes and he’d felt …
Something. Not even in the finals had his heart taken such a hard leap as it had when he’d realized who she was. Or when she’d touched her mouth to his ear.
Or when he’d bitten hers and absorbed the sexy little startled gasp she’d made.
“Come on, Coach. We’re sorry about the fight. We’ve said it a million times. But it was the big game, and we were robbed.”
Just getting to the finals had been a sweet victory, considering the Mammoths were only a five-year-old franchise. It’d been a culmination of grit, determination, and hard work, and even thinking about the season had a surge of fierce pride going through him. But the bar fight—now viral on YouTube—had taken away from their amazing season, and was giving them nothing but bad press. Mark had been featured on Sixty Minutes and all the mornings shows, trying to put a positive spin on things. He’d been flown to New York in a helicopter to recite the Top Ten Things That Had Gone Through His Mind After Losing The Stanley Cup. He’d been on the Ellen DeGeneres Show and had plunged Ellen into the dunk tank for charity. And then there’d been the endless lower profile events filling his calendar: meet-and-greets, photo shoots and endless charity appearances.
And still all everyone wanted to talk about was the fight. It pissed him off. After working around the clock for seven months, he should be on vacation.
He’d seen the press of other players on Jay-Z’s yacht in the Caribbean with a bunch of scantily-clad women. Mark wouldn’t mind being on a sandy beach somewhere, a woman at his side, a drink in his hand. But no. Instead he was babysitting his two youngest players because apparently they thought with their fists instead of their brains.
That was going to change. It’d been handy having his brother as the director of the rec center. Casey and James would be working their asses off. Construction and coaching, and hopefully, if they were lucky, they’d manage to take in some positive publicity while they were at it. That would make the owners of the Mammoths happy, and Mark too.
As well as Rick.
Win-win, all around, and Mark was all about the win. Always.
James leaned forward from the backseat. “We stayed at the Santa Rey Resort last time, remember? Man, they have that great nightclub.…” He sighed with fond memories.
Mark just kept driving. They weren’t staying at the resort. Or the Four Seasons. Or anywhere that any of them were accustomed to. “You both agreed to do whatever it took to not be suspended, correct?”
Another long glance between the two players.
“Yeah,” James said.
‘You’re going to work as volunteer construction crew on the fire rebuilds, then every afternoon you’ll coach at the rec center.”
“That sounds okay,” James said. “Especially if the coach gig involves that hot little counselor they had running the car wash. What’s her name … Rainey? Loved her wet T-shirt—you guys see that?”
Casey grinned. “I loved her whistle and clipboard, and the way she barked orders like a little tyrant. Sexiest tyrant I’ve ever seen.”
When James chuckled, Mark’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “She’s off limits.” He ignored the third long look that James and Casey exchanged. But they had one thing right. Rainey was a tyrant, especially when she decided on something.
Or someone.
And once upon a time, she’d decided on him.
“So we’re not going to the Biltmore?” James asked. “Cuz there’s always plenty of hot babes there.”
“James,” Mark said. “What did I tell you about hot babes?”
James slumped in his seat. “That if I so much as look at one you’re going to kick my ass.”
“Do you doubt my ability to do so?”
James slouched even further. “No one in their right mind would doubt that, Coach.”
“And anyway, you’re not allowed back at the Biltmore,” Casey reminded James. “That’s where you got caught with that redhead by her husband. You had to jump out the window and sprained your knee and were out for three weeks.”
“Oh yeah,” James said on a fond sigh. “Madeline.”
Mark felt a brain bleed coming on. He exited the highway, a good twenty miles from the beach and any “hot babes.”
“Damn,” James murmured, taking in the fire ravaged hills on either side of the narrow two-lane highway, then repeated the “damn” when Mark pulled up to a small, run-down-looking motel.
“Home sweet home for the next month,” Mark told them grimly. “The Santa Rey Welcome Inn.”
Casey and James just stared at the single story motel. The stucco walls were pea-green, the windows lined with wrought-iron grates. The yard was dead grass.
“They’re on water restrictions,” Mark said, and clapped them both on the backs. “You’ll be reminded of that come shower time in the morning. There’s a three-minute shower requirement here. Let’s go,” he said to their groans.
The Welcome Inn sign blinked on and off in flashing white lights. The door to the office was thrown open, letting out the scent of stale coffee and air freshener. Inside the office was a desk, a small couch, and a floor fan on full blast aimed at the woman behind the desk. Celia Anderson was sixty-something, and glued to the soap opera on the TV mounted on the wall—until she saw Mark. With a warm smile, she came around and squeezed him tight. “Aw, you’re such a good boy,” she said. “Throwing us your fancy business.”
Boy? Casey mouthed to James.
“Sometimes homey is better than fancy,” Mark said to Celia.
She patted his cheek gently. “Your father raised you right. I’ve got the three rooms you requested. Cash or credit?”
“Cash,” he said, knowing how badly she needed the cash.
“I’ll give you a discount.”
“No,” he said gently, putting his hand over hers when she went to punch a discounted rate into her computer. “Full price.”
She beamed at him and handed over their room keys.
Which were actual keys. Casey looked at his like he didn’t know what to do with it. They walked down the outside hallway to their rooms. Each had a single bed, dresser and chair beneath the window. All of which had seen better days but were spotlessly clean.
“Coach, I think your assistant screwed up the reservations,”
