Page 3 of The Coach

By the time he’s finished, the spare’s on, but I’d be rolling into the fundraiser when it’s halfway through dinner. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but frankly, I’m just not in the mood anymore.

“Thanks Carl,” I tell him, giving him a hug before climbing back into my car. “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a grin, waving me off. “Just come by the house sometime and say hi during the week. You know how your mom and I love your surprise visits. You’re welcome any time. Not just football Sundays.”

“It’s not even even football season. It literally is theoppositeof football season right now.”

“Notyet.” Carl laughs. Even though Iowa doesn’t have a professional football team (yet,as Carl always says), he’s faithfully there to watch every game. “Sorry, hun. I just can’t get into baseball the same way.”

I roll my eyes, just a little, but really I’m smiling.

“Have a good weekend, kid,” he says. “Watch out for those potholes.”

Back at home, I park the car and text my best friend, Lauren.

Me: Change of plans. Wanna hit Cherry Street for Cinco de Mayo? I hear The Tipsy Cactus has some killer drink specials

She replies immediately.

Lauren: OMG YES. No fundraiser??

Me: Eh, I got a flat tire and I’m more in the mood for hanging out with you than trying to be social

Lauren: Fair. I’ll get ready stat, and walk by your place then we can head over. Sound good?

Deal.

When we walk into The Tipsy Cactus, it’s packed, the bar humming with energy. String lights crisscross the ceiling, and the smell of lime and tequila fills the air. College kids from Riverbend Valley University are everywhere, patting each other on the shoulder,

“Wow,” Lauren says, looking around. “This is a lot. It’s like being back in college!”

“It’s fine,” I say, smiling as we step further inside. “We’re here for the margaritas, not the frat boys.”

Then, amidst the sea of frat boys, I seehim.

Chapter Two

IVY

Standing at the far end of the bar is a man in a tuxedo, a head taller than most of the people in the bar, holding a drink in one hand and looking completely out of place in the best way possible. The sharp cut of his jacket, the way his dark hair catches the light—he’s magnetic. His beard is perfectly trimmed, giving him a rugged edge that’s at odds with the polished suitcoat.

Instantly, some feeling pours through my gut. He’s definitely not from here. No way I would have missed him before. I would have seen him at some kind of function. I would have seen him at Walmart, HyVee, or one of the few bars in town. Also…what is he doing in a suit?

Riverbend isn’t like Chicago or New York. We don’t have many white collar companies based here. None, actually, that I know of. So the fact that he’s wearing a suit is perplexing.

Lauren elbows me, breaking my focus. “You’re staring.”

I tear my gaze away just before I feel the stranger’s eyes on me, heat rushing to my cheeks.

“I’m not,” I say, instinctively.

She grins playfully. “Youwere. And honestly, I get it. That guy looks kinda like James Bond, but, like...hotter. It’s like if James Bond worked out but he was secretly a cowboy.”

“Good one.” I laugh nervously, trying to play it off. “What’s a guy like that even doing here? This is a blue collar college watering hole, not a New York cocktail bar. And I wasnotstaring. Just looking.”

Lauren shrugs, her eyes flicking back to him. “Maybe he’s a professor at Riverbend Valley. Or someone’s rich dad. Or a lost groomsman? Either way, he’s not from around here. You can just tell by his vibe.”

“Clearly.” My gaze betrays me as it slides back to him. “So…how do I get him to talk to me?”

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