Page 4 of Big Rucking Disaster

Ironically, both to assholes.

He’d ditched the ex long before I had. To my shame and regret.

“Later.” Hugo waved and strode off.

I straggled back to the gym. I was accustomed to the funky smell. Like some kind of home.

Nicholas’d always insisted I shower before coming home because of what he referred to asthe stench of pubescent children.

That should’ve been a hint he didn’t want kids.

I figured that out way too late. Now, at thirty-nine, I didn’t figure I’d ever have any of my own. So I’d make the best of what I had.

The grade-eleven boys after lunch were quite a crew. They wanted to play basketball all the time. I tried to explain we were here for all kinds of physical activity, but that often fell on deaf ears.

Today, with my mind on Johnnie Leclerc, I let most of them work on free throws.

I snagged three uninterested kids, and we went to the other end of the gym and practiced passing volleyballs. Tatum showed potential as a volleyball player, and I had hopes he’d make captain of the squad next fall in his senior year.

“Hey!” A cry came from the other end of the gym.

A volleyball smacked me on the head because, of course, I’d turned my head.

“Oh shit, Coach, I’m sorry.” Tatum ran after the volleyball.

I pressed a hand to my temple. Yeah, that hurt. Still, I had work to do. “What’s going on?” I stalked across the court to find two students glaring at each other.

“He tried to knock me over.” Jared pointed.

Rudy shrugged.

I arched an eyebrow. All the while, my temple throbbed and my brain was starting to hurt.

“Look—”

“Quitting time!” Louella stepped out of the office. “You’ve got a guest arriving soon.”

All the pipsqueaks ran for the changing room—Rudy and Jared leading the way.Hopefully, they’ll behave in the showers.

Tatum hung back with the volleyball in his hands. “I’m so sorry—”

I waved him off. “Absolutely not your fault. I lost focus.” I eyed the changing room. “Just one of those things, okay?”

He bounced the ball. “Who’s the guest?”

“Johnnie Leclerc. He’s a rugby player.”

Tatum rolled his eyes. “Theup-and-coming sport.”

Rugby had been around about twenty-five years longer than volleyball, but I got Tatum’s meaning. Two very different skill sets. Not his speed—at all. He loved the elegance of the white ball sailing through the air. He loved the lack of physical contact with the opposite team.

“Johnnie’s at the front reception. I’ll go grab him!” And just like that, Louella was gone.

Tatum regarded me for just one moment. “Is he good-looking?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a good guy?”

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