Page 34 of Summer Affair
Clay filled a pint glass and slid it to the coach. “Some eighteen-year-old isn’t what these kids signed up for.”
“Which is why we might end up merging teams,” Donovan explained. “Moving the bigger ones up to the next level.”
Clay stopped. “What would happen to the youngest ones?” Because Tiny Tikes was a zero-tackle, flag-football team. The next level up was all tackle all day long, and Sammy was too small to be on that kind of team.
“They’d have to wait until next year. Without a coach, I’m not sure we have another option.”
“What about moving over an assistant coach from another team?”
“Insurance states that we have to have two adults overseeing each team.”
His immediate thought went to Jillian, and how cutting Sammy’s team would affect her summer. With Dirk bailing, Clay knew how desperate she’d been for childcare. She worked hard to be a great mom, even if it meant she missed out. From what he could gather, while her ex seemed to make a steady six figures, Jillian didn’t have much help in the finance department. Which was why she had to work the hours she did. Her lights rarely went off before midnight most nights, then she was up with the sun prepping for her day.
Clay might not be able to rewrite the past, but he could make the right choice going forward. Besides PT and training, he had nothing but time on his hands. If he split his schedule between early morning and early evenings, he’d free up a good chunk of his afternoon.
Before he knew what he was saying, Clay offered, “Don’t cut those kids. Don’t cut any kids. They deserve to have fun too. I’m here for the summer, I’ll take them on.”
Coach Donovan took a beat, clearly trying to make sense of what Clay had just said. Which was fair since Clay didn’t know a single other player in the NFL who spent summer training coaching a bunch of pint-sized players.
“Are you saying you’ll coach one of our teams?”
“I’ll coach the Bullfrogs,” he clarified. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And that meant telling Jillian right away. “I have to check with someone first, but I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow.”
“This is just … I don’t know what to say.” He looked as if he’d just won the lottery. Donovan went on to explain some of the policies of the league. “You don’t know how much this will mean to them. I mean … the other coaches might see it as an unfair advantage, but who cares what the hell they think.”
“They’re six and seven-year-olds. How competitive can it get?”
The coach looked as if he wanted to say something but, in the end, clapped him on the back again and left Clay to his beer.
“What the hell was that?” Gage said, sliding onto the stool next to him.
Clay was just thinking the same. For a guy who’d committed to laser focus, he’d just doubled the amount of responsibility, and the number of people, counting on him. Then why did he feel as if he’d made the right call?
“Me giving back.”
“More like, sweeting up to the pretty landlady next door,” Owen said.
“Or offering to help out an organization that helped me when I was a kid.”
Owen threw back his head and laughed, loud and annoying. “Man, you’ve done some pretty stupid things to get laid, but this one takes the trophy.”
“Unlike you, Grandpa, I don’t need gimmicks to get laid. Just flash a smile and a well-timed wink, and it’s game time.” Even as he said it, he shifted in his chair.
“Maybe with one of the ladies at the end of the bar,” Gage said, sliding him a look that made Clay blow out a breath. “Jillian doesn’t work that way. She doesn’t have time in her schedule to deal with games. And her BS meter is spot on.”
“You use a single trick from your arsenal and,” Owen snapped his fingers for effect, “it’s game over.”
He knew his brothers were speaking the truth, but he’d never had to try all that hard. With Jillian, it was as if he was lacking the right playbook.
“Who said this had anything to do with Jillian.”
“You did, by the way you got all defensive,” Gage said.
“He does get all huffy when he’s caught. Remember the time he stole my car and went for a joyride with his buddies, and he got a ticket for doing eighteen miles per hour in a forty?”
“You called the cops knowing I was the one who took your car! What kind of asshole does that?”
“The kind of asshole who knew you were BS-ing when you said you were hanging at your buddies’ house. Man, you’re a piss-poor liar, which is why I’m about to call bullshit. You offered to coach that team to impress the lovely Goddess J. And to prove it, I’m going to make a wager that you’re wearing your Sunday best because you’re hoping Jillian shows.”
