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  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” he answered, mouth full.

  My southern manners had me cringing inwardly. I was no Georgia peach or delicate flower, but my grandma had always taught me that one of the things that separated us from the monkeys was our table manners.

  “Last but not least,” I said, turning to the youngest coach on the end.

  “I’m Ronnie Rosario.” He scratched his head where three lines were shaved into his hair by his temple. “I played for Coach Nelson a few years ago and needed some income. He took me on for special teams.”

  I noticed his solid build and big hands. “Did you play anywhere after?”

  He shook his head. “My family owns an HVAC company. I went to work after I graduated.”

  “Hell of a tailback,” McGuire said, his first words to me that weren’t laced with wrath.

  Ronnie gave me an embarrassed smile. “Didn’t help us much then.”

  “Let’s try to get your team some wins then, huh?” I stood up and patted his shoulder before taking another long look at all the coaches. “I’m gonna give this team one hundred and ten percent. I expect the same from you. I appreciate y’all comin’ to meet me early. Tomorrow I want to go over the playbook, see what changes we could make. Same time okay?”

  “But tomorrow is Saturday,” Erik said between bites of his second bagel.

  “Correct.” I gave him a hard glare so he’d know I wasn’t here to mess around. These five men hadn’t managed to lead their football team to a winning season in years. I was here to do that. And that meant no sleeping in on Saturdays.

  He grunted as he chewed, and I assumed that was his confirmation he’d be there. I eyed the rest of the men before moving my desk back into place. “Bring your ideas and skills development plans. This is a rebuildin’ year, fellas, I want to start it off on the right foot. See you in my office tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Your office?” McGuire asked with a raised brow. The silence of the rest of the coaches let me know they were all aware of what his question implied.

  I clenched my fists and blinked to the windows. My office didn’t have windows.

  There was no way we could all meet in my closet like some sad Harry Potter imitation of an office. “Fine. We’ll meet here.”

  McGuire smirked, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting and turned to leave.

  “Thanks, Coach,” Ronnie said, and I smiled at him over my shoulder. At least I had one of them in my corner.

  I made my way straight to the main office, where I met Mrs. LaRue. She had me fill out some papers for a parking pass and key to the building before I headed back to my office. Which was much different from the one I’d had last spring.

  When I’d sat my dad down a few months ago, I’d asked him point-blank, “Do I have a chance here to move up at all? I’ve been at Tech for five years now, and I’m assistant special teams.”

  “And recruitin’ coordinator,” he had reminded me.

  “Assistant recruitin’ coordinator,” I’d corrected him. The difference between assistant and head recruiter was quite a bit.

  He’d given in with a reluctant nod.

  “You know I can do more.”

  My dad had rubbed his cheek and taken a deep breath. He’d glanced at me, down to his desk, then back at me. “Charlotte, you’re swimming upstream.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’d asked, my voice raising enough that a couple guys outside his office noticed.

  He’d gotten up to close the door. “You’re an excellent coach, but you’ve got two things workin’ against you: your first and your last name.”

  I’d huffed, my face heating with anger. He had begrudgingly taught me everything I knew from the time I was a child, and also liked to keep me firmly aware of just how much I had to overcome. “I’ve had to work twice as hard my entire life because of my first name,” I said. “I think I’ve shown you and everyone else that I can do it.”

  “And it’s still not enough to change the world.” He’d sat in his chair with a weary exhale. “Maybe in a few years the world will be different because of what you’ve accomplished, but for now you’re goin’ to remain assistant special teams coach.”

  I’d sat forward, trying not to sound pathetic as I asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  I’d left his office in a mood and gone home to open up my computer for a job search.

  That’s how I’d ended up here, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in a diverse and forward-thinking city, with an athletic director who wasn’t afraid to hire a woman and a principal who didn’t care if I was a man, woman, fox, or hound, just as long as he could finally brag about a couple of wins for the lagging school sport. And I could do that for him. For the team. For me.

  As I sat down behind my desk, the old leather chair creaked, and I decided I’d make the most of this room. An office did not a coach make.

  But in the meantime, I’d grab just a few things: a whiteboard, some markers, magnets, shelves, plastic organizers, a big calendar, and a giant bottle of wine.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Connor

  “ ‘This is a rebuilding year,’ ” Al said in a snickering imitation of Charlie Gibb.

  The new head coach.

  Charlie Gibb, a woman and the new head coach.

  I shook my head. It seemed like I’d been living in the twilight zone since we were informed she was coming on board. To find out I hadn’t gotten the job was a gut punch. To find out I’d lost it to a woman was worse. Then to learn she was Lloyd Gibb’s daughter, it was like I had been run over by a truck. I was sure the only reason they went with her was for name recognition. There was no way she could be good at this job, she was a girl.

  I mean, I knew women can do anything men can do. In fact, most of the women I knew were smarter and better people than most men I knew—but football was different.

  Football was . . . football. It was rough-and-tumble, violent and aggressive, helmets smashing and bodies slamming in an effort to try to rip the heads off of opponents. Something that I couldn’t imagine she knew anything about, no matter who her father was.

  “She’s not wrong on that account,” I said, standing up. The rest of the coaches did too. I handed the box of bagels to Erik. “Take ’em home.”

  “Thanks.” He jerked his chin in my direction and lumbered out of my classroom, past the United States map hanging lopsided on the wall next to the door. Ronnie and Ken followed him, but Al hung back even after I went to sit at my desk, turning on my computer to send the hint I didn’t want any company.

  “What do you think of her?” he asked as I brought up my e-mail.

  I thought she’d stolen this job from me, but before I even opened my mouth, Al went on.

  “I can’t believe Jim brought her here. This is all just a publicity stunt.”

  I briefly met his eyes before going back to my screen.

  “It’s not right. It’s not right that you got passed over.”

  I didn’t disagree with him, but Al was a gasbag and on his way out in a few years. I wasn’t about to open my mouth in front of him.

  “It’s just not right.” He accentuated his words with knuckle raps on the desk.

  I deleted an e-mail about a conference and opened up another message from Ms. Bose, Jaylin’s mom. She wrote to let me know that he had a high ankle sprain and would most likely miss the first week of doubles. It was equally irritating and ironic that the players and their guardians had come to know me as the de facto coach. I’d expected—hell, everyone had expected—me to get the job.

  Not her.

  I sent Ms. Bose a reply wishing Jaylin a speedy recovery—he was our best running back—then shut down the computer. I grabbed my keys. “I’m out of here.”

  Al shuffled up, struggling a bit to get out of the attached desk and chair. “Yeah. We’ll talk later . . . see what we can do about this situation.”
>
  “Sure.” I shut and locked my classroom door by habit. No one was going to steal my poster of the Declaration of Independence. The only people hanging around the building at this time were some administrative assistants and a handful of teachers trying to get a leg up before the school year started. But Al hung around as if I’d change my mind about talking to him. I wasn’t going to. I wanted to go home and nurse my bruised ego with a few beers and ESPN.

  I liked to think of myself as a good guy with a strong character, not easily ruffled, but this decision really pissed me off. For so many reasons, not the least of which was that I deserved this. I’d been at Douglass coaching and teaching since I’d graduated college. I’d put my heart into the team, was patient through eight losing seasons, waiting for my time to move up when Nelson retired. And now that the time had arrived, I’d lost out to a woman.

  Did that make me sound like a whiny asshole? Probably. But it was honest.

  • • •

  I’D SULKED around the house for the better part of the day before Blake called me. He’d been one of my best friends since high school, and he refused to take no for an answer when I said I wasn’t interested in hanging out.

  “We’re picking you up,” he said. “Bear’s got the boat ready, and we’ve got the booze. Be there in twenty.”

  I grumbled but hung up and grabbed my shoes, hoping to forget about my frustration for a night.

  Before long, I was relaxed against the middle seat of Bear’s sailboat on Lake Minnetonka. Bear was the third point in this friendship triangle, and his boat was one of the main reasons I loved him. Besides the fact that I’d known him since we were fourteen and he was like a brother to me.

  “Aye, McGuire, rig up the jib on the starboard side.”

  With my sunglasses and hat on, I knew Bear couldn’t see my raised eyebrow, but I stared at him nonetheless. I couldn’t rig up the jib on the starboard side even if I knew what that meant, and instead tipped my head back to enjoy the breeze coming off the water. Since Bear had retired from professional hockey, he’d taken up a lot of hobbies, but I had to say, sailing was my favorite. With the perfect, cloudless sky above and blue water below, there was no better way to spend a summer evening. Even if I was in a bad mood.

  “You lazy piece of shit,” Bear called from his spot by the wheel. “You’re my second-in-command. How can I be the captain without a first mate?”

  “Make Blake your first mate,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “He’s too busy making out with Red.”

  Red, meaning Piper, beer brewer and Blake’s girlfriend. They’d met when he stocked some of her beer in his bar, and she’d become a constant in his life, as well as ours.

  I heard a muffled sound from the front of the boat, but I was too content to crane my head up. Blake’s voice carried over from where I knew he’d been sitting with Piper. “You know we can hear you, right?”

  “Yeah,” Bear said. “Get over here, I need a new Gilligan.”

  Light footsteps trod toward me before Piper said, “If he’s Gilligan, does that make me Mary Ann or Ginger?”

  “You’re Mary Ann, definitely a Mary Ann,” Blake said, his voice close to me now too.

  Piper laughed. “I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not.”

  I wasn’t real keen on old TV shows, and even less keen on doing anything but drowning my sorrows in alcohol.

  “I don’t like this game,” Sonja said as a light kick landed against my calf. I sat up to find her looking at me from under a wide-brimmed fedora. “Talk to me about something.”

  Sonja was Piper’s best friend, a personal trainer and boxer. And if we didn’t make up a ragtag group of friends, I didn’t know who did. I, being a teacher and coach, was the only one among us with a nine-to-five job. And apparently the only one with any current stress.

  “Not in the mood,” I replied after a sip of beer.

  Sonja ignored me with a wry grin. “What’s up with your football team? What are they again? The Woodchucks?”

  I groaned, knowing Sonja was relentless when she wanted something, and gave in. “The mighty, mighty Otters.”

  I snapped my teeth for good measure, and she tilted her head with a laugh. “You meet the new coach yet?”

  This time I turned my face away from her. I didn’t want to talk about this. I scrubbed my hand over my jaw. I’d been told in the past that I needed to work on my communication skills, that I wasn’t good at expressing emotion. Like I gave a shit.

  “Did I hit a nerve?” She sat forward, guessing correctly why I didn’t want to chat.

  “I’m surprised Bear didn’t tell you.” Because Bear and Sonja were two peas in a pod, and because Bear couldn’t keep a secret.

  She briefly looked over her shoulder at the man in question before turning back to me. “We don’t tell each other everything.”

  “Yeah, just like I wasn’t looking forward to getting this job at all.”

  She moved next to me and smacked my shoulder. I wasn’t used to having girls as friends, but Sonja was pretty cool. Piper too. Except they constantly badgered me with questions.

  “What happened?”

  “They didn’t promote me.”

  She stared at me, waiting for more, and I huffed. “They gave the job to Charlie Gibb.”

  The words tasted bitter as I said them, and I cringed.

  “Well, what do you know about this guy?” she asked.

  “Charlie isn’t a guy.”

  A few seconds went by before Sonja picked up her phone and typed. I couldn’t believe she could get Wi-Fi out on the lake. “Charlie Gibb is a woman,” she affirmed, a smile on her face. “Badass.”

  As Sonja rejoiced in female empowerment, I seethed in silence. I didn’t get emotional over much, but football had been the one constant in my life, and it mollified me when other parts of my life went to shit. It was predictable even in its competitiveness. There were rules, and downs, and an end zone you knew you could work toward. Life wasn’t like that. Crap happened, goalposts moved.

  The head coach position was my end zone. I was within five yards. I’d thought it was mine.

  Until it wasn’t, and that was a tough loss to accept.

  “Hey.” Sonja turned toward Blake and Bear. “Why didn’t either of you two say the person who is going to coach the Otters is a woman?”

  “A woman?” Piper laughed, clapping. “That’s awesome.” Then she caught herself. “I mean, not awesome for you, Connor, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job. It’s just awesome for her, you know?”

  “Yeah, awesome.” I gulped down the rest of my beer and tossed the bottle into a bucket.

  Bear scratched his head, his long hair up in a stupid man-bun that he thought looked good. “Didn’t think it was important. That was McGuire’s job. She took it from him—”

  “Watch your vocabulary, Thomas Behr,” Sonja said, pointing a finger at him. “Charlie Gibb is not a villain. She didn’t do anything besides accept a job as a football coach.”

  “I’m just defending my friend,” he countered.

  “You can defend without being condescending.”

  “That’s true,” Blake said as he leaned forward to slap my shoulder. “Could be worse, yeah? Could be—”

  “You really want to finish that statement?” Piper asked sweetly, the daggers from her eyes contradicting her tone. “Want to compare a female coach to something worse?”

  Blake pasted on a cheesy grin. “I was just going to say it could be worse than being able to learn from a most likely wonderful head coach with plenty of years of experience.”

  Piper playfully thumped his head. “Yeah, right.”

  Blake glanced back over to me. He understood that, no matter what way we looked at this, there was no way not to turn my situation into a battle of the sexes. Better to just keep our mouths shut.

  Blake grabbed Piper’s hand, whispering into her ear, loud enough for us all to hear, “Come on, Sunshine, I’ll show you how to r
aise my jib.”

  Sonja mumbled, “Oh God,” as Bear high-fived Blake. I stared off into the distance. There was no going backward, so I needed to figure out how to move forward. Guess I’d have to take my own advice that I often told the team: one play at a time, one down at a time.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Charlie

  We’d spent a solid four hours going over plays and discussing next week’s practices in McGuire’s classroom. I was met mostly with silence as I told the coaches my plans, but I wasn’t going to be intimidated. Ronnie was on my side. Pretty sure I had Ken too. Erik seemed amenable to whoever brought him food. That only left Al and Connor, although I didn’t think I’d ever be able to fully win them over. Even with the lunch of subs and chips I’d provided.

  I cleared my throat, waiting until all eyes turned to me. “Before we finish up, I wanted to let you know there’s gonna be a press conference this afternoon. I’m not a fan of bein’ in front of the cameras so it’s gonna be short and sweet, but I wanted to ask that you not respond to any requests from the media. I don’t want this team turning into a circus act just because I’m here.”

  Al whispered something under his breath, and Connor breathed out a laugh as he lounged in his chair. Like he couldn’t care less about any of this. I was tired of it.

  “So, guys, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.” I stood to leave. “McGuire, I’d like to speak to you in the hall, please.”

  A secretive expression passed between him and Al as he stood up.

  I closed the door and stood directly in front of Connor. He had no choice but to look at me, and to his credit, he did. Most men avoided eye contact when I confronted them. All bark and no bite, this male species.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you were quiet this mornin’.”

  “I’m a quiet guy,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t have his hat on, and I could see every line and curve of his face—the sharp angle of his jaw, the subtle slope of his cheekbone, the long line of his nose. Not that it mattered. He was a hard one to read with or without a hat on.