The Last Guy

I hear the anxiety in her tone. “You can’t control what happened. It’s done. Just move on and be better today. Show the world how talented you are. I believe in you, Stone.”

There’s a pause. “Can you call me every morning for a pep talk?” She laughs softly. “So what’s up?”

I exhale. “I need you. Today.”

“Oh?” Her voice is slightly breathless.

“Yeah.” Then I explain to her what I have in mind, and once she agrees to meet me, I’m flying, my mind jumping with how to work this in her favor.

Professionally. That’s all. Nothing else.

Because she’d asked for space, and I’d said I’d give it to her. Besides, I’m not a fan of rejection. Been there and done that with Maggie Grace.

We make our plans and by ten, I’m showered and in the Escalade on my way to Deadrick High School.

I park my car and jog over to the field where about several players are either running short plays or stretching. It’s recovery day since the Wildcats played the night before. I’d missed it because of work, but Hart had sent me the video early this morning and I’d skimmed through it quickly before my jog.

Hart waves me over to where he’s surrounded by the first string offense as they work on a quarterback sneak. He’s a Goliath of a man with a slightly crooked nose from too many hits. He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know, which explains why he settled in Houston after retirement to teach in the poorest district he could find. His wife Marquetta is from the area.

He calls out a break and the guys run in all directions.

“Great game last night,” I tell him. “Twenty-four to ten and you beat the best team in the district. I smell state championship.”

“Don’t jinx it, Killer. We’re close, so close.” He grimaces. “These kids need something good. Cheetah’s mom was arrested last week on a drug charge. I don’t know how the kid keeps his shit together.”

“He’s got you.”

Hart shrugs.

He’s telling me about the game just as Cheetah jogs over. A lanky Hispanic quarterback, he’s grinning the entire way and already talking before he reaches us.

“Did you see me throw it in for sixty yards? Did you see the Hail Mary at the end? Dude. It. Was. Sick.” He bounces around me and we bump fists. “I swear, man, it was that tight way you showed me how to throw the ball. Worked. Fu-freaking worked.” His eyes go behind me. “You brought the news with you! Damn, I mean dang, this shiz is real.”

Hart watches as Kevin and Stone walk over from the parking lot. Kevin’s toting the camera and Stone is in front of him, notebook in hand. She waves at us and I grin. Marv can suck it. The school needs the attention, which might result in funding for other things besides athletics. This is a kick ass story, and it doesn’t hurt to get some film in until I decide what to do with it.

Wearing an orange skirt and a tight matching sweater and heels, she makes her way over to us. Judging by how quiet the field is, I get the feeling I’m not the only one appreciating the swish of her hips. Her honey-colored hair is down and swinging around her shoulders.

Seeing her here, my chest automatically expands.

“Is that Rebecca Fieldstone?” Cheetah asks, his eyes wide. “Did you see her tit when that—”

I elbow him hard. “Don’t bring up the monkey.”

He nods. “You like her, huh?”

“I do,” I say almost absently as she comes to a halt in front of us.

“Cade,” she says and smiles. “Thank you for inviting us to come down.” She focuses on Hart, her eyes sweeping over his broad expanse. “You must be Coach Williams. Cade has nothing but great things to say about you.”

“Glad to have you. Maybe we can create some excitement for the school.” He inclines his burly head.

Earlier, I’d called him on the way over to prep him for KHOT doing some field reporting to keep for a later story. He’d been enthusiastically on board.

The other players are back from their break and gathering around us as Hart makes the introductions.

While Cheetah and I head down the field to practice passing, Stone and Kevin set up an interview spot near the sidelines with the ramshackle stadium in the background. I hear the melody of her voice as she talks to Hart. Laughter spills from their direction as she interviews some of the kids. She directs Kevin on angles and they bounce ideas off each other. She’s good at what she does in a genuine way that’s often missing in real news. She’s relatable—obviously. Plus, she’s fucking sexy—

Stop it right there. Nip it.

I’m working with Cheetah on his passing game when the duo make their way over to us. Stone’s eyes are transfixed as I take a few steps back and toss the football down the field. Cheetah mimics me, trying to perfect his pass. Kevin films for about ten minutes as we work. Still . . . Stone doesn’t take her gaze off me.

I wrap up with Cheetah and walk over to them. Kevin is fiddling with the camera and headed to the van.

“Finally alone,” she murmurs. “Thank you for this. It’s going to be a great story.”

I nod. “You’re welcome. You’re a natural. The kids love you.”

She nods and shifts, fidgeting, her eyes searching mine as if waiting for me to say something, but I don’t.

My phone pings from my shorts, and I pull it out.

Personal crisis. Come over after practice for lunch? It’s not my cancer so don’t worry. It’s about a girl.

What the hell? My brow furrows. Personal crisis? A girl?

I’m intrigued.

“Who’s that?” Stone asks, her tone inquisitive.

I glance up. Damn, she’s pretty. “No one.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is it your ex?”

“Jealous?” I can’t stop my grin.

“No.”

“Liar.”

She pouts and my grin widens into a chuckle. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. It’s my mom.”

“I’m not worried about your ex! Please.” Concern flits across her face. “Everything okay with your mom?”

I nod. “I think so. She wants me to come over.”

She stares up at me and clears her throat. “Well, thank you for today. It meant a lot just to get me out of the house and back in the swing of things. You’re right. I can’t let anything stop me from doing what I love. If you want, after you see your mom, maybe we can have coffee somewhere—just to talk about the story . . .”

“The last time we said we were going to have coffee, we ended up in your bed,” I say quietly.

She blushes.

I get another ping.

My mom has sent another text, and it’s a picture of a gorgeous brunette. I study it, confused as hell.

What is going on with Mom?

I need to go.

I glance back up to Stone and she’s watching me, a pensive look on her face.

“Stone? You good?”

She nods.

“Rain check on the coffee? I need to check on Mom. I’ll see you Monday at the station?”

Another nod.

“You got plans tonight?” I ask. My hands clench at the thought of her seeing someone, but that’s utterly ridiculous. Jealousy is for losers.

She blows out a breath. “No. I’ll probably just go home, eat some tacos, and hit the sack early.”

I almost say that I’ll call her later—or stop by—but my brain is determined to keep her at a distance. Give her space.