He’s not cut or nearly as defined as I am, but it’s obvious he’s taken care of himself with strong arms and a flat stomach. His hair is dark-blond with no traces of gray, and he only has a couple of wrinkles near his eyes, which leads me to my assessment of him being around thirty-five, maybe a little older.
“What is it, Leighton?”
Another thing—he refuses to call me Coach Leighton. No. It’s only Leighton with him, and I know he knows it irks me. But I don’t think that Noah Asher has ever cared about pissing anyone off.
From what I can tell, he seems to be a god around here. The kids he coaches seem to fall at his feet. The principal sang his praises when he hired me. Hell, even the ladies at the local grocery market wouldn’t stop gushing about that Coach Asher when I told them why I’d moved to Kensley.
But what I can’t figure out is why the man is so damn surly.
He seems to have it all, as far as I can tell, but he’s a grump. There’s really no other way to put it.
“I’m here to assist you.”
Coach walks closer to me, crowding in my space and probably trying to intimidate me, but all it really does is force me to examine his far too good-looking face. He’s clean-shaven, and keeps his dark-blond hair short. His lips are bright red and full, the bottom lip especially, giving him a far too pouty look for such a stern man.
“So assist.”
“I’m trying,” I point out. “You won’t listen to me. They’ve had enough for the day.”
He eyes me angrily, clearly not used to anyone calling him out. “Their first game is in two weeks. That’s it. I’m getting them ready. Football doesn’t care about the heat. In fact, we thrive in the heat. We push through.”
I shake my head. “Until they pass out.”
“You’re questioning my ability to judge? I’ve been coaching for nearly twenty damn years, kid.”
“Not. A. Kid,” I say. And huh, if he’s been coaching that long, does that mean he’s forty? No way.
Probably just trying to make a point.
“Oh, you’re a damn kid. Trust me.” He gets in my face even more and points at my chest. “Out here, I’m in charge. I make the damn calls. Do you hear me?”
My teeth grind as I clench my jaw and try like hell to not tell him off. I need this job. I need this job. I need this job.
“I hear you.” I bite my tongue when he turns back toward the field, shouting a new command, but thankfully, it only lasts a few more minutes before he calls it a day with instructions to come back tomorrow.
I didn’t think this was going to be an easy job. Coming from Big Bend to Kensley was nearly enough to kill me, in and of itself. Kensley and Big Bend hate each other. Always have, always will.
Big Bend was my home. I was born and raised there. Played football there and was a damn god while I did. And I hated Kensley with a passion, just on principle. Because I accepted, like everyone else does, that this is just the way it is.
But now . . .
Now, I have no home in Big Bend. I have nothing left.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a traitor, but I need this job. I need a home, and for whatever reason, Kensley was the place to offer that.
So here I am, and I have to try like hell to make it work.
THREE
NOAH
“Oh, come on. Stay for a drink.” Billy huffs as I sign the receipt after paying the bill for dinner at the local tavern.
I just grin at him and hand off the receipt to the waitress. She gives me a bright smile and moves away from the table, walking backward and giving me a quick wave before heading to the cash register.
Billy—who I guess is the closest thing I have to a friend—just shakes his head, laughing. “Nothing has changed in twenty damn years.”
“What are you talking about?” We went to high school together. Played football together. Only when high school ended, he went and got his real estate license and became an agent pretty quickly. I got married and had a kid. I managed to go to a local community college and then started coaching soon after that. Neither of us ever left Kensley.
He just chuckles, rolling his eyes at me and playing with the wedding band on his left hand. “Oh, Coach Asher,” he lifts his voice to a much higher pitch. “You’re so hot. You make me want to toss my panties at you while serving you dinner!”
I look around the crowded tavern, panicked and wide-eyed but also annoyed. “Will you keep it down?” I scold. “And are you talking about our waitress tonight? Because she’s younger than my damn daughter.”
He snorts. “Still legal. She’s at least eighteen if she’s working here.”
“She’s a damn kid.” I swear, he’s married and has three daughters of his own. How he can talk the way he does, I’ll never understand.
“Speaking of kids . . .” he starts, and I already don’t like where his tone is going. “How is working with that mouthy little shit. Made him cry yet?”
I take a drink of my iced tea, honestly surprised he didn’t bring this up during dinner. “It’s fine,” I grit out. “And no. I haven’t made him cry.”
He knows how annoyed I am by not only working with a Big Bend Bear but a toddler at that. Chance Leighton has given me hell ever since we were introduced. Always questioning me. Acting like I don’t have the kids’ best interest in mind. Of course I do, damn it.
I care about these kids more than some of their damn parents.
He smiles, probably seeing how irritable this kid makes me. “Let’s go to the bar and have a drink. It’s not going to kill you.”
I grumble all the way to the bar, plopping my ass down on the stool as he orders two beers. “One beer.”
He already knew I was going to say that, so he just nods and sighs. “You ready for the first game?”
“We are.” It’s always about football around here, and don’t get me wrong, that actually makes me happy. I can talk football all day long. It’s predictable that we’ll talk about it the most.
“You sure?”
The waitress brings over our beers, and he pays her, but I watch him quietly, sensing something’s up. “What the hell is going on?”
He looks concerned, and I’m becoming more and more annoyed by this little game. “I’m just saying . . . winning is kind of important in Kensley.”
I turn to look at him. I’m sure the irritation is crystal clear on my face. “I know that. What the hell are you getting at?”
He turns away from me, focusing on his beer as he lifts it to his lips and takes a big drink, swallowing and then shrugging. “I just mean you’ve had a lot of things go down over the past couple of years is all.”
“A lot of things?”
I swear the tips of his ears are red as he finally meets my glare. “Divorce,” he whispers. He actually whispers the word divorce. This man who was just drooling over a girl barely older than his own kids.
“People get divorced,” I grumble into my beer as I take a small gulp.
“Not in Kensley,” he says so matter-of-factly I want to scream. That’s the thing about Kensley and towns like it. They pick and choose their sins.