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  the fixer-uppers so you can eventually let go of them for not being The One.”

  “Are you saying that Mark is perfect as is?”

  “Mark is oh-boy-howdy perfect,” Lena said.

  “No, he’s not. He’s bossy and domineering, and way too alpha.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Lena said dreamily. “I bet he likes to be in charge. Especially in bed, right?”

  Rainey felt her cheeks go hot. They hadn’t made it to a bed.... “You’re as impossible as he is.”

  Lena laughed and scooped up a big bite of ice cream, moaning in pleasure. “Some things just need to be appreciated for what they are, even the imperfect things. Like men. Hell, Rain. You accept the kids at the center every single day, just as is. Why not a man?”

  Rainey stopped in the act of stuffing her face with a huge spoonful of ice cream and stared at Lena. Most of the time Lena’s comments were sarcastic, but once in a while she said something so perfect it was shocking. “How did you get so wise?”

  “Practice,” Lena said. “And lots of kissing frogs before I found my prince. And you know what else? I think you found yours.”

  “I’m not going for Mark, Lena.” It was a terrible idea.

  Terribly appealing…

  She’d once read an article about him that said his talent in coaching came from the fact that he didn’t so much inspire awe as he discouraged comfort.

  She knew that to be true. Her comfort level was definitely at risk when he was around.

  THAT AFTERNOON AFTER working on the construction site, Mark gathered his team on the bleachers and looked them over. Twelve teenage girls, with more attitude than his million-dollar players combined.

  Casey and James had their team on the far field. Boys. Boys who could really play, by the looks of them. How the hell his in-the-doghouse players had ended up with the easier task was beyond him.

  Okay, he knew what had happened.

  Rainey had happened.

  And he knew no matter what the girls dished out, last night had been worth every minute.

  His team wore a variety of outfits from short shorts that were better suited to pole dancing to basketball shorts so big they couldn’t possibly stay up while the girls were running bases. Shirts ranged from oversized T-shirts that hung past the shorts to teeny tiny tank tops or snug tees. “First up,” he said. “Everyone back to the locker room to change into appropriate gear.”

  No one moved.

  “Ladies, I just gave you a direct order. Not obeying a direct order will get you personally acquainted with push-ups.”

  “We’re already dressed out,” one of them said, and when he gave her a long look, she added, “Coach, sir.”

  “Just Coach,” he said, and went to the large duffle bag he’d brought with him. It was the warm-up T-shirts, shorts, and practice jerseys he’d had over-nighted. He had new equipment as well; bats, batting helmets, gloves… He handed the clothing out, then waited for them to run back to the building. Instead, they all stripped and dressed right there. “Jesus,” he muttered, slamming his eyes shut. “Some warning!”

  “Hey, we’re covered,” Sharee called out. “We’re all in sports bras and spandex.”

  “From now on,” he grated out, “you change inside. Always.”

  “Prude,” someone muttered, probably Sharee.

  Prude his ass, but swallowing the irony, he risked a peek and found them all suitably dressed. “Ground rules,” he said. Now he sounded as anal as Rainey. “No ripping or cutting the sleeves off, no tying the shirts up high, no bras showing, and all shirts need to be neatly tucked in. And no sagging. There will be no asses on my field.”

  “We’re not allowed to say asses.” The timid voice belonged to the same girl who called him sir. “We’re not supposed to swear.”

  Mark slid her a look. “Pepper, right?”

  She gulped. “Yes.”

  “Well, Pepper. No swearing is a good rule. Tuck your shirts in.”

  More grumbling, but there was a flurry of movement as they obeyed. So far so good. “I want to see how you hit,” Mark said. “Later, I’ll get someone out here to videotape you so we can analyze your swing. We’ll get stats both on you and also on the teams we’re going to be playing so we can strategize, not just for your season but for the big fundraising game between us and Santa Barbara.”

  They were all just staring at him, mouths agape. Pepper raised her hand.

  “Yes, Pepper.”

  “We don’t have a video camera. Or stats.”

  “You have them now,” Mark said.

  “We’re going to play Santa Barbara?” someone asked.

  “We’re going to beat Santa Barbara,” he said. “The boys’ teams too.” He pulled a clipboard from his duffle bag. “Come on, move your asses—” Shit. “Butts. Move your butts in close so you can see.”

  “You need a swear jar,” one of the girls said to him. “By the end of the season, you could probably take us all out to dinner.”

  There were some giggles at this, and he looked at the amused faces. “How about this,” he said. “I’ll put a buck into a swear jar every time I swear, and you ladies have to put in a quarter every time you don’t give me your all. Deal?”

  “Deal,” they said.

  Mark spent the next twenty minutes outlining what he wanted to see, and then lined them up for drills. He started with them quick-catching the pop flies he sent out. Or theoretically quick-catching, because he didn’t have much “quick” on his team. Three of the twelve could catch. Well, four if you counted Pepper, who tended to catch the balls with her shins, which made him doubly glad he’d brought shin guards. He had five or six who could hit, and a bunch more who tended to keep their eyes closed.

  And then there was Sharee, who’d already dropped and given him push-ups for being rude and obnoxious to her teammates.

  Twice.

  He put them out in the field for field practice next. “Wait for your pitch,” he told the first girl up. “Take two, then hit to the right.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sharee’s pitching, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So she gives it her best from the beginning, but she’s only got two good ones in her.”

  “Hey,” Sharee said from the mound. “I can hear you.”

  “Good. Learn from it.” Mark turned back to the batter. “Take the third pitch and hit to the right.”

  “Why the right?”

  He gestured to their first baseman and right fielder, both engaged in a discussion on what their plans were for the night. “They’re not even looking at you. If you get any ball at all, you’ll get all the way to second.”

  Which was exactly what happened.

  Sharee threw down her glove in disgust.

  “There’s no temper tantrums in the big leagues,” Mark told her. Which was a lie. There were plenty of tantrums in the big leagues, all of them, and you only had to watch ESPN to see them. “Here’s a strategy for you, too. Watch the signs from your catcher instead of winging it. She’ll be getting a signal from me on which pitch to throw. If you listen,” he added as she opened her mouth to object, “you’ll be a great pitcher. I can promise you that.”

  “And if I don’t listen?”

  “Then I’ll bench you and put in Pepper.”

  Pepper squeaked, and he smiled at her. “You have an arm and you know it. You start practicing more, and you’ll be ready to pitch at the game this weekend.”

  “I’m pitching at the game,” Sharee said.

  “Maybe. If you listen.”

  “Hmph.”

  At the end of practice, Mark gathered the girls in and looked them over. Bedraggled and hot and sweaty. “Decent effort,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They all made their way toward the building. He turned to gather his gear and found Rainey sitting on the bleachers, watching him.

  6

  MARK HADN’T SEEN her since the night before when he’d left her looking de
wy and sated and pissed off at the both of them.

  Today she was wearing a sweat suit, beat-up sneakers, and a ball cap.

  The Ducks again.

  Shaking his head, he walked over to the bleachers and sat. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on the bench behind him and stared up at the sky.

  “Long day?” she asked dryly.

  “Hmm.”

  He slid her an assessing look. She was laughing at him, which should have ticked him off, but for one thing, he was too tired. And for another, she looked pretty when she was amused, even if it was at his expense.

  “Should I drop and give you twenty?” she asked in a smart-ass tone.

  Rainey humor. But he’d rather she drop and give him something else entirely. No doubt that, along with everything else he was thinking about doing to her, wasn’t on the agenda for the day.

  A tall blond guy wearing a suit poked his head out of the building and waved at Rainey. She smiled and got up, walking over to meet him halfway, where he handed her what looked like a stack of tickets. Rainey gave him a quick hug, which was returned with enthusiasm and an expression that Mark recognized all too well.

  The guy wanted a lot more than the hug.

  “Keep the top one for yourself,” Mark heard him tell her. “That’s the seat right next to mine.”

  A date. She had another damn date. His eye twitched. Probably due to the new brain bleed.

  Rainey came back to the bleachers. “Lena’s neighbor,” she said. “Jacob works at the district office and brought tickets to the ballet tonight at the San Luis Obispo Theater for everyone here who wants to go.”

  He held out his hand.

  She stared at him. “You want to go to the ballet.”

  Okay, true, he’d rather be dragged naked through town, but hell if he’d admit it. “Yes.” And if he had to go, so did James and Casey. “I’ll take three, unless this is a private date.”

  She slapped three tickets into his palm, and it did not escape his notice that she took them from the bottom of the pile. “It’s not a date date,” she said defensively. “And he’s a nice guy. A non-fixer-upper, you know?”

  No. He had no idea.

  “And I told you,” she said. “I’m looking for someone. Someone who wants me as is.”

  Hell, she killed him, he thought as she averted her face and let out a long, almost defeated breath. Not friends, he reminded himself, even as something in his chest rolled over. “You’re perfect as is, Rainey.”

  “Says the man who dates big-boobed blonde women from stupid reality shows.”

  He laughed. “That was a photo op, that’s all.”

  “Every time?”

  “Well, maybe not every time.” He reached into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out her phone, absolutely taking note that doing so caused her to suck in a breath when his fingers brushed her skin.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Programming myself in as your number one speed dial. In case you need another date rescue.”

  “I didn’t need last night’s rescue.”

  “You going to try to tell me last night didn’t work out for you?”

  Their gazes met, and she inhaled deeply. “Why are you doing this?”

  No clue.

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Are you jealous?”

  Fuck, no.

  Okay, yes. Yes, he was. “How can I be jealous of someone that’s not a ‘date date’ to a ballet?”

  She crossed her arms. “Okay, I’m sure I’m going to regret asking, but what’s your idea of a good date?”

  “Depends on the woman. With you it’d be a repeat of last night.”

  Color bloomed on her cheeks. “We’re not going to discuss last night. Make that rule number two.”

  “Ah, yes. The rules of Rainey Saunders.” He shook his head. “And people think I’m a control freak.”

  “Because you are.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Pot.”

  She made a sound of exasperation, and still seated, she leaned forward, stretching her fingers to her toes. Her sweatshirt rose up a little in the back, revealing a strip of smooth, creamy skin and a hint of twin dimples just above her ass, and the vague outline of a thong.

  He didn’t know which he wanted more, to trace that outline with his tongue or dip into the dimples. Before he could decide, she straightened, rolled her neck, and winced. “I have a kink.”

  “Yeah? Tell me all about it, slowly and in great detail.”

  She snorted. “Pervert.”

  Smiling, he slid over, behind her now, and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got a rock quarry in here.” He dug his fingers in, rubbing at her knots.

  “I’m fine.” But her head dropped forward, giving him better access. When he found a huge tension knot with his thumbs and began to work it out, she let out a soft moan that went straight through him. “Rainey.”

  “What?”

  He pressed his face into her hair. Go out with me instead of what’s-his-name. Before he could bare his pathetic soul, Rick came outside and saved him.

  “She’s home,” Rick called out to Rainey. “I’m sending you over there with our famous backup.” He waved Casey and James over. The guys had come from the gym, where they’d had their teams at the weights.

  “Field trip,” Rick said. “Rainey’s in charge.” He sent a grin in Mark’s direction. “Need me to repeat?”

  Mark flipped him off, and Rick’s grin widened.

  “Where are we going?” Casey asked.

  “You’ll see,” Rick said.

  Mark hated that answer.

  “Shotgun.” James leapt into the front seat of Rainey’s car.

  Casey got into the back.

  Mark walked up to the passenger front door and gave James one long look.

  James sighed, got out and slid into the back.

  Rainey looked over her sunglasses at Mark. “Seriously?”

  “No,” he said, putting on his seat belt. “If I was serious, I’d have made you let me drive.”

  RAINEY’S CAR WAS full of more good-looking, great-smelling men than she had dollars in her wallet. Lena would be having an orgasm at just the thought. James and Casey were talking, keeping up a running dialogue about their day. But as she headed into the heart of the burned-out neighborhood, their chatter faded away.

  From the shotgun position, Mark didn’t say a word. He seemed to be in some sort of zone, with his game face on to boot. She wished she had a zone.