After two weeks, I walk into the practice facility, not really knowing what to expect. A few players are working out between classes, and I try to come up with their names. As the defense coach, I’m focused on the defensive line, but I need to get to know the team.

I have no idea what this coaching job will turn into, but since my conversation with Rob this morning, I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said and his confidence in my ability to help these kids become great. Maybe I can help. My coaches at every stage, along with my drive, is what allowed me to achieve my dream.

I tip my head to the players as I pass on my way to my tiny shoebox of an office. I step inside and feel like a gorilla stuck in a cage, the small space making me jittery. Besides a desk and computer, the office is empty, and I intend to keep it that way. The less stuff, the more breathing space.

I sign onto the computer and get to work. I’m still trying to get down to the nitty-gritty of what I want to focus on and where the individual players need work. If I have a chance to help this team, I need to get to know these players’ strengths and weaknesses and not just my defensive line, although that’s where I’ll start.

After spending a couple hours on the computer and making notes, I hear the team filing down the hallway toward the locker room for practice. Coach Cavanaugh sticks his head around the door frame.

His one volume only, loud and gravelly, could shake the foundation. “I have a meeting, but I’ll be on the field as soon as it wraps. Get the boys warmed up, then we’ll split.”

“Sure.”

I shake the ringing from my ears, knowing I need to talk with him about my plans for defense, but I’m giving myself another day or two to see these boys in action before I really get down to business and kick things into high gear.

So far, the team seems like a tight-knit group, led by Cole Matthews as team captain. I have to figure out how to earn their trust and demonstrate my ability to make them better, stronger. That all starts by gaining their respect and confidence on the field.

They all know my career history and what I was able to do as a player. I have to show them that I can incorporate that into making them better players and a better team. If I’m going to do that, I need to quit moping around and get my ass back to playing football, even if I’m not the one running the field.

With my clipboard in hand and a whistle around my neck¬¬ ¬¬-- I wear a whistle for shit’s sake -- I stride out of my office toward the field where the team is warming up. I glance around, not seeing Matthews. That doesn’t sit well with me. He’s the team captain. He should be the first one on the field. I don’t care how good of a player he is or who his father is. He should be here.

The team gathers around, waiting for instruction.

“Where’s Matthews?”

They shuffle closer, not answering. I survey the field, spotting a girl sitting in the bleachers a few rows up.

Great. Just what we need. Girlfriends or jersey chasers staking out practice causing distraction or worse.

“Finish stretching if you need to, then we’ll start drills. Coach is wrapping up a meeting. We’ll split when he’s ready.”

They spread out, getting to work. If we’re going to make things happen this season, we can’t have girlfriends hanging out during practice.

“Whose girlfriend is holding down the cheering section?” They continue to move about, but I hear some snickering. “We don’t allow guests at practice, so I suggest one of you go tell her to find something better to do with her time.”

They get back to business, no one moving to tell this poor girl that they have better things to do than make googly eyes during practice. I give it a minute, but when no one heads in her direction, I do.

I climb the steps into the stands, and when the woman’s piercing blue eyes hit mine, I see what looks like just a hint of a smile. She otherwise doesn’t move a muscle, apparently waiting for me to speak.

“Sorry. Practices are closed. Whichever one is your boyfriend out there, I gave him an opportunity to tell you himself. Apparently, he didn’t want to disappoint.”

She tips her head to the side, still staring at me. “Boyfriend?”

That slight smile creeps just a little higher as if something I said is amusing.

I don’t have time for this. “Sorry, but you need to pack up and head out. They don’t need distractions.”

“Annnndddd I’m a distraction?”

I’d really like her to quit responding with questions. I settle my hands on my hips. This isn’t helping me get down to business.

She rests her elbows on the row behind her like she’s settling in and making herself comfortable. “You don’t need to be all grizz. CC hasn’t had an issue with it in the past.”

It’s my turn for questions. “Grizz? And who the hell is CC?”

“Coach Cavanaugh. For all you know, he could have asked me to check the team out. And you don’t need to act like a big grizzly bear whose cave was disturbed. I was just going to watch for a few minutes.”

I see a fire ignite in those blue eyes. I rub my hand over my face, exasperated with this exchange.

Seriously, why? I’m just here to do a job, coach, not chase away smart-mouthed… Wait, did she say who she is?

“Coach Cavanaugh asked you to check out the team?”

Her response is to continue to stare me down, her eyes narrowing. Her former ease has turned into irritation, and I can see it beginning to boil the more I question her.

After a second of looking me over with a glare of contempt, she grabs her phone and keys and starts making her way down. She stops on the bleacher right in front of me, so we’re basically eye to eye.

Her oversized white t-shirt falls off her shoulder, revealing a purple bra strap. She’s pretty. No, she’s strikingly beautiful but has an attitude that sets me on edge. Strands of her light brown hair fall down around her face from her short ponytail, and I can understand why one of the players would want to keep her close, but right now, she’s way too close to me.

Her mouth moves to something that looks like a smirk and pushes every single one of my buttons. “Because there’s no way I could possibly know anything about what it takes to be an elite athlete or have anything of value to contribute here, right?”

She tips her head to the side again, searching my eyes like she knows me. I scratch my neck, which burns with discomfort.

I’m struck dumb. When was the last time anyone made me feel uncomfortable? My skin literally feels two sizes too small. My irritation now matches hers. What. The. Hell?

When I don’t respond, she hops down and makes her way to the field confident and unbothered, which pisses me off.

As I turn to follow her, I see most of the team spent this time watching our exchange instead of getting to work. I see extra sprints in their future.

I trail behind her down the sidelines, hearing a couple players say something to her, and she gives a slight wave in return. Up ahead, Matthews jogs out from the locker room with Coach Cavanaugh following behind. She slows as they get closer.

Matthews holds his arms out to the side. “Mags, what’s up?”

She tosses a look at me over her shoulder. “Evidently, practices are closed. You so owe me,” she tells him, her irritation crystal clear.

Cole looks over at me and then back at her, not saying anything.

“Sorry, quality time with your girlfriend should happen on your own time.”

Mags crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Cole.

Cole’s eyes grow wide and focus on me. “Girlfriend?”

Coach strides up, joining our little party. “Maggie, my girl.” He throws an arm around her shoulders and hugs her, his voice booming.

Now, I’m seriously confused by what’s happening here, and all the players are standing around doing anything but running drills.

“I’m glad you’re here. Cole and I were just talking about getting a couple of these guys in your class.”

Class? What class?

Maggie nods. “Sure. I might have a few openings. If not, we can set something up through the gym. I can stay for about five more minutes, but then I have to go.”

“Good. Matthews, get’em lined up,” Coach orders, releasing her, ready to get down to business, but I’m left standing in the dark. Maggie moves with him to the fifty-yard line. I follow like a lost puppy trying to get someone to throw me a bone and fill me in on what in the hell is going on here.

“Maggie, this is Coach Carter.” He gestures towards me over his shoulder. “Although, I’m sure you already know that.”

Her head tips up, and there’s that smirk again riding across her mouth like a wave that tells me she knows something, but I have no freaking clue what that something is.

“Sure do. It’s been a real pleasure.”

“You are?” I want to know exactly who she is and why she’s here.

Not responding, she studies the players on the field as they set up to put the ball in motion. “Maggie.”

So freaking helpful. “And what kind of classes do these players need to be in, Maggie?” I try really hard not to sound condescending, but I’m a shit liar.

Her eyes stay straight ahead, focused on the players in motion. “Ballet.”

I’m not sure my ears heard correctly because it sounded like she said ballet, as in tutus and tights.

“Bal-let.” It comes out slowly like I’m some nitwit trying out the word for the first time.

“Yes. I’ve been watching forty-eight and fifteen. Their bodies are all locked up. They can’t twist at the hips or jump to save their life. You’re going to get nothing from them. Their mobility is completely restricted. There’s no way they can catch a rogue ball or dodge defense. And look at twenty-two.” She holds out her hand, waiting for the ball to be snapped. “See right there.” She points, leaning closer to me.

I catch a whiff of something in the air that’s feminine and sweet. I’m tempted to plug my nose holes because smelling this chick seems far too intimate for my distaste for her.

“He’s all muscle, but he’s dead weight. If he gets loosened up, he’ll be so much swifter. Right now, he couldn’t ditch a sloth. Good luck if you need him to run. He’s already in pain, by the looks of it. He’ll be the first one out on the bench, and you’re going to need him.”

She looks at her watch, and I think about what she just said.

“Actually, they should all be in my class, but what would I know, right?” Her chin tips up like she’s expecting an argument.

Damn her and her cocky ass. My brain is still trying to process what she just laid out.

She walks over to Coach and hugs him, likely relaying what she told me about those three players.

“They’ll be in your class this week,” I hear Coach say from twenty feet away. “You come over to dinner soon, darlin’.”

“Will do, CC.” Maggie waves as she steps away, passing by me. “Good luck this season.” She throws it out like a challenge she doesn’t think I can win.

I have no idea what just happened these last fifteen minutes, but I feel like I just got schooled. I still have no clue who this chick is or what she was doing here, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out.