“As far as helping Coach, here’s a list of some duties, but you two can work that out. It’s up to him.” He gives me another paper. “Our goal is to free up time for Coach. He’s hardworking and talented as hell—pardon me—and we want him to stay. He put in a request for a part-time PA, and we’ve been waiting for the right person . . .”
He says more things, and I’m nodding, my mind racing as I think about Ronan. Yes, we had a chat in the bookstore where I said way too much to him, and we fake kissed, but I haven’t heard a peep from him or noticed him walking at night. Which is fine. I don’t want to see him.
Plus, that kiss is going to complicate things if we work together.
Honestly?
I’d rather teach a bunch of horny teenagers throwing spitballs at my face than be his PA.
He awakens something in my body; therefore, he is dangerous.
I glance down at the duties.
Answer phones in Coach’s office. （Doable.）
Manage calendar/Book travel. （Fine. Anyone, even Sparky, could do this.）
Social media. （Take pics and post them.）
Management of fan mail. （People do that? Yes, this is Texas.）
Manage personal appearances. （Ronan needs help for the Waffle House?）
Manage pep rallies. （Seriously?）
I’m in high school all over again—only I’ll have to hang out with the super hot, full-of-himself football coach.
Sweat rolls down my back. Plus I’ll be around my ex . . .
“Well. What do you think, Ms. Morgan? Can you handle this?”
This is money and stability, and it might mean a job next year. Hope rises, a little thing that flutters in my chest, painting a vision of me teaching art someday . . .
My fingers tighten around the paper as I look up at him with a smile. “I accept.”
The door opens, and Ronan stalks in, filling up the office with his height. Wearing khaki pants that hug his ass, an expensive blue dress shirt, and a navy baseball hat with his hair curling around the edges, he should look like any coach, but dammit, he just doesn’t!
He stops when he sees me.
“Sorry, Denny. I didn’t realize you had someone in here,” he says to the principal, but those ice-blue eyes track all over me, from the top of my ponytail to the tips of my stilettos. I ease one out so he can get a better view. That’s right. Check it. I’ve got great legs. And sexy shoes. I don’t always wear joggers and boxers.
His gaze skates up my face and ends on my ponytail. His lips twitch as he puts those hands on his hips. “Nova.”
“Me,” I say with what I hope is optimism.
“Thanks for coming in from your class, Coach.” The principal stands and sends a head nudge in my direction. “The hunt is over. We hired Ms. Morgan, a hometown girl, to be your part-time PA. Her credentials are amazing.”
I bite my lip. That is just not true.
“She’s just what we’re looking for. Just perfect,” the principal adds.
I hear a lot of satisfaction in his voice. My gaze lands on the photo of him with Lois. One, Lois told me about the job; two, she vouched for me; three, she went to his house; and four, she’s head of the committee to get Coach hitched. Even an idiot can see right through this. I’m the new girl up to bat. Only they don’t know that we have a history . . .
Lois is a meddling minx, but this is exponentially better than Pizza Hut.
“Is she?” Ronan says, crossing his arms. “I thought you usually hired a college intern.”
Principal Lancaster nods and murmurs about how there weren’t any interns available this semester, and with the extra enrollment and the need for teachers, he decided to kill two birds with one stone, thus giving me a full-time position.
Ronan nods during his spiel, his gaze entirely on me.
Before he can argue that he doesn’t want me for the job, I stand up—gracefully, using all those classes Mama put me through—and glide over to him and put my hand out. I use my sweet smile on him and infuse my voice with excitement. “I can’t wait for us to work together, Coach.”
I literally have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into. On the outside, I’m cool, but on the inside, I’m quivering with uncertainty. Not only do I have to figure out high school English, but I’ll be assisting Ronan, and I’m not sure he’s on board.
The three of us walk out of the principal’s office to the front desk, where a secretary sits, her head cocked with a phone to her ear. She hurriedly gets off the phone and rushes over to us.
Principal Lancaster explains that I’ll be starting next week; then the secretary leaves to get paperwork and a laptop for me. Principal Lancaster shakes my hand and goes back to his office while Ronan heads for the exit. I trail after him. He’s not getting away from me now. We’ve got to talk about this.