“Cat, calm down.”
“I won?t calm down, Dylan! This shit has got to stop!! How in the hell are we supposed to live our lives with that bastard sticking his nose into every nook and cranny? He?s a fucking voyeur!”
“I know. I know. He pissed me off too, believe me. But?I think I called his bluff.”
“How?”
“I threatened to walk.”
The shock on Cat?s face was almost comical. “You?what?”
“Just what I said,” Dylan replied, rising from the couch and slipping her hands into her pockets. “Cat, he threatened to fire you for breaking the morals clause in your contract. I told him that if he fired you, I?d walk.”
“Dylan, you can?t?.”
“I can, and I will, Cat. I?m tired of Johnson trying to run my life. I?m more tired of him trying to ruin yours. I?m not playing his whore anymore. If he wants to publish that photo of us, and the piece of crap article that goes with it, he can go right ahead. I don?t care anymore.”
“But?.”
Walking over to Cat, she reached out and took her lover?s hands. “What I do care about, Cat, is you. Us. It?s more important than whatever image he wants the public to buy. It?s more important than my sponsors, my contract, and my damn career. So let him do what he wants to. He can?t hurt me anymore.”
Cat looked up at her in wonder, her eyes shining. “You?.” She swallowed. “You really mean that, don?t you.”
“Yes. I do.” Leaning slowly down, she brushed her lips against Cat?s, then returned, deepening the kiss until Johnson, careers, and even dinner, was forgotten.
Cat watched Dylan in her office as the team prepared for the game. Only Cat knew about the turmoil going on in her lover?s mind over the newest developments with Horace, the rest of the team was blissfully ignorant of the problems brewing not only for their coach and Catherine, but for the team as a whole. Cat smiled to herself as she straightened her new brace, knowing that Dylan wouldn?t have it any other way. Dylan was first and foremost a professional and a damn good coach. She would find a way to deal with Horace and put an end to his manipulations and she would do her best to keep the rest of the team sheltered from it.
As far as Dylan Lambert was concerned, it was bad enough that Cat was being threatened; there was no need for the entire team to feel the stress caused by the bastard that signed the checks. Sitting at her desk, Dylan flipped through the playbook, pretending to be concentrating on the game they were about to play, but fighting her desire to march up to Horace?s skybox and toss him out the window onto the court below.
She knew that all the team needed to do was take the championship and they would have some ammunition to use against the owner should he decide to go public with his threats. People might have problems with gays and lesbians in general, but they loved a winner and they especially loved sports heroes. A win would mean that both she and Catherine would have options past the Badgers.
As Dylan stated down at the playbook, she hoped that she was right. Her career had actually been over since the injury. She tried to tell herself that coaching was the next best thing, but the truth was, in her heart it wasn?t. She loved the game and loved coaching these women, but for a player of Dylan?s caliber, anything other than playing was settling. And she hated to settle. It grated on her nerves, made her antsy and out of sorts, and no one, especially Cat, deserved to see that side of her.
With a determined breath she gathered up the playbook, and her clipboard and went into the locker room where everyone was waiting for the pre-game pep talk. Dylan couldn?t help but smile as she looked at the expectant faces staring at her and waiting for her traditional words of wisdom.
She could only think of three. “Give ?em hell.”
The tip off sent the ball to their opponent and Cat knew that a win was going to be tough to come by. Teams didn?t get this far without being fierce competitors. Cat watched as Angela managed to take the ball and head it back down the court. Even as Cat charged to her own position she could tell by the way Tippens moved that the center was going for the three point shot, and the roar of the crowd drowned out everything else as Cat guarded against someone from the Spartan team trying something silly like taking that ball from Angela. Even as she turned to move back into offensive mode, she took the time to wiggle her eyebrows at the Spartan guard who cursed when the scoreboard registered the Badgers three.
Dylan?s eyes tracked up to the skybox where Horace sat, drinking and watching the game with far too much interest in her opinion. He had never before kept his eyes locked firmly on the court like he was today and the hair raised on Dylan?s neck when she realized her was watching every move Cat made.
“Bastard,” she mumbled as she turned to watch Cat with an assist to Chaney that brought the Badgers another two points.
Somewhere, from deep inside, the Spartans decided that this was not the game they came to play and even though every member of the Badgers played the best game they ever had, when the half time buzzer sounded they were down 33 to 22.
Even as the medical staff checked over strains and minor sprains, Dylan took the floor in the center of the locker room.
“It?s okay, they just changed their strategy midway through. So we?re going to change ours and go back out there and kick their butts.”
Everyone one agreed and paid close attention as Dylan took her place by the dry board. “They?ve got weaknesses in their defense. All we have to do is exploit those weaknesses and turn them into holes. The first thing we need to do is concentrate our efforts on making that Amazon forward of theirs work harder. She has a tendency to lose her concentration if we force her to do two or three things at once, so I want you to be giving her five or six things to do.”
Her hands flew across the board, diagramming plays and defenses that would play on the big forward?s weakness while shoring up their own weaknesses and, hopefully, turning them into points. Her manner was quick, concise and crisp, and her hair, worn down and free for the occasion, fluttered over her shoulders like a pennant banner. Cat decided she liked the look, and paid more attention to the coach than to what she was saying. That was alright, though. She had the words memorized anyway.
When the second half began, Dylan had all the players so charged up, their energy could have lit up Manhattan.
Their coach watched with a great deal of pride as they broke the Spartan defense and ripped their offense into tiny little pieces. Coming back from an eleven-point deficit was going to be a trick but the coach had faith and as she stood there shouting orders and words of encouragement, not once did she bother to look up to the skybox. Right now Horace Johnson wasn?t even a blip on her radar.
The Spartans were becoming increasingly aggressive as the second half ticked away, earning shouts of protest not only from Dylan and the other members of the coaching staff, but from the fans as well. Caulley, in particular, was coming dangerously close to earning the Badgers a technical with her catcalls and her striding right up to the sidelines, almost daring the ref to throw a T at her. Dylan managed to pull the red-faced coach back by one arm, and the look she delivered her assistant had Caulley briefly considering another line of work. Stoking the fires of Hell while Satan?s minions whipped her bloody, perhaps.
When one of the Spartan forwards shoved Cat, Dylan?s hands went up for a time out and she called everyone to the bench before a fight could get started. While the tired players sipped water, and toweled sweaty heads and shoulders, Dylan knelt down and got all their attentions focused on her. “Don?t let them bait you. Let them play rough if they want, but don?t fall for it. We?ve dealt with this before and we?ll deal with it again. You?re all making them nervous and they have to work for this now. Let them work.”