The Odd Ballerz Read online

  The Odd Ballerz

  Ruthie Robinson

  More Than Skin Series

  An imprint of ARTWO Publishers, LLC

  Publishing Company

  ARTWO Publishers

  P.O. Box 171143

  Austin, TX 78717

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, ARTWO Publishers. For information write ARTWO Publishers, LLC., P.O. Box 171143, Austin, TX 78717.

  ISBN 978-0-9856971-9-8 (Kindle)

  ISBN 978-0-9964389-0-2 (ePub)

  Cover design by Rebecca Swift

  FoglihtenNo4 Font by gluk

  Print layout and eBook editions by

  eBooks By Barb for booknook.biz

  Contents

  Other Books by Ruthie Robinson

  Acknowledgements

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  About the Author

  Other Books

  by Ruthie Robinson

  Reye’s Gold

  Steady

  Light’s Out

  So Different

  When You Fall…

  Will Work for Food

  Games We Play

  My Chicken Story

  Acknowledgements

  Coach Luther C. Robinson, aka Frandaddy.

  An excellent football Coach, and

  an even better father-in-law.

  ONE

  Monday, June

  Memphis Jones passed through the doors of the women’s restroom and combination shower that was this building, the one she’d entered less than ten minutes ago in search of a place to change. It was out of her work attire and into gear befitting the physicality associated with the game of football. It was her new goal and mission in life, or at least the reason she’d shown up here today, and out in the godforsaken boonies, too. She made a bet with her baby sister, Alex, and she’d lost.

  A bet to not only try-out for the Austin Ballerz, the women’s football team that made Austin, Texas its home, but to play for them next season, were she selected. The Ballerz were a young football team, the latest team to join the Women’s Football Alliance, a league for women that loved to play tackle football. They were two years old, still considered infants in the football world, according to her sister, who was the team’s current starting quarterback.

  She made her way down the hall to the glass door that was the building’s entry and exit point. Today it was all about getting through the training Alex had signed her up for; training to help her improve, which was so not possible, but she was here anyway. ’Cause that was just how she rolled. She was a woman who kept her word. A quick in-and-out today, followed by a quick in-and-out at the tryouts and she was done. No more bet and no more of this football-playing nonsense.

  She stopped short of the door, having caught sight of a man walking towards the building, and not just any man. He was the man, as her sister said often enough; the one in charge of tonight’s training session. He was the current head coach for the Austin Ballerz and former NFL quarterback, Zachary Sloan, a.k.a. Coach Z.

  “Look for the dude wearing reflective shades and a baseball cap with a badger on it,” Alex had said by way of description. That was it, the only two features her sister thought important enough to share with her, which were woefully inadequate in Memphis’s estimation, now that she’d laid eyes on him for the first time. Her sister totally left off the part about him being handsome… he was, or that he was built nicely, thick, not weightlifter thick, but with enough heft to make a woman feel safe. He was that too. Nope, none of that info had Alex thought to pass on.

  It was him however, complete with his baseball cap, the brown badger affixed upon the crown and underneath it, dark curly hair, cut mid-length, peeked out. He was sans the shades, the second descriptor, the ones that rendered his thoughts indecipherable, also according to her sister. They hung instead on the front collar of his shirt, leaving a pair of lovely greenish brown eyes for her and the world to admire. He was tall; the top of her head came to about his mouth, she estimated, the same place as it had with her father, who had stood six-two, and had been her personal height measuring stick. And really, her father was her anything-male measuring stick.

  Wow and then wow again, Memphis thought admiringly, a nice hunk of man in loose fitting shorts and a snug fitting gold shirt. The words Elite Football Camp were scrawled in black cursive across the front of a chest chiseled in the image of Michelangelo’s David, and dang he was fine.

  He swung the door open wide and settled his right shoulder into it. He crossed his arms in front of his delicious chest and smiled, or maybe it wasn’t quite a smile. She wasn’t sure what he was doing with his lips. Too much attitude to be considered a smile; it was more a smirk. And what a waste of two supple and succulent lips, she thought.

  “You’re late, Jones,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” she said, surprised. And what a way to greet a person, she thought.

  “I said you’re late.”

  “Yes, I am. Sorry about that,” she said, smiling back at him.

  “Don’t be sorry. Be on time,” he said, with his pretty eyes staring straight into hers.

  Okay, so he was going to be that dude, she thought, and loads and loads of her insurance training for meeting and greeting people, some not so pleasant, kicked in and her smile widened. “It’s Memphis Jones. My friends call me Memphis,” she said, extending her hand to him.

  “Good to know, my-friends-call-me-Memphis. Your sister told me to expect you. She didn’t tell me you’d be late,” he said, taking her hand in his for a quick squeeze and release.

  “You know, I heard you the first two times you said it. I’m late and I’m usually never late so again, you have my apologies. I had an appointment that ran over. Those things do happen you know, plus I had trouble finding you, which is crazy because I’m really familiar with Bastrop. I spent hours driving around here three years ago. Record heat in 2011, I don’t have to tell you, 100 degree days with no rain in sight will turn anything into a bonfire,” she said and smiled again.

  “Wow, all that and without taking a breath, too. That’s pretty impressive Jones. Now if we could just get you to be on time…” he said.

  Her smiled widened again. Okay, she was not going there with him and he couldn’t make her. “I’m an insurance agent, in case my sister forgot to tell you. Sometimes my schedule is not my own.”

  “That’s just another way to say ‘I’m late’.”

  She smiled again, holding on tightly to it as it was past ready to flee. She took in a deep breath of fresh air instead and turned her gaze to the area surrounding them. “This is a really nice place you have here, not many people would think to put a football field in the middle of their property. But it works for you I guess, with the training that you do and all, and with you being the head coach of a football team, huh. You’re Z, right?” she asked, her eyes meeting up with his again.

  “It’s Coach Z to you and I’m not the head coach, just one of the assistants. The one in charge of offense,” he said.
<
br />   “There is a difference? Ha, who knew? Thanks for clearing that up for me, and thanks for agreeing to train me. Alex says you are one busy man,” she said, continuing with her smile, one that was growing harder and harder to hang on to.

  “Your sister’s paying me to train you, but you’re welcome anyway.”

  “Say what now?”

  “I said, your sister is paying me to train you,” he said, slowly, enunciating every word this time.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Yes, oh,” he said, smiling back at her, all full of cocky confidence. He’d re-crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “I’m not at all interested in playing football or making your team. That’s the first thing you should know then. I’m here only to fulfill a bet I made with my sister. Did she tell you about our bet?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “I have to try out for the team, right, those were the terms, which I’m going to do. However, everything else, including this training, is a complete waste of time, yours and mine. I’m sorry to say. There’s no way I’m making anybody’s team. I suck too much for that.”

  “I hope not. I don’t like having my time wasted, but as I understand it, the bet is for you to try out for the team and if you are selected, you actually do have to play. Isn’t that more the bet’s terms?” he asked.

  “Ah… yes, it is,” she said, although she hadn’t expected him to know that. “But you did hear the part about me sucking?”

  “Yes, I heard it. But fortunately for you, it doesn’t matter. We lost half of our players due to injuries last year. This is a rebuilding year and we don’t have the luxury of being picky. We are in need of women. So, if you try out, you will make the team and you will be playing come fall,” he said.

  “Oh, but you haven’t seen me play. Really, I’m that terrible.”

  “You can’t suck badly enough for me not to take you. Outside of your trouble with time, I’ve looked forward to your arrival,” he said, removing his shades from the front of his shirt. “Alex is one hell of an athlete and if you’re anything like her it will be worth it for the team. Hell, even if you’re only one fourth as good, or one eighth as good as she, I’d be happy to have that.” He was holding his shades by their stems out in front of his face, staring into the lenses of them now, inspecting them, or so it looked like to her. “And since we’re short on time ’cause you were, what is the word I’m looking for here?” he asked. He blew into the right lens at some speck of imaginary dust, before pulling them onto his eyes.

  “Late.” She pushed the word through her teeth.

  He smiled. It was a thing of beauty, and full-out cocky. “Exactly, so here’s the shortened version of my pre-camp spiel. You’ll have to ask one of the boys to fill in the rest of what you missed being…”

  “Late,” she said again, her smile a thin line now.

  “Right,” he said, chuckling. “Every day we start camp promptly at six o’clock, which means that you’ll need to arrive early if you have to change. We start with laps, two to be exact. The boys are taking the track now, so unless you don’t want to fall behind, you should probably head over,” he said, pointing to the area behind him.

  “I’m sorry. What’s this about boys and camp?” she asked, shooting her gaze to his glasses before she leaned around him, as he was blocking her view. And yes, there were boys making their way over to the football field.

  “You would know the answer to your questions had you not been…” he said.

  “Late,” she said loudly, before she took a breath, a calming one, and said, more quietly, “I know. Late. You’ve said it enough. Believe me, I get it. I was late and you don’t like people who are late. The whole world knows it by now. Late. I was freaking late, and if you say it one more time, I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions,” straightening up, meeting his gaze again, her smile all but gone. “And Alex didn’t tell me anything about a camp. I thought it would be one on one, you and me, personal training,” she said.

  He laughed. “Nope, there’s no one on one, you and me personal training. I don’t have that kind of time. It’s you and them,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to the field behind him and smiling now, clearly enjoying her predicament.

  “You expect me to train with them?”

  “Yep,” he said, and it was the full-blown smile on display once again.

  “Oh. That’s a lot of little boys,” she said.

  “Fifty-five, if we are being exact,” he said, still smiling.

  “Fifty-five!” she whispered. More to herself, he thought, watching her. Entertaining, she was. “And how old are they?” she asked.

  “Not so little. Some are in high school, but mostly they are middle school age,” he said, still smiling fully, clearing enjoying himself.

  “Oh,” she said, quiet for a second, her gaze still on him, and why did he have to be so pretty, she thought. She took in another breath of air. “You wouldn’t by chance have any other camps… say, like, for adults. A camp for only women would be perfect. I don’t have a problem driving to another location if I need to.”

  “There’s no need, Jones. You have something against training with kids and or boys?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not that, it just that I think I would feel more comfortable training with people closer to my age. Are you sure you don’t have time for individual training? I’d be willing to pay you more if that helps.”

  He was shaking his head from left to right, his answer “no” before she had finished her request. “Have you played football before?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you are in the right place. This is what we do here every summer: introduce kids to the sport, assess their abilities while teaching them the fundamentals of the game. You’ll be fine, Jones. Those boys are students here, same as you. We have two weeks to give it our best shot. This is the only option I can offer you.”

  “Two weeks?” Memphis squeaked out.

  “Two weeks, and Alex didn’t tell you that either.”

  “No. She did not.”

  He smiled internally at the myriad expressions that flickered over her face. It a canvass for her emotions, he thought. She was funny to watch and easy to read. Whatever she felt seemed to show up on her face, no hiding anything: the shock, surprise, alarm, and was that fear there at the end? He wasn’t sure of the last bit, fleeting as it had been, but it was fun to watch nonetheless. Oh, and she was easier than easy to mess with and he looked forward to doing it often over the next two weeks. She should shoot her sister. It’s what he’d do if he were in her shoes, sending her out here so clearly misinformed.

  “Three days, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from six to eight p.m. for the next two weeks, and I expect you to show up here, on time, ready to do your best. It’s what I expect from anybody that plays for me in season or out. Two weeks is easy, Jones,” he said, smiling internally again at the expression on her face: a little bit of shellshock mixed with horror. “So are we done with the questions and our talk of fires and insurance?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. So, if you don’t know it by now, timeliness is a huge deal for me. One of the easiest ways to show respect of another person’s time is to show up when you’re supposed to. But in case that’s too much to ask of you, Jones, I have a three strike rule, as in baseball. Three strikes and don’t bother coming back, even if your sister is Alex. Got it?” he said, and he’d dropped his smile. All serious was the face staring back at her.

  “Got it,” she squeezed past her lips. She’d lost her smile a while ago, too and couldn’t seem to resurrect it. It was quiet for a moment between them.

  “Okay then, that will be three laps around the track,” he said.

  “I thought you said two.”

  “I did, but that was before… and you need to learn how serious timeliness is to me,” he said, moving around her to stand in the doorway now, his back to the building, continuing to hold the door open. “
You really should get started. I don’t know your fitness level, but based on what I’ve heard, I suspect you might be a while getting those laps done,” he said.

  She smiled. Weak though it was, it was visible as she worked to hide her irritation. She turned on her heel and marched away. Forget the bit about being handsome. Irritating had smoothly taken its place. Three laps and crap, there was no way she could run three laps. Could she? She made her way to the track anyway.

  This was such a bad idea, this playing football. She knew it when she agreed to the bet’s terms and nothing to be done about it now. She’d done it for Alex. It was anything for her sisters, and fortunately Alex had won… in so many ways she’d won. Getting her life together and meeting her fears head on. That’s what Alex had done and would continue to do. So here she was, upholding her end of the bargain and, Oh God, playing football for real. Thirty years old, and the thought of anything athletic could still reduce her to this quivering mass of nerves. “Breathe,” she said aloud to herself. “You can do this.”

  She scanned the track, where the boys were in the process of running their laps, some moving faster than others. Crap, she thought at the change in her circumstances, just that quick. And crap, those laps weren’t going to run themselves, she thought, and the sooner she started the sooner she’d finish, an encouraging thought that had her placing her feet on the track, one in front of the other.

  #

  I’m in trouble here, serious trouble, Memphis thought, struggling against passing out and not even ten minutes in. It was total depletion of the air in her lungs, plus she had a stitch in her side that had come from out of nowhere. She was rubbing it now, as it had grown more painful by the minute. What had she been thinking, taking off so fast? Trying to prove what to who. She knew who. Coach Z, as he’d instructed her to call him, and talk about taking yourself way too seriously. He was so that.

  It was her irritation and wanting to make a good first impression that propelled her non-athletic self around the track at speeds impossible for her to maintain and now had her sputtering to a stop at the end of her first lap. As if making a good impression was possible. Okay, not so much a good impression, more a decent one had been her goal.