It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(87)

“I’m not playing now. I’m coaching! And believe me, if I had a whole squad raising the kind of hell I used to raise, we’d be out of the game fast.”

Judging from the stories she’d heard, that was undoubtedly true. She slipped off her glasses. “You’re a tough disciplinarian, and I’m beginning to realize just how important that is. But I think you need to figure out when to turn up the heat and when to relax a little.”

“Don’t start this again.”

“All right. You tell me why the Stars weren’t able to hold on to the ball until last night’s game.”

“It’s a cycle, that’s all. Those things happen.”

“Dan, the men were too tense. You’ve driven them hard for weeks, beaten up on them for the smallest mistake. You’ve chewed out everybody from the secretarial staff to Tully. You pushed too hard, and it was affecting everyone’s performance.”

She might as well have lit a keg of dynamite because he erupted from his chair. “I don’t f*cking believe this! I can’t believe you’re sitting there like John Fucking Madden and telling me how to coach a f*cking football team! You don’t know shit about football!”

Profanities exploded like firecrackers over her head, his anger so scorching she half expected the paint on the walls to blister. She was shaken, but at the same time, she had the weird sense he was putting her through some kind of a test, that his ranting and raving were a carefully staged ploy to see what she was made of. Leaning back in her chair, she began inspecting her nail polish for chips.

He went ballistic. The veins in his neck stood out like cords. “Look at you! You barely know the difference between a football and a f*cking baseball! And now you think you can tell me how to coach! You think you can tell me my team’s too tense, like you’re some goddamn psychologist or something, when you don’t know shit!” He paused for breath.

“You can shoot off that gutter mouth of yours all you want, Coach,” she said softly, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still the boss. Now why don’t you take yourself to the showers to cool off?”

For a moment she thought he was going to leap right over the desk and come after her. Instead, he gave her a furious look and stalked from her office.

Half an hour later, Ron found Dan behind the building slamming a basketball through the hoop near the outer locker room door. Dark patches of sweat soaked the front of his knit shirt, and he was breathing hard as he dribbled the ball to the center of the concrete slab and spun toward the hoop.

“Tully told me you were out here,” Ron said. “I need some information about Zeke Claxton.”

The hoop vibrated as Dan slammed the ball through. “Phoebe isn’t happy with my coaching!” He spat out the words, then threw the ball at Ron’s chest with so much force that the general manager stumbled backward.

“Take it in,” Dan roared.

Ron looked down at the ball as if it were a grenade with the pin already pulled. He had observed Dan’s murderous games of one-on-one when he was upset over something, and he had no intention of getting involved. Assuming an expression of deep regret, he gestured toward his newest navy suit. “I’m sorry, Dan, but I have a meeting, and I’m not dressed for—”

“Take it in, goddammit!”

Ron took it in.

Dan let him shoot, but Ron was so nervous that the ball bounced off the backboard well above the rim. Dan snatched the rebound and dribbled viciously to center court. Ron stood nervously on the sidelines trying to figure out how to get away.

“Guard me, for chrissake!”

“Actually, I was never too good at basketball.”

“Guard me!”

Ron did his best, but Dan was nearly a foot taller and forty pounds heavier, as well as being a professional athlete instead of a born klutz.

“Move in closer! Use your elbows, for chrissake! Do what you friggin’ have to to get the friggin’ ball!”

“Uh— Elbows are illegal, Dan, and I—”

Dan stuck out his foot and deliberately tripped him.

As Ron sprawled to the concrete, he heard the knee of his new navy trousers rip. He felt the sting in the heels of his hands and looked up in outrage. “You did that on purpose!”

Dan’s lip curled. “So what are you going to do about it, *?”

Furious, Ron scrambled to his feet and threw off his suit coat. “I’m going to shove that ball down your throat, you smug son of a bitch.”

“Not if you play by the rules.” Dan held the ball out, deliberately taunting him.

Ron went after him. He slammed his elbow into Dan’s gut and punched the ball free with his opposite fist. It shot across the court. He raced after it, but Dan beat him there and snatched it up. As the coach spun toward him with the ball, Ron punched him hard in the ribs then kicked at the back of his bad knee, knocking him off-balance. Before Dan could recover, Ron had the ball and drove to the basket, making a perfect shot.

“Now you’re getting the idea.” Dan grabbed the ball.

Ron moved in. Unfortunately, his violent bump didn’t keep Dan from making his next shot. Ron took the ball, butted Dan with his head, and dribbled to the edge of the court, where he just missed.

The ensuing battle was vicious, fought with flying fists, jabbing elbows, illegal trips, and teeth. Dan, however, played clean.