Win Me Over

Book 2: Hearts and Crafts

by Nicole Michaels

Genres: Romantic Comedy; Sports Romance

Synopsis

WINNING ISN'T EVERYTHING
Callie Daniels is a singular sensation. She owns and operates her own bakery, contributes to a popular lifestyle blog, and is the dance team coach at a local high school. She lives by her own design and is much too busy to consider dating. Mr. Right will have to fit into her life when the time is right...

UNLESS YOU'RE PLAYING FOR KEEPS
Football coach Bennett Clark always plays by the rules. He knows that his new colleague Callie is off limits but she's so beautiful-and irritating!-that Bennett can't get her off his mind. She wants him to participate in a charity dance contest, and won't take no for an answer. Soon, what begins as a festive athletic endeavor turns into a heated flirtation on and off the dance floor. Could it be that the free-spirited Callie has finally found a way through Coach Clark's line of defense?

Release date: September 1, 2015

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 300

Sample

One



Some people had skeletons in their closet; Callie Daniels had tiaras. Literally. Big, tacky, blinged-out tiaras. The kind that graced over-teased heads of little pageant girls, took an entire package of bobby pins to hold secure, and were so tall it was amazing they didn't tip children ass over teakettle. Something she knew from experience because once upon a time she'd been one of those little girls, and if beauty pageant life had taught Callie anything, it was how to put a fake smile on your face. A skill that came in handy when your mother unexpectedly walked through the front door of your bakery on a Thursday afternoon.

"Mom, what a surprise," Callie called over the display counter, hoping desperately that the tone of her words revealed more sincerity than dread. The light-turquoise walls of her beloved shop, Callie's Confections, clashed with her mother's unnatural shade of blond hair. Even still, the blond was better than the fire-engine red it had been a few months ago.

"Well, it seems the only way I can find out what's going on in your life is to make a trip up here. That is, unless I want to hear it from Joan Jenkins while I get my nails done." There was no mistaking the hurt in her voice and instantly Callie's heart grew heavy with guilt. She vaguely remembered mentioning her new job to an old high school friend on Instagram. Word traveled fast. She should have known better.

"Oh, Mom, I'm so-"

"Do you want to know the worst part? I could tell that she loved telling me something I didn't know. You're my only daughter; I should know your gossip before anyone else in this world. Can you even imagine the embarrassment?"

Callie knew about embarrassment all too well, but she wouldn't list all the ways she could relate. It would break her mother's heart, and the truth was, Callie felt a little bad for not calling. But in her defense, her life was crazy at the moment. Today, for example, she'd spent the morning prepping cakes and cookies for the weekend orders. She'd been in the zone, the kind of baking Zen that almost made her want to spin around her ovens and sing like an animated movie princess. She was only missing the talking wildlife-and the Prince Charming. But that was no matter; she had no use or time for a man.

"I wasn't trying to keep secrets, Mom; I've just been busy," Callie said.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Of all the things ... dance coach? You knew I'd be thrilled about that. I should have been the first person you'd want to tell that you've returned to performing."

"I'm the coach, Mom. I won't be performing."

Barbara shrugged. "Still you should have told me. I could help you."

Which was exactly why Callie hadn't been excited to share. Her mother, Barbara, had the tendency to overstep her bounds in the "help" department. And that was putting it mildly. Callie could only imagine all the ideas her mother would have had when she told her she'd been hired to be the new Pantherettes Dance Team coach at Preston High.

"You're right: I should have called. I'm sorry, but I promise I've got everything under control," Callie said, grabbing a to-go coffee cup and handing it across the counter. She hoped to move the conversation away from the dance team quickly. "Have some coffee."

"Oh no, I can't do coffee after lunch. It dehydrates my skin."

"Suit yourself." Callie walked around the counter toward the coffee station set up in the small dining area of her bakery.

"Callie Jo," her mother chided in a playful yet dead serious way. "Do you not care about your own skin? Maintaining your looks after thirty is a full-time job, might as well start now."

Facing the wall, Callie rolled her eyes as she added a liberal amount of half-and-half and sugar to her cup. Barbara meant well-in fact, these small reprimands were always delivered with love and concern-but she was a teeny bit obsessed with physical appearances. Always had been, always would be. She was, in fact, an attractive woman under all that makeup-even with the skintight lime-green capris, sequined high-heeled sandals, and ruffled blouse. According to everyone who knew them both, Callie was a younger-and, she hoped, less flamboyant-version of her mother. Along with gratitude, that compliment always sent a tingle of horror down Callie's spine.

"I'm willing to take my chances, Mom, and I'm not thirty for two more years." Callie took a long sip. Damn, her shop served good coffee.

"You'll be sorry, sweetheart. You only have one face; I taught you better than that."

Before Callie had time to be highly annoyed with that comment, her employee and unapologetically gay best friend burst through the kitchen door into the front of the bakery.

"Barb, what a surprise." His eyes met Callie's, and unbeknownst to Barbara the two of them exchanged an entire silent conversation in a fraction of a second with that one look. It went something like this:

Holy shit, what's she doing here?

I know, right?

Does she know?

Yep, she knows.

Shit. You okay?

I will be.

What the hell is she wearing?

Oh my God, I know!

Eric grinned and pulled Callie's mother into a hug.

"At least someone's happy to see me," Barbara said over his shoulder.

"I'm always happy to see you, Mom." Although Callie was certain her words went unnoticed as she watched Eric gush over the woman. He always handled her like a pro, saying just the right things, but not too much, for which Callie was grateful.

"I swear every time I see you, you look a year younger, and those shoes are perfection."

Barbara laughed and feigned embarrassment. Callie knew her mother was eating his comments up and she couldn't help but smile because she knew that Eric genuinely loved Barbara. So did Callie, but her mother was a woman best taken in small doses ... and, Callie hoped, not unexpectedly. It was best to have all your wits about you when Barbara was around, because she sniffed out weakness and secrets like a bloodhound, desperate for a way into your life. She wanted to be needed and in on the action. That was all well and good, but Callie liked to do things her own way, which usually turned out to be the exact opposite of her mother's way. They were just ... different people.

"Now, Eric, why didn't you make Callie call me right away when she got the dance coach job?"

"Barb, please. You know how our girl is. Go, go, go, all the time. I'm sure it just slipped her mind."

Barbara turned to Callie, looking stricken. "Oh, honey, you're working way too hard here. You have to join me for a spa day. I insist."

"Thanks, Mom. But I'm good. Promise."

Her mother reached around to Callie's ponytail and grabbed the end of one of her riotous curls. "Are you sure, baby girl? These ends are fried. You haven't had a cut in weeks, have you? Amazing hair like yours cannot be neglected."

Callie hadn't had a cut in months, and she couldn't help the fact that she'd been born with unruly curls. "It's fine, Mom. I'll schedule a haircut soon."

"You can't be the dance coach with split ends, sweetie. You must put your best face forward. How will you find the man of your dreams? If you're lucky you won't have to work at any job after that."

"Mom, I can assure you that the state of my hair has no effect on my ability to do this job, because it's not about my looks. It's not about me at all. It's about the girls on the team. And I've told you a thousand times, I like what I do. Even if I met the guy of my dreams-which is unlikely-I would still be running this bakery."

Barbara gave a pouty lip. "Goodness, you don't have to get excited. You're so much like your father. What am I gonna do with you?" She turned to Eric. "When was the last time she had a date? Or a haircut?"

"Don't get me involved, Barbara. You know I love you, but I'm always Team Callie, and if she wants to rock inch-long split ends and a cold bed, that's her business."

Callie shot Eric a dirty look. Her love life was a constant source of contention between her and her mother. Callie was happy to be single and Barbara didn't seem to understand that. She loved being a wife; in fact, Callie was certain her mother's entire identity was wrapped up in being Mrs. Daniels. She saw herself as adornment to her successful husband. At least that was the way Callie viewed it, and that was not her style. At all.

Callie never wanted to adorn anything; she'd been that girl before when she was young and trying to find her way with boys, and it did not suit her. She wasn't an ornament or a trophy; she was a human being who just happened to have breasts and could take care of herself, thank you very damn much. Callie liked to have her share of fun once in a while, but that was enough.

She needed to steer the conversation into safer waters before she said something to her mother that she'd regret. They'd had those conversations enough for Callie to know that they didn't end well and she just felt horrible afterward.

"Mom, I'm so grateful you came to see me. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner about my new job. Like I said, it's just been a hectic time, but I'll be sure to let you know when the first performance is so you can come and watch."

"Well, are you sure you won't need help with costumes or hair? You know performance and presentation is my specialty."

"You taught me well, Mom; I can totally handle it. And the girls already have costumes and uniforms. We're all good." Only a tiny lie; the girls desperately needed new performance outfits. No way could Callie let that bit slip; Barbara would show up at the high school with her sewing machine in tow.

"Well, okay, but if you need help you come to me first. And the next time something big happens in your life I better not hear about it in the mani chair. You hear?"

"I promise."

Eventually, after filling Callie in on all the gossip from her hometown, eating a cinnamon roll as she proclaimed, "I really shouldn't," about fifteen times, and waiting while Callie called to schedule a haircut, Barbara finally left. Back behind the display counter, Callie let out a deep cleansing breath. Interactions with Barbara were overwhelming. Thankfully she lived an hour away, so they didn't happen too often.

"I do adore her, but she is nuts, you know that, right?" asked Eric.

They both laughed as he leaned against the register munching on a tiny blueberry scone. Callie wasn't sure what she'd do without her best friend, and not only because he looked so fantastic with his muscles filling out the pink Callie's Confections T-shirt. And also not because 30 percent of their business was women just wanting to flirt with him-which he did very well considering he was a gay man. It was for moments like this, when he could joke with her about her crazy family and make her laugh.

He popped the last bite of his scone into his mouth and gave her a wink. "I still love you, Callie Jo," Eric said in a twangy redneck accent. "Even if you come from bad stock."

Callie sighed as the bell jingled and Eric turned to help a customer. That was their ongoing joke; he loved to poke fun at Callie and her crazy stage-kid upbringing, her mother dragging her to every talent show, recital, and beauty pageant in the Midwest. It was a surprise that Callie had turned out normal. Not that she didn't have her own set of issues. She was a ruthless overachiever, a bit on the dramatic side-although she'd never admit it out loud-had to have the last word, resorted to humor and sarcasm when she was uncomfortable, and was a little bit of a daddy's girl.

Okay, she had her share of issues. But who didn't? Truth was, she owed a lot to her parents. They were a little backwards in their thinking sometimes and Callie had been embarrassed by them plenty growing up, but they loved her and they'd taught her many valuable lessons. First of which was hard work. Pageants weren't for the faint of heart, and her mother had done whatever it took to make sure Callie was successful, like the time Barbara had worked overnight shifts for three months at the truck stop café just so they could afford Callie a new pageant wardrobe. Barbara was a force to be reckoned with beneath the façade of Merle Norman and Chico's clearance rack. Callie just wished that her mother spent more time valuing herself as an intelligent and strong woman in her own right.

According to Callie's father, both of the Daniels women were strong, but Callie knew she owed a lot of her strength and determination to him. He was the funniest and hardest-working man she knew, running one of the most well-known plumbing companies in Little Grove, Missouri, where she'd grown up. She admired him immensely and wouldn't have had the courage to start her own business without his example and guidance when she needed it.

Peeking into the display case, Callie mentally tallied what still needed to be done before she left for the day and headed to the high school for dance team practice. Her shop, Callie's Confections, made twelve different specialty treats every day Monday through Saturday and then took a limited amount of special orders every weekend. Tomorrow was the first high school football game in Preston, so she'd had a bevy of orders for blue-and-white-frosted cookies and cupcakes in addition to her usual fare.

The bell above the front door rang again and then the small familiar voice of one of her favorite people rang out.

"Errrriiicccc."

"Clairebuggggg,"

Eric ran around the counter to sweep the little girl into his arms. A man walked in a second later and Callie abjectly appreciated the rugged manscape that accompanied Claire Edmond. Mike Everett was the best thing that had happened to Anne, Claire's mother and Callie's other best friend. Mike and Anne had only been dating a few months, but Callie knew it was the real deal. The two were obsessed with each other. Almost disgustingly so, which had really put a crimp in girl time. But it was worth it. Callie wanted nothing more than for her friends to be happy, and this man made Anne and her daughter happier than Callie had ever seen them.

"Hey, you two." Callie headed around the counter and out front, giving them a smile. "Isn't this a school day?"

"I just went to the dentist." Claire dropped from Eric's arms and came over to give Callie a toothy smile.

"Gorgeous. Cavities?"

"Nope," Claire said before yanking her mouth open with a finger hooked in each cheek.

"She was a trooper, didn't even flinch on X-rays," Mike said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was no mistaking the pride on his face. He truly seemed to love Claire, which made Callie smile.

"Well then, that calls for peanut butter cookies," Callie sang as she turned toward the kitchen. "Follow me to the VIP section."

"What's 'VIP' mean?" Claire asked.

"Very Interesting Pickles," Eric said, pulling a funny face.

"Nuh-uh." Claire giggled. "What's it really mean, Uncle Mike?"

"Very Icky Pigs, I think," Mike replied.

Callie chuckled at the use of Claire's pet name for Mike. His niece was Claire's best friend and Claire had yet to drop the "Uncle" moniker.

Mike and Claire came into the kitchen behind Callie, and she got to work lifting the peanut butter cookies off the cooling rack and onto a display tray. The beauty of a perfectly baked pastry made her heart swell with pride every time.

Barbara was the queen of trend dieting, so Callie's childhood had been filled with odd desserts made with avocados or applesauce. It was no surprise that when Callie had gone away to college she'd loaded up on flour, real butter, and heavy cream so she could make the real stuff. She'd never stopped.

"These smell yummy, Callie," Claire said.

"Why, thank you, my dear. Go grab one of those pink boxes, and you can take some home and share them with Mommy."

"Yay!" Claire exclaimed as she skipped over to the shelves stocked full of paper goods.

"Thanks, Callie. I figured the dentist was cause for a treat, especially since it's the first time Claire's been without Anne," Mike said.

"I agree: I think baked goods are almost always appropriate in any situation. How's Anne's speech coming along? I assume that's why you took Claire."

Mike nodded. "This whole blog convention seriously has her stressed. She's scared to death to speak in front of a crowd."

Anne was the founder of the incredibly popular lifestyle blog My Perfect Little Life. It featured everything from party-planning tips and personal anecdotes to DIY furniture restoration. Almost two years ago she'd invited Callie to become a regular contributor, posting recipes and baking tips. Now they also had Lindsey Morales, whose specialty was design and repurposed crafts. Callie loved being a part of the online community that Anne had created; it was almost like being an Internet celebrity. Anne's readers loved her and had welcomed Callie and Lindsey with open arms. It seemed every day they all became more popular. Even more exciting, Anne had been asked to be the keynote speaker at an upcoming blogger convention.

"She'll be amazing. Anne doesn't do anything without doing it well. I kind of hate her for it."

"Nuh-uh. You love Mommy," Claire said matter-of-factly as she continued to load treat after treat into the pink box.

Mike finished off his second cookie. "Don't tell anyone, but your cookies could make a grown man cry."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but the rule is no one cries in this kitchen but me." Her expression must have been a little too telling, because Mike gave her a raised eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" he asked. It was in that guy tone, the one that said he was worried but really hoped she didn't elaborate because he would have no idea how to handle it.

Callie let out a dramatic sigh as she lowered the lid on the box before Claire could clean her out. The tiny shyster had already moved on to the tray of scones and was closing in on blue and white Panther cupcakes. "Oh yeah, I don't really need to cry. Not today. But my mother did just leave, so there's that."

"Big yellow hair, Mustang convertible with 'HR HINES' written on the plate?"

"God, yes, she wanted it to say 'her highness,' but that obviously was too long to fit." Callie groaned. Barbara had sported the HRHINES license plate since Callie was six, based on the name of her father's plumbing business, Royal Flush. His advertisements featured her handsome yet rotund father in a crown and cape, holding a plunger instead of a scepter. It was quite a treat to go to high school and be known for being the princess of plungers.

Mike chuckled. "She looked ... interesting."

"You're being sweet. Hipsters and feminists are interesting. My mother is-"

"She's an abomination. But we love her." Eric cut Callie off as he breezed through the kitchen to grab a package of napkins and head back out front.

"We do love her. But visits from her exhaust me emotionally."

"Sorry, Cal." Mike picked up the box and began to herd Claire toward the door. "Why don't you go over to Anne's tonight? She's a mess trying to prepare for the conference, and I know how hanging out together always makes you feel better. Drink wine, eat cupcakes, or do whatever female bonding shit you do."

"Uncle Mike, the s word is a no-thank-you word, 'member?"

Callie laughed at Claire's scolding of Mike. Their sweet little Claire was an original. In Callie's professional opinion Mike and Anne needed to get the child a sibling and quick. In a crowd she was sweet and shy, but around those she was close to she was a little princess herself.

"I seem to use a lot of no-thank-you words," Mike said quietly before he followed Claire back to the front of the store. He turned to Callie once more at the front door, giving her a serious look. "But seriously, Anne would never say so, but I think she could use a visit. She's stressed, and I'm not good with things I can't fix for her. I'd appreciate you going over and cheering her up."

Callie groaned. "Why do you have to keep being so perfect? It's really annoying."

Mike grinned. "I adore you, too, Callie."

Eric tossed Mike a bottle of chocolate milk for Claire and then before he and Claire left he called over his shoulder, "Thanks, guys. See ya later."

The door shut behind them and Callie glanced at the clock. "Oh crap!" She ran to the back, untying her flour-dusted apron. "Eric, I'm gonna be late to practice if I don't get out of here."

The dance team met immediately after school except for Fridays, which were often game days. If it was a home game the team would perform at halftime. Admittedly, this second job had turned out to be a little bit more of a time commitment than Callie had first anticipated, but she was surprised at how much she'd instantly fallen in love with it. So far it was worth the craziness in her life. She figured this was the time. She was young and healthy. Single and definitely not looking. If she was going to live, she intended to live big and stay busy.

Plus it was dance, which had always been her escape. Her life had always been hectic; when she was younger it was schoolwork, pageants, and all the drama that came along with being the daughter of Her Hines and the King of Plungers. No matter how crazy life had been, Callie had always made room for dance, ever since her mother had enrolled her in tap and ballet at the age of three. That had started a lifelong love affair. She loved it all, jazz, modern, even ballroom, which she'd taken in college, where she'd earned a scholarship to be on the university's dance team. Now she'd come full circle, she was teaching, and it was amazing.

Twenty minutes later Callie was in the high school gym breathing in the stench of teenage sweat, hairspray, and Victoria's Secret lotion. But she was happy. The music was pounding, and she was joining her girls in a hard stretch before they practiced their latest routine, the one they'd be performing tomorrow night. She let out a breath and felt all of her stress fade away.

* * *

Bennett Clark was late for practice, which really pissed him off, but a student needing some extra help on a homework assignment took precedence over football. For at least a few minutes.

Bennett had texted his assistants to let them know, but he hated to be late. Especially when it was only the third full week of school. These first few weeks of practice were critical, particularly for the new players. It was when the team started to really come together and find their footing as a unit, but more than that, for Bennett it was also vital that he make sure his players understood his expectations for them as athletes and students.

He picked up his pace as he hit the hallway that ran alongside the gym, heading toward the back door leading out to the field. A loud female voice coming from inside the gym caught his attention.

"Ladies, if your rear isn't in the air, this stretch isn't doing anything for your hamstrings. I want your boobs between your thighs."

Huh? Bennett came to a complete stop and then slowly peeked into the double doors that led into the massive gymnasium. Thankfully, the girls were all facing the opposite wall, so they couldn't see him. Once again the bossy feminine voice vibrated off every shiny surface.

"Good. Hold it. These muscles need to be nice and warm."

He could only blink. This wasn't Jane, the dance team coach's voice. Had she quit? Been fired? He'd heard the rumors last spring about her sexting with an administrator but tried to ignore gossip. Maybe this was a sub.

"Okay, good. Now everyone in line so we can do the assembly kick routine full-out. Let's start on eight with chins up. Smiles wide." She punctuated the command with several rapid fire claps as the girls shuffled into place. And then ... he saw her.

Damn.

She was on the small side, but her healthy curves were accentuated by her tight black pants. Good God, her ass was perfect, round and full but also firm. Tight. Shit.

This was so not Jane.

Bennett swallowed hard, his throat going dry. Her muscular legs were spread in a wide stance as she stood with her little hot-pink tennis shoes gripping the polished wooden floor, her hands grasping her hips, and her wildly curly hair pulled into a high ponytail. He wanted desperately to see her whole face, but she was also turned away from him. She began counting off, and on eight the line of dancers looked to the side and began kicking in unison.

When he realized the girls were starting to turn in his direction he took off. A male teacher appearing to gawk at the dance team wouldn't look good, so he sped up-cursing the pain that shot down his thigh-and burst through the metal doors and into the sunlight. Squinting, he took the shallow stairs with a rail down the incline, because the grassy hill was a killer on his bad leg, even though it was faster.

It had been years since his accident, but the injury never failed to get a little tender during football season, when he was frequently on his feet for long periods of time. He drew the line at taking the longest yet least painful route-down the wheelchair ramp. A man still had his dignity to protect.

The familiar and welcoming sound of grunts, and skin on vinyl, met his ears and his body released tension like a balloon deflating. The vibrant green and white of the gridiron, the stench of sweat, the growl of a pissed-off defense coach. This was his world. Coaching high school football would never have been his first choice, but of the many regrets Bennett had in his thirty years, deciding to take this job would never be one of them. Never mind that coaching was the only way he could keep football as a permanent fixture in his life after his accident.

Coaching had turned out to be a perfect fit and he couldn't have asked for a better school. Football in Preston was a way of life. Most residents would no more miss a Friday night game than they would miss church on Sunday. He was from Texas, where high school football was part of their religion, so he was familiar with the mentality. Welcomed it even.

Bennett made his way to the sidelines of the practice field and sought out his good friend and assistant coach Reggie. "Thanks for getting them started, man; sorry I'm late."

"No problem. We just finished warming up. Guys are amped up today. I can feel it. I let John take the defense to start drills, offense is stretching and reviewing the playbook with Ted, and now that you're here I'm taking my guys. I'm sure they're done running in this heat. I figured you want to work with Tate and Lane."

"Sounds good."

They stood and watched the boys for a minute until Bennett couldn't help himself anymore. Her cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant. "Hey, uh, what happened to Jane? She get sacked over the shit from last year?"

Reggie was no dummy. His deep chuckle told Bennett the man knew exactly why he'd asked, yet he never took his eyes off the boys on the field. "I wondered when you were gonna see her. She's a treat, isn't she?"

Bennett didn't respond, but he didn't have to. He and Reggie had been coaching together for six years. They had a bond that didn't require eye contact or even speaking, most of the time. It reminded Bennett of the relationships he'd developed with teammates over the years. Football did that, created a brotherhood. Reggie had played college ball and then gotten married and become a family man. Not every player with heart and grit was destined for the pros, just as not every player who made it to the NFL ended up a celebrity or even a success story.

"At least now I know why you were late. You got a look at the new dance coach," Reg said with a smirk and a little hip shuffle that he was known for.

"Please, you know me better than that. I was with a student," Bennett said, and Reg finally turned his way and raised an eyebrow. Bennett shrugged. "Okay, obviously I did see her. Might have held me up for a minute. Just a minute."

"Yeah, I bet." Reggie chuckled. "Why don't you talk to her? I'm sure she's dying to meet the beloved Coach Bennett. Do you some good to spend some time with a woman, you know? Just something to think about."

Bennett shook his head in response before blowing on his whistle. He headed out into the field toward his quarterbacks, trying not to dwell on Reggie's comment. Yeah, it had been a while since Bennett had been with a woman. Eight months, and then a year before that. And then probably a year before that.

He tried not to think about it, because it was downright depressing. But in his defense, he had a lot on his plate with teaching and coaching and there wasn't room in his life for a relationship. Casual or otherwise ... because despite the implied intent in the word casual, those often ended up just as messy as the real deal. There'd been a time when he'd thought he'd found his one and only woman. How wrong he'd been.

Like so many things in his life, he'd lost his fiancée, Ashley, due to his accident. Apparently once a professional football contract was no longer part of his future, neither was she. In retrospect it probably shouldn't have come as a shock, but at the time it had thrown him. Hard. Yeah he'd been in a dark spot at the time, but wasn't that when the people you loved were supposed to prove it? She'd up and left him when he needed her the most.

Luckily, teaching and football helped to remind him that all was not lost. His life in no way resembled the one he grew up imagining he'd have, but it was good. Respectable, if not a bit lonely.

Okay, a whole lot lonely.

However, this season there was no reason to have a damn pity party. This team was going to be amazing. He could feel it, and he'd learned to trust his instincts.

Bennett stood under the goalpost for a wh