Twice the Chance, page 18
The football coach had given up on the notion to rotate his two quarterbacks after a single game, awarding the job outright to Arthur Rodriguez. The sophomore had come through, leading the team to a decisive victory last Friday. The next game was tomorrow night. “Trouble for me? No.” Tom shook his head. “Mrs. Huff can’t say much when the team’s winning, so she’s going after another target.”
Matt took a swig of beer. “Who?”
“You,” Tom said.
“I don’t understand,” Matt said.
“That’s why T.D.’s here,” his father said. “I asked him to come after he told me what Gerianne did.”
It was as if the other two men were speaking a foreign language Matt didn’t understand. “What did Mrs. Huff do?”
“She’s telling everyone you shouldn’t be A.D. because you’re dating an ex-con,” Tom said.
Matt’s breath caught. He’d spotted Gerianne Huff talking to Jazz in the stands at his youth team’s soccer game the weekend before last but dismissed the encounter as unimportant. He wondered how Mrs. Huff knew Jazz had been in prison. Surely Jazz hadn’t told her.
“Yeah, I know. It’s ridiculous, Matt. But you can’t just let Gerianne go around lying about you.” Matt’s father’s face had turned red with indignation. “Tell Matt what happened after school today, T.D.”
“I saw Mrs. Huff go into Ray’s office. So I asked him what was going on, her being the mother of one of my players,” Tom said. Ray was Ray Middleton, the school’s longtime principal and one of Tom’s closest friends. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I figure somebody’s gotta warn you. Mrs. Huff didn’t only complain about you dating an ex-con. She bitched about your support of Carter Prioleau, too.”
Matt hadn’t talked to the former A.D. since he’d thrown Carter the goodbye party and realized Carter’s true nature. That didn’t mean Matt was going to apologize for being wrong about the man.
“She should mind her own business!” Matt snapped.
“But she didn’t,” his father said. “And now you’ve got to defend yourself or you might find yourself out as A.D.”
“Not going to happen.” Matt had never in his life gone after something as hard as he had the athletic director position and failed to achieve his goal. “I’m getting that A.D. job.”
“Not until you clear this up. But that should be easy enough.” His father frowned. “Unless you are going out with someone besides that pretty caterer.”
“Jazz is the only woman I’m dating.” Matt hadn’t been remotely interested in anybody else since he’d met Jazz.
“That’s what I told T.D. here.” His father jerked a thumb at his friend. “What I don’t get is why Mrs. Huff would lie about Jazz.”
Matt had hoped to safeguard Jazz’s privacy but didn’t see a way out of telling his father the truth. “Mrs. Huff isn’t lying. Jazz served five years in prison.”
Matt went on to explain the circumstances, emphasizing the raw deal Jazz had gotten. The two men listened in silence, with Matt’s father tapping his chin thoughtfully. When he was through explaining, Matt reached for his beer mug.
“It’s a good thing you haven’t been dating Jazz long,” his father said.
Matt’s arm froze, his mug suspended in midair. “Why’s that?”
“You have to ask?” his father said. “If you keep going out with her, it’ll hurt your chances of becoming A.D.”
Matt set down his mug. “Those were the same words you used about me suspending D. J. Huff.”
“I was wrong about that,” his father admitted. “But who could have known there was a better quarterback than D.J. waiting in the wings?”
“I would have suspended D.J. even if he was the only quarterback on the roster,” Matt said.
“I already told you I was wrong about that one,” his father said. “But I’m right about this.”
“I don’t agree.” Matt felt his jaw tighten. “Nobody has the right to tell me who I can and can’t date.”
“Wake up, son,” his father whispered harshly. “You work at a school. You’re around teenagers every day. Mrs. Huff is out to get you, but she has a point. Parents want to know they can trust your judgment.”
“I’ve proven they can trust me,” Matt said.
“Then find a nice girl who hasn’t been in prison.” His father turned to his friend. “Right, T.D.?”
“I already heard some of my football players talking about it,” Tom said. “The news is spreading fast. Don’t forget Mrs. Huff is the president of the PTA.”
“You think she’ll bring it up at a PTA meeting?” Matt was incredulous.
“I think she blames you for D.J. losing his starting job,” Tom stated.
“This is serious, son,” his father said. “There’s no telling how far Gerianne will go.”
“Your father’s right,” agreed Tom. “From what I understand, you hardly know this Jazz. It would be different if you were in love with her.”
Matt stood up, leaving most of his beer behind. “I’ve heard enough.”
“Think long and hard on it, son,” his father called after him. “This is your future we’re talking about.”
Matt couldn’t think of anything else for the next hour. He was still dwelling on the situation at a few minutes past ten o’clock while he waited in the courtyard of the office building where Jazz worked as a telemarketer.
He was angry at his father but the older man had only spoken the truth. If Matt continued to date Jazz, he could face repercussions.
She emerged from the building with an older woman, laughing about something. A streetlight caught her in its glow. Her hair was long and loose and she wore a red shirt with a blue-jeaned miniskirt. She looked beautiful and vibrant and alive.
“Jazz!” Matt called her name.
Jazz turned in his direction, smiled and hurried toward him. Matt caught her in his arms and kissed her as though it had been years instead of hours since he saw her.
That was when Matt knew that it would take something far more powerful than gossip to keep him away from her. Because this tender feeling wrapping around his heart felt an awful lot like love.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAZZ BIT INTO HER grilled bratwurst sandwich two days later, chewing slowly to enjoy the rich flavor as long as possible.
“Do you realize you’re making an mmm noise?” Matt asked, amusement in his voice.
Jazz swallowed, temporarily closing her eyes in bliss.
“I can’t help it,” Jazz said. “It’s so good!”
They were eating lunch on Saturday while walking around the farmer’s market in Charleston’s Marion Square. More accurately, Jazz was eating lunch. Matt had already finished. He’d met her at the downtown Charleston location after his youth soccer team had won another game to stay undefeated.
The atmosphere in Marion Square was more reminiscent of a carnival than a farmer’s market. White tents shaded the vendors, crowds roamed the grassy aisles and belly dancers in colorful costumes performed on a makeshift stage.
Jazz was the happiest she’d been since Bill Smith had refused to take the DNA test.
“You shouldn’t have met me here, you know,” Jazz said. “Now tonight’s menu won’t be a surprise.”
She’d volunteered to cook for him, only partly because she was dying to spend more time in his fabulous kitchen. She was eager to show off her skill, too, which was why only the freshest ingredients would do. She was thinking of serving macadamia-crusted brie along with a rich, flavorful she-crab soup. For the main course, she’d go with grilled salmon accompanied by seasoned rice from recipes she’d invented. She’d finish on a flourish with cherries jubilee.
Matt put his arm around her and kissed the side of her head. “You’re glad I’m here, though.”
She laughed. “Cocky, aren’t we?”
“Hey, I tell it like it is,” he said. “I can’t help if I’m irresistible.”
He didn’t know how right he was. Jazz was glad of his company and irresistible wasn’t far off in describing her reaction to him. Sometimes—okay, most of the time—she couldn’t get enough of him.
Jazz took the last bite of her bratwurst sandwich before she was tempted to do something stupid, like admit her need for him was insatiable. Her affliction was getting worse every day, due in no small part to his thoughtfulness. He’d spent every moment he could with her since their trip to Beaufort, wisely refraining from discussing what had happened.
“I’ll tell you what will be irresistible,” she said. “Tonight’s meal.”
“Confidence. I like it.” He winked at her. “So where to?” Matt looked to the left and to the right. “We seem to be in the wrong section.”
While they were eating their bratwurst, they’d wandered near the stage. The belly dancers were gone, replaced by six teenage girls performing an energetic tap dance. Smiles wreathed their young faces.
“Thataway.” Jazz pointed to the opposite end of the grassy square in response to Matt’s question. She’d scouted a fish market with a large selection and reasonable prices before he’d arrived. “Follow me.”
She threaded her way through dozens of people who’d stopped to watch the tap dancers, Matt following in her path. Many of the onlookers were smiling and clapping. Jazz paused to take a look. The practice the girls must have put into the routine was paying off. They were in perfect synch.
“They’re very good,” Jazz said.
“Surprisingly good.” Matt had a better view than she did because his height enabled him to see over the heads of the people in front of them. “I didn’t know girls that young tapped.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jazz said. “A typical curriculum at a dance school is a blend of tap, jazz and ballet.”
Matt put his hand on the small of her back. She wasn’t about to analyze why she found even that slight touch thrilling.
“You didn’t take dance growing up, did you?” Matt asked.
“Not hardly,” she retorted. Did he really think the difficult childhood she’d described to him could have included dance lessons? “Why do you ask?”
“You sound like an expert,” he said.
That was because Jazz had phoned a dance school earlier in the week and peppered the receptionist with questions, aiming to be prepared in case the knowledge could help Brooke.
“I must have heard it somewhere, is all,” Jazz said. On stage, the six girls formed a chorus line. Leaning with their bodies slightly forward, they performed an intricate tap routine while swinging their arms in unison.
“Brooke would love this!” Jazz couldn’t hold back what was on her mind. “Terry should bring her here on Saturdays.”
“Terry’s busy on Saturdays with soccer,” Matt said. “She’s been lucky that Brooke and Robbie’s games are usually at different times so she and Kevin can watch both.”
Jazz was about to question again whether soccer was the right choice for Brooke but didn’t get the words out.
“I go to their games when they don’t conflict with my team’s,” Matt said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the case next Saturday. Maybe you can come with me.”
He made the offer with nonchalance, as though she’d never objected to spending time with his family. She couldn’t blame him after they’d spent last Saturday at the fair with the twins. So she needed to set him straight. Again.
“Excuse me. Coming through,” the female half of a young couple called from behind them. It was easier for Jazz to resume walking than to step aside.
To the side of the stage was a sizable area where artisans sold handwrought crafts. One booth featured leafy green houseplants. Another offered baked goods sold by teenage girls wearing maroon-and-black cheerleader uniforms. A sign above the booth announced proceeds from the sale would help the cheerleaders travel to a regional competition.
“Aren’t those cheerleaders from Faircrest High?” Jazz squinted to make out the logo on their uniforms. “Yes. They are from Faircrest.”
“I didn’t know anyone from school would be here,” Matt muttered under his breath.
“They should be in a good mood after that win last night,” Jazz said. The football team had notched another victory, although Jazz hadn’t been there to see it. She might have gone with Carl and Sadie if the waitress hadn’t canceled at the last minute.
Three cheerleaders were working the booth, which didn’t have any customers at the moment. Two of the girls, both petite brunettes, gazed in their direction. One of the brunettes said something to the third girl, a taller blonde. The blonde scanned the area before her gaze seemed to settle on Jazz and Matt. All three of the cheerleaders giggled.
Jazz peered over her shoulder but didn’t see anything behind them that could have elicited laughs.
“Where’s that fish market again?” Matt asked.
It took Jazz a second to process his question. She pointed in the general direction they’d been headed. “Over there. But don’t you want to buy something to support the Faircrest cheerleaders first?”
“No,” Matt said.
The giggles from the booth had grown louder. Jazz noticed a fourth girl she hadn’t seen before, probably because she wasn’t wearing a cheerleader’s uniform. She was younger than the others and resembled the blonde, which led Jazz to believe she was a younger sister.
“I’ll do it!” Jazz heard her say.
The youngest girl detached herself from the others and walked toward them. Matt put a hand on Jazz’s back, gently urging her to move.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the girl called, barely able to speak through her giggles.
Jazz stopped and pointed to herself. “Are you talking to me?”
The girl nodded, finally getting her laughter under control. “We were just wondering, uh, what you did.”
“I don’t understand,” Jazz said.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming over here and bothering us,” Matt said at the same time. His lips were tight, his jaw set. “What’s your name?”
The girl gaped at them, then turned and dashed back to the booth. The older girls were watching, hands over their mouths, twittering more than laughing.
Matt’s hand once again exerted pressure on Jazz’s back. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Jazz resumed walking, frowning as she tried to make sense of the girl’s question. “What did that girl mean?”
“It’s not important,” Matt said, his tone clipped.
Except the opposite must be true or Matt’s manner wouldn’t be so brusque. He was practically shuddering with anger, though not at Jazz, at the young girl. We were wondering what you did, the girl had said. What could that mean other than…
“Was she asking what I did to get sent to prison?” Jazz shook her head, almost immediately discounting the notion. “No. That doesn’t make sense. How would that girl know I’d been in prison?”
Matt didn’t reply, which was like waving a red flag in front of her face. He was hurrying her even though the booth with the Faircrest cheerleaders was no longer in sight. A muscle flickered in his jaw.
“Matt?” Jazz stopped walking steps from a stand offering a variety of hot and cold soups. People were milling about nearby, still, Jazz and Matt were relatively alone. “Did that girl know I’d been in prison?”
Matt’s gaze flickered away before his eyes came to rest on her. They looked pained. “Probably.”
Jazz’s hand flew to her throat. “How?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. Obviously he’d rather not explain. “Do you remember talking to a woman a few weeks ago at my team’s soccer game? Tall, short hair, in her forties?”
“Yes.” Jazz recalled the woman instantly because the encounter had made her uncomfortable. “She asked if I was your girlfriend. She said she’d seen me at the football game with Carl and Sadie.”
“That was Gerianne Huff,” Matt said. “She’s the mother of the quarterback I suspended. He’s since lost his starting job.”
“And?” Jazz asked.
“And somehow she found out you have a record,” he said.
Jazz remembered Mrs. Huff asking about the name of the restaurant on Carl’s T-shirt. The owner of Pancake Palace didn’t broadcast that he hired ex-cons but neither did he hide the fact. Years ago the Post and Courier, Charleston’s daily newspaper, had even done a feature story about a short-order cook who’d been involved in a high-profile crime. The cook no longer worked at the restaurant but a surprising number of people remembered the story.
“That doesn’t explain how the girl knew.” Jazz gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, no. It’s all over school that you’re dating an ex-con, isn’t it?”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters! You work at a high school.” Jazz couldn’t believe she hadn’t considered the ramifications being involved with her could have on Matt before this minute. “If the students know, so do their parents.”
“My private life is nobody’s business but mine.”
“That’s not true. Didn’t you tell me you could be fired for bringing embarrassment to the school? Isn’t that what was going to happen to your friend Carter?”
“Apples and oranges,” Matt said. “Besides, you’re not an embarrassment. Even if you had been guilty, you’ve paid your debt to society.”
“Really? So the principal hasn’t spoken to you about me?” Jazz could tell from the mutinous cast of his face that she’d hit the mark. “He has, hasn’t he?”
“It’s not worth worrying about,” he said. “Principal Middleton won’t fire me.”
That might be true but Matt was glossing over the fact that Jazz could cost him the chance to run the athletic department. She couldn’t let that happen, not when there was no future for her and Matt.
People passed them on both sides, crowding in on them, making Jazz feel as though her heart were being squeezed tighter.
“Let’s go somewhere else and finish talking about this,” she said.
“There’s nothing more to say.” Matt sounded authoritative but he must have known there was plenty more to discuss.
