Slow and Steady Rush by Laura Trentham Page A

kill, Darcy’s glare would have left Logan a smoldering puddle of goo on the floor. “I swear Logan, if you weren’t blood-kin—”
    “If everything’s settled, I have work to finish up.” Robbie stared down at the papers. Words and numbers swam in his vision.
    “Robbie?” Her voice came from the doorway. She’d stopped to look over her shoulder. “Are you fine with this?”
    “Sure. It’s only a couple of dates.”
    Her laugh landed unmistakably between anger and humor. “I guess I’ll see you Friday night then.”
    “Yep.” The gust from the closing door ruffled the papers on his desk. He propped his feet on the corner and examined the white-pocked tiles of the ceiling.
    A combination of anticipation and dread coursed through his body. She was too dangerous for his peace of mind. He should’ve told Logan this little drama was unnecessary, the rumors would die eventually, but damn if he could let the opportunity pass.
    Two nights in her company. Which Darcy would he get? The charming woman who made him laugh or the fiery one who made him burn. He wanted both.
    He tried to concentrate on his lesson plans, but the memory of her standing hip deep in the river, arms curved to the sky, water trailing down her body distracted him. When his thoughts naturally veered to the memory of her nails digging through his shirt and her legs around his hips in Miss Ada’s kitchen, he threw down his pencil, changed into running gear, and whistled for Avery. The rhythm of his feet pounding the track around the football field ordered the chaos in his head.
    A storm brewed in the west. The air thickened and grew electric. Dark clouds swallowed the sun and threw the town into a premature dusk. Still, he ran. Avery joined him in spurts. The wildness spurred Robbie into a sprint.
    Lightning cracked the sky, and rain poured out. This was no pitter-patter of droplets, but a stinging deluge. Robbie surrendered, and he and Avery bolted to the truck. He lifted Avery inside and received a peppering of more water as Avery shook himself dry. Robbie wiped the water off his face and climbed behind the wheel.
    The rain pelting the metal cab was musical in quality. Robbie closed his eyes, and as if the run never happened, he saw her passion-washed blue eyes after their kiss. He banged his head against the headrest, even knowing it wouldn’t be that easy to banish her from his thoughts.
    #
    After Thursday afternoon’s practice, he slumped at his desk and rubbed itchy eyes. Was it his late-night reading or the noxious cloud of male body spray diffusing into his office like tear-gas making his eyes water? He meandered into the locker room and came face-to-face with a mass of primping teenage boys.
    “You know Atticus is getting nailed by some white supremacist. No way a white man gonna defend a black man and get away with it. Not in 1950s Alabama.” His offensive lineman’s intimidating bass voice echoed off the tiled walls.
    “I think old Boo is a serial killer or something. They’re going to search his refrigerator and find body parts,” said a voice muffled by clothing.
    “You’re an idiot, Jamal. ’Course he ain’t. You think they’d assign us a horror book? This is about something bigger. It’s about a little girl growing up and realizing her daddy can’t solve all the problems of the world. You heard Miss Darcy.”
    Robbie propped a shoulder in the doorway, astounded by the insightful words came out of Miles, his usually silent linebacker.
    “Where’re you boys headed?” Robbie asked.
    A dozen heads swiveled his direction.
    “Miss Darcy’s house. We’re discussing chapters three and four,” said Tyler.
    “Why are y’all getting dressed up?”
    “Miss Darcy told us that she wouldn’t let us in if we came stinking like we did last time,” Tyler said with a shake of his head and a half-grin. “She also made us promise to sand and paint her porch.”
    “You didn’t tell us she was such a dime piece,” Jamal said