Patt Marr - Angel In Disguise

She glanced Pete’s way and saw he’d shaded his eyes with his hand. The lower half of his face looked grim. She wasn’t thrilled with the plans, either, but she had the decency to hide it.

“Any questions?” the coordinator asked. “No? Then I guess that wraps it up. Have fun, kids. You make a great-looking couple. We’ll see you here in the studio in a couple of weeks for the report-back taping. Okay?”

It wasn’t, but Sunny had the manners to fake it. Pete, on the other hand, didn’t even look up. What was his problem?

As the staff left the room, Pete stirred from his end of the couch. Leaning toward her, he touched her arm. “Are you going to be all right with this?”

Probably not, but he’d never know it. “Sure,” she answered, flashing him her biggest smile. “Just get me the recipe for your mom’s cheesecake.”

Sunny lay on her cream leather sofa, uncomfortable in a pair of too-tight jeans and a skimpy sweater, while the team finished her “home-cooked” meal. One of the mothers had made Pete’s cheesecake, and another had taken care of the rest. The girls had arranged everything, right down to setting the table with her grandmother’s china. They were such good kids. Working with them this past year had been the happiest time of her life.

Mouse, the team’s point guard, bent over her and used a pick to lift sections of Sunny’s hair, squirting spray as she went.

“Mouse, don’t you think that’s enough?” Sunny didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but already her hair was a wild, sexy mane with a life of its own.

“It’s gotta be perfect, Coach. Once everybody sees this on TV, your ex won’t bother you anymore and the talk ’round school will shut down. Everybody’s gonna know he’s a liar.”

That was youth speaking. Sunny knew people could say and print almost anything, and others would believe it. Her skin was thick, but the girls were still idealistic enough to expect fairness. It bothered them that people believed Bruce and were describing her as coldhearted, self-centered and worse.

She didn’t like the idea of the kids being involved with her problems, but getting them to leave her alone was like getting a fast-breaking team to stall.

Leteisha, the team’s six-foot center, hovered above her. “Coach, are you concentrating on your date?”

“Not really,” she answered honestly.

“There’s nothing more important than your date, Coach. You gotta focus.”

Words from her own mouth.

“That’s right,” Mouse said, her dark eyes shining. “You are supposed to think about this hot guy. He is, like, very sexy, and you want him madly.”

“Easy, Mouse,” Leteisha warned.

“But I think Coach ought to…”

“Not now, girl!”

Sunny hid a smile. Leteisha ran the team with a firm hand.

“Okay, Coach,” Leteisha said, her dark eyes sincerely determined. “Let’s go over what you’re supposed to do. Have you got your plays straight?”

Obediently Sunny recited, “Take the pot roast and mashed-potato casserole out of the oven. Nuke the corn. The gravy’s on the range. Salad and cheesecake in the refrigerator. Okay?”

“You forgot the apron.”

She wished they had.

“You need it, Coach, for realism.”

“And to protect your outfit,” added Mouse, who’d chosen the miniskirt for the TV show and the tight jeans and sweater tonight.

Sunny disliked the sweater as much as she had the miniskirt. The sweater was white—never her color, though with the amount of makeup they had on her, it probably wouldn’t matter—and it clung like a second skin. Surely Mouse would take pity on her if she complained once more.

“This sweater is so tight, I can’t breathe. Please, Mouse, choose something else.”

“No, no! You must wear it! My brother says a man cannot resist a woman in a tight, white top.”

“Ooooo,” the girls crooned.

Sunny lifted a brow at them, but it didn’t have its usual sobering effect. In fact, one of them, probably Heather, couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Circling Sunny as an artist would study her masterpiece, Mouse said, “Coach, you’ve got to help that sweater. Use better posture. Throw your shoulders back, and…”

“I’ve got the idea, Mouse.”

So did the team. They hooted, loving every moment despite her embarrassment.

“All right, you guys,” Leteisha ordered, pulling Sunny to her feet. “Huddle up.”

The girls swarmed Sunny as they did during a time-out. Leteisha held up her hand, and a hush fell.

“Okay, Coach, after this date Mr. Big Deal Bruce Daniels is going to know for sure he’s been ‘exed.”’

“He’s history,” somebody said.

“For-got-ten!” said another.

“That’s right,” Leteisha confirmed, shushing further comments with a look. “Now, we’ve got you this far, but, Coach, you’ve got to do your part.”

“We’re counting on you, Coach,” Mouse said. “When the TV camera’s on you, you gotta make the date look real good.”

“’Real good?”’ she repeated, not at all sure she’d want to comply with their standards.

“Just be all over the guy, Coach.”

“Yeah, make him sweat.”

“Put a liplock on him.”

“Practice safe—”

“Enough!” Sunny shouted. She loved these kids, but they got out of hand so quickly.

“Settle down,” Leteisha bellowed. “You know how Coach feels about that kind of talk. How’s she gonna go on national TV with all this hassle? We’re here to give her our support.”

The girls quieted down but grinned, unrepentant.

Mouse waved an emerald-green chef’s apron and sung out, “Coach needs to put this on.”

“Thanks, Mouse. Let’s get that apron on you, Coach.”

Sunny groaned.

“See how nice it goes with your hair?” Mouse coaxed, slipping the apron over Sunny’s hair.

At least it would cover the tight, white sweater.

“Go over the game plan, Mouse,” Leteisha ordered.

“Okay. Coach, after you answer the door, pretend you forgot to take the apron off and act real embarrassed.”

She probably would be.

“Then take your time untying the strings.”

“Take a lot of time,” Leteisha added with a wicked smile.

“Slip the apron off slow,” Mouse coached.

“Yeah, reeeeeeal slow.”

“Yeah, like you’re doin’ a striptease.”

“Then the guy sees you in that tight, white top and…”

“It blows his mind!”

The girls high-fived and yelled like they’d just scored the winning basket on a shot from midcourt.

“That does it!” Sunny ordered. “You’re out of here!”

Proud of themselves, the team called out outrageous advice all the way to their cars.

Girls! You took two steps forward with them and one step back. She’d never been as bold, but then Eleanor Keegan’s daughter had known her manners before she’d known her ABC’s.

They were good kids, and they’d worked hard all season, playing with more heart than ability. She’d felt safe promising them anything if they’d win the championship. Of course, now that she knew kids could play over their heads, she’d be careful giving out blank checks.

Winning a championship had been an unexpected thrill and confirmation she was making her life count. Things would be great once she convinced her family to leave her alone. For the girls and herself, she would get through this evening and do her best to dazzle Pete Maguire…if she didn’t break out in hives.

Her burst of confidence lasted until the doorbell rang. “Take deep breaths,” she told herself. “Lots of deep breaths. Focus. Be convincing. Pretend you’re happy to see this guy.”

Donning a welcoming smile, she opened the door in a swoop and struck a pose.