Susanne Novan - Driven

"I do my best, James, but you know how he is."

"I know if he doesn’t change his habits he’s going to be dead in a year. Pour it down the drain if you have to but keep him off it."

"Yes James." The older woman rose and showed the doctor to the door. "Dylan, if you’ll come with me." She gestured down a long hall and Dylan rose to follow her.

*****

Horace was propped up in the massive bed and with several trade magazines spread all around him. The TV was tuned to ESPN, and the old man looked

like hell.

It might not be a long wait.

Dylan waited until the door was closed and they were left alone, then she took a couple steps toward the bed. "Horace."

"Lambert. Glad you could come by."

"You called. I came. You’re the boss."

"I’m glad to see someone in my organization remembers that." He gestured to a chair next to the bed. "But my being the boss isn’t enough to keep you on the straight and narrow is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"What’s going on between you and the Hodges dyke?"

"What?" Dylan managed indignant very well, she hoped it would be enough to side track him.

"I’ve been told that you’re spending a lot of time with her. Did you jump on the Sodomite chariot Ms. Lambert? Is that why you wanted her?"

Dylan rose to her feet. "I don’t believe this. One, there is nothing between Catherine and me other than a coach and player relationship." Okay I’m going straight to hell for that one. "Two, Catherine and I spend a lot of time together because she’s the team leader…"

"And why in the hell were you at dinner with her and her parents the other night?"

Trying her best to keep her boiling anger in check, she managed to stay calm enough to answer him. "Her father is a fan of mine and she invited me to dinner so we could meet in a more informal and comfortable setting."

"So you aren’t screwing around with her?"

"No, I can honestly say I’m not screwing around with her." It’s a lot more than that you miserable bastard. She means more to me that a roll in the sack.

"Good. Then you won’t mind doing a little publicity thing I’ve set up for you."

"I am not going out with Hunter Locke again. The man is an idiot."

"It’s nothing like that. It’s a print ad for Nike. You do the ad and the team gets a season’s worth of new gear, with an option for renewal if they like what they see." Bearing yellowed teeth in a leering grin, he takes a long, slow look down her body and back up again, not quite meeting her glaring eyes.

"Why is it that every time I deal with you I feel like a street corner whore?"

He cocked his brow. "You don’t really want me to answer that do you."

Her jaw was clenched so hard she feared for her teeth, but she managed to keep her hands unfisted and hanging limp at her sides, though in her mind,

those same hands were wrapped around the bastard’s throat, squeezing the last ounce of life from his flabby body. "Fine," she ground out. "Are we through here?"

Horace held out a folder. "All the details are in there. You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke." His smile was brutal. "Send the wife in here on your way out."

*****

Dylan ground her teeth all the way home. Horace Johnson was an insufferable pig, and it was days like today when she wondered why in the hell she was

still working for him.

Can’t back out now, Dylan. Too many people count on you.

As she pulled in the driveway, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Cat’s truck idling. The blonde was sitting in the driver’s side with the window

down and the radio louder than it needed to be. Pulling in behind the truck, she could tell she hadn’t been noticed.

Silencing the engine, she slipped out of the car and rose to her full, commanding height, the grin on her lips that of a hunter stalking prey. Quiet as a shadow, she moved to the truck and slid around so that she was standing before the open window. Bending so that her head came level with the in-the-clouds driver, she took in a breath, and expelled it in a gentle stream in the direction of Cat’s ear.

"Holyshit!!" Cat shouted, jumping in her seat and banging her head against the cab’s ceiling.

Dylan’s laughter only increased in volume at the black look Cat gave her as she rubbed her suddenly tender noggin. "You trying to kill me or what?"

"Sorry," Dylan said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"You wish," Cat replied primly, reaching for the key and turning off the engine. Silence descended as she reached across the seat and grabbed a thick playbook. "The play diagrams you asked for, Coach."

"Ah, back to that again, are we?"

"Hmmph."

Opening the door, Dylan sketched a grand bow. "Would the Madame care to repair to the house? A lovely plum wine awaits her fine attentions."

Unable to even pretend to be angry anymore, Cat finally cracked a smile and slid from the cab, hooking her arm through Dylan’s and allowing herself to be led into the cool confines of the large and beautiful house.

******

"Be good you two."

Siegfried gave a very human sigh of disappointment and stalked back into the living room, head hanging. Brunhilde looked regally on, sitting still as a

statue until Dylan gave her customary scratch behind the ears. Only then did she deign to join her brother in the other room.

Tossing the folder and the playbook on the table inside the door, Dylan turned to Cat, drew her into her arms, and kissed her long and deep. When they

finally separated, she grinned down at Cat, who looked like she was trapped in her own dream world.

"I needed that," the blonde finally managed as her eyes slowly opened.

"Me too. I had to spend part of my afternoon with Horace-the-bloodsucker-Johnson."

"Eww."

"Eww is right. God he makes my skin crawl. I want to take a hot shower."

"That could be fun," Cat offered with an evil grin.

"Yes, it could." Dylan grabbed Cat’s wrist and headed the toward the bathroom. "Let’s go."

*****

Dylan laid on the floor, propped up on several fluffy pillows. Cat was lying with her head in the tall woman’s stomach, drawing lazy designs on a corded, naked thigh only inches away. She was completely relaxed, filled with the kind of blissful lassitude that only a hot shower and a bout of enthusiastic

lovemaking could inspire.

Dylan was leafing through pages of the playbook, obviously impressed.

"These are really good, Cat. You may have the makings of a decent coach." Looking over the top of the playbook, she playfully narrowed her eyes at her lover. "You’re not gunning for my job, are ya?"

"Hell no. You think I want to deal with the slug who walks like a man any more than I absolutely have to? No thanks. I’ll stick to playing. The coaching job is allll yours."

Dylan let her fingers slip through Cat’s silky hair as she put the papers aside. "Thanks."

"So what did the smarmy little bigot want this time?"

"His spies caught me having dinner with you and your folks last night."

Cat rolled up to a sitting position, eyes wide. "Shit."

"No, don’t worry about it. I convinced him it was harmless." She sighed. "But that convincing came with a pricetag attached."

Cat’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of a price?"

"He wants me to do some print ad for Nike. Gratis for me, lots of nice shiny new equipment for him." She sighed again, shaking her head. "Manny is gonna shit bricks when he hears."

"I don’t understand. Doesn’t your contract specify that you get a percentage of all those endorsement deals?"

"Yeah, but if you read between the lines, I need to scratch his ass for him when he asks."