TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "ARM"

Welcome! Today's prompt is "arm". I'm taking the beginning of the third book in my football series, First & Ten, for my story today. This book is about Coach Bass.

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   As he climbed the stairs from the workout room, Coach Pete Sebastian’s temper flared. Stupid idea. Just bullshit to get the media off our necks. Parker is obviously an asshole who doesn’t know our team. He’s judging everyone by two rotten apples. The more he thought about the unnecessary upset to his men, the more he burned. 

   The lines on his forehead deepened. His light brown eyes clouded with anger as his step quickened. I’ll teach this jerk something about how to deal with my team.    He rounded the corner and stopped at the office next to his. Raising his arms to rest his hands against the door frame, he leaned his trim, sweaty, six foot two inch body into the space.

Pete stared at the person sitting at the desk and raised his brows.

“I’m looking for Joe Parker?”

   A blonde woman, facing the window, swiveled in the desk chair and leveled her gorgeous big, blue eyes on him.

“Yes?” Her eyes scanned his body clad in only gym shorts and a tank top before she rested her gaze on his face.

“No, Joe Parker.”

“That’s right. Jo. J-o. Short for Josephine. What can I do for you?” She rose from her chair and Pete’s mouth went dry.

Even wearing high heels, she wasn’t over five foot six. She wore a turquoise silk suit, the jacket open, showing a white silk blouse underneath.  The scoop neck revealed enough creamy cleavage to capture his attention. He lowered his arms and stepped inside.

   Her hips were slim, but not skinny and her legs slender. Her peaches and cream complexion showed a slight blush around her cheek bones and her kissable lips shined with a bright pink lipstick.

   Pete had never seen a woman so beautiful in all of Monroe before. Sweat started under his arms as he realized that in a wife-beater T-shirt and shorts, he was practically naked and sweaty as hell. He probably reeked, like a dozen pairs of dirty gym socks, and hadn’t shaved. He rubbed his hand along his stubbly chin as if to hide the wiry scruff there.

“And you are?” As she approached him, a subtle floral scent of expensive perfume wafted across the room, teasing his nose.

“Pete Sebastian. Coach Pete Sebastian. Head Coach Pete Sebastian,” he stammered, his mind suddenly blank. Smooth. Very smooth, asshole. Like a twelve-year-old.

                                         ****

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